Where Does Your Family Tree Begin?

I had the chance to get to know one of the couples staying in our hotel this afternoon. This couple is extremely nice- the lady is from Michigan and her boyfriend is from England. We talked for nearly an hour this morning, during which they asked me why I was here. As I said in previous posts, I welcome the chance to tell people about my search for my birth mother now, unlike before. I shared my stress, anxiety, and excitement- it's really quite therapeutic for me. I told them how important it was to me to find a blood relative of mine. I've never had that connection before. I've never stared into the eyes of someone who looked like me, who had the same blood running through their veins. It's a hard feeling to describe to someone who has blood relatives, but I know other adoptees feel me. Anyway, after I had gone through what seemed to be my entire story, the woman shared hers.

Turns out, this guest of ours had to give up her new-born when she was 18. I was shocked. I stared at her like she was a gold mine of information. I had so many questions for her, but didn't want to pry into her personal life if she wasn't ready. I did, however, ask the one question that has been on my mind ever since I can remember- do you remember your child's birthday? Her demeanor changed, she looked me straight in the eye and told me the exact date, year, and time that he was born. She told me she NEVER stops thinking about him and that mothers never forget their children, no matter how long its been. Relief...a little piece of my soul healed.

Her situation is a little different than mine, obviously. Firstly, she said hers was an open adoption, so her son can get ahold of her if he wants to. Secondly, he gets access to all medical records, which (trust me) would've been nice to have. Thirdly, they both live in the US. It does make it more difficult for her, though. She still hasn't heard from him, but is thinking about contacting him this year. You see, he just turned 18 so it's completely legal now for her to search for him. She's just not sure if he wants to hear from her. I felt her anxiety through her words because it's such a familiar feeling. Fourthly, she told me she had written him a letter when she was 18 to explain what had happened and how much it hurt her. I would've killed for a letter- any kind of contact...just to see something of my mother's would've given me more confidence in her love for me. I didn't receive any such thing until I went to the orphanage 9 months ago and saw her case statement.

As I've said in past posts, some adoptees harbor hatred and anger toward their birth mother for giving them up. Some just don't understand how a mother could leave them. Others get stuck with adoptive parents that abuse them or never end up with parents at all. I understand adoptees who never want to meet their birth parents (it's a hard and sometimes uncomfortable feeling & what do you do with the relationship once you find out?), but to hear this woman talk about her struggle and what she's gone through, has really helped me understand what it must be like for my birth mother.

I no longer feel forgotten. This conversation brought me confidence. I am somehow on the right path. I feel like I was supposed to have met this guest, talked to her in depth, and shared my story so she could feel comfortable enough to share hers. My words brought her comfort and confidence to go ahead with her plan. She seemed to have made her decision- she was going to contact her son by the end of this year. Her boyfriend looked pleasantly surprised and extremely happy for her. We then went out to explore Cartagena and they treated me to my favorite sushi restaurant (Tabetai!), which brought us all peace and happiness! :o)

Keep trying, keep pushing, keep searching...I'm not going to let fear get in the way this time. I'm already here in Colombia, and I'm so close to finding her...I'm so close to finding my roots.

