One of my favorite authors is the esteemed Gabriel Garcia Marquez; a magic realist, and a Colombian native. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that such a prolific writer emerges from the depths of a country so unbearably beautiful, and at the same time plagued by a jarring  emotional quality that is both inspiring and devastating all at once.

When I was 13 years old I lived in Colombia for about a year, and I went to a private American school. I was the only American, and few people spoke English. I remember days of curriculum going by and not understanding a word. I remember being young and lost in a place where the culture was completely different, and all of the cliques were established, at 13 no less.

I smile, looking back at those times. At the end of the day, I was a nervous wreck about the buses home. I was afraid of getting on the wrong one, and being taken far away.

Suffice to say, I learned what it felt like to be an outsider, to be the strange little girl in a strange land, and I believe that my mentality was changed from a very young age and from then on, I decidedly carried a deep empathy for outcasts of any kind. It got easier, as all things do with time, the unfamiliar became familiar, and now the unfamiliar of then becomes cultural meat I look forward to as an adult.

I go at least once a year but during this last visit I became hyper-sensitive to my surroundings and drew in the true nature of the country.  There’s a rhythmic  soul, that propels all things. Sort of like the old classic Boston song “Living on a Prayer”, something I have come to think about as of late – when the only certainty is the uncertain. No matter how hard things seem to get, there was a strong communicative essence in the atmosphere consistently reminding me that all things fall into place in their due time, and that worry is futile. It’s calmly present everywhere, and especially on the coast where being productive gives the sense that you’re battling with a wise and unseen force, deliberately attempting to ground you and shake you awake again. “Live” it screams.

There’s a reason for the magic realism – there are yellow butterflies, magnificent moons, young girls on the beach watching their footsteps disappear into the sand behind them, poetic moments of all varieties, and so much joy it hurts.