Twiddling

One of the reasons I decided to move to Colombia was to find my birth family. When I came to Colombia for the first time 9 months ago, I had the opportunity to visit Chiquitines, the orphanage I stayed at for the 1st 3 months of my life. While it was the same organization I was adopted from, Chiquitines has changed locations within Cali several times since then, so it wasn't the exact same building. Chiquitines is a wonderful non-profit organization that has about 34 employees (social workers, psychologists, speech therapists, nurses, teachers, etc) and 75 kids (about 34 babies and 41 kids aged 2-12). 
Before arriving, my mom and I had arranged to meet with the director of the orphanage, Agatha. When we arrived, she sat us down and began to go over my file from 28 years ago. Most of the documents I had already seen since my mom saved nearly everything from my adoption, but then Agatha pulled out documents I had never known about. I finally learned my birth mother's name, Teodora (Dora, for short) Marin. I also received her Cedula #, which is more or less a Colombian ID card. Her ID # is important because the government in Colombia uses them when someone registers for work. Agatha recommended that I hire a lawyer to help me look for her. She said that many agencies in Colombia that claim they can help find your birth mother may actually be telling random people to act like your birth parents, and adoptees would never know. 
I also got to read the case worker's summary of Teodora's life cerca 1981 and her statement on why she was giving me up. Growing up, many adopted children fluctuate between anger and love for their birth parents. Many of us never know why our parents gave us up, and some tend to focus on the negative reasons. I can't lie, I often wondered growing up if there really was a good reason- it's hard not to. My birth mother, Dora, had lived with a man in Tolima with whom she had 7 children (apparently I had 7 half brothers and sisters- 2 died before I was born). In the summary, it says he went crazy and left the house never to be heard from again. In order to help sustain her family, she moved to Cali to find work with 3 of her children (i don't know what happened to the other 2). The woman she ended up working for in Cali offered her a room and some money for cleaning her house. For some reason, this lady ended up telling my birth mother she had to leave so Dora was jobless (and possibly homeless). During this time, she became pregnant with me by a guy she saw occassionally. This guy said he would stay and help her, but ended up leaving her on her own (thanks, 'dad'). She ended up giving me up for adoption because she "wanted my life to be full of indispensable love and security and for me to have a good education (translated)." 

I then got a chance to speak with 4 ladies who were about to give birth and were planning on giving their children to Chiquitines for similar reasons. It was a total surprise, and I instantly had butterflies flapping around in my tummy. My words came straight from the heart so i didn't even have to worry about the Spanish. I told them my story and told them that I knew that my mother had been so strong to give me up in order for me to have a good life. I told them that I've had the opportunity to travel, play sports, get a great education, a well-paying job, and most importantly, i told them I had a wonderful family that has loved me since the day they found out I was coming. By that time I was crying while talking. I emphasized that I thought they were all so strong just like my birth mother had been and that they were doing a wonderful thing for their children. I told them that I'd never forget my birth mother and have always thought of her all of my life. I also shared with these women that I would like to find my birth mother one day. Lastly, I told them that I understood why she decided to give me up- and it wasn't b/c she didn't love me, it was the complete opposite. She had given me up out of unconditional, unselfish love. 
During this conversation, almost every single person in the room was crying, including Agatha and my mom who were standing at the door. I knew that it had touched them, but I had hoped that I had gotten my point across- that they were making the right choice for the good of their babies and that their children would one day be thankful and grateful to them for making the toughest decision of their lives.

So here I am, 9 months later, stuck. I've talked to people here who say they can help me find my birth mom and then they never show or take a month to get back to me. It gets frustrating when someone doesn't take something that's extremely important to you as seriously. Seeing my frustration, my friend Lizety said she could help me last week. Her brother works in the Secret Service equivalent here in Colombia. She told me that her brother could find tons of information on my birth mother or just her address. I opted for as much information as he could provide. While I realize this is a HUGE favor, I can't stop asking her if she's found out any info on her. Her brother has been busy investigating murders around the city so I guess i understand why it's taking so long...it's just something i've been wondering about my whole life. 

While i sit here, patiently waiting, pondering what I should do if I do find her home address, my leg shakes anxiously, my tummy does somersaults, and everything I've ever dreamt of happening races through my mind. These are hard emotions to deal with, but I'm lucky to have such loving, supportive friends and family members who don't mind listening to my rambling. Someday soon, I may be lucky enough to have two families to be grateful for- what a blessing! :o)

Happy Thanksgiving!

A Sex & The City-Type Noche

The other night, a few girls and I went out to eat sushi at Tabetai (again). Four of the girls were from Colombia, one was from France, and you all should know by now that I grew up in the States. Their company was much-needed that day. I had just finished writing El Mundo Machista and I was exhausted from dealing with the devil tourists- I just wanted sushi and some good conversation!

We got onto the topic of one of the girl's relationships. Let's just call her 'Samantha.' Samantha made a general comment about the men in Colombia not knowing how to appropriately please their women in bed (imagine a more graphic term that Samantha might use- just trying to keep this blog parent-readable).  She went on to say that they just didn't seem to care how their women felt, as long as they 'got off.' The ladies around the table began shaking their heads and telling similar stories about the Colombian men they had been with. Here we go again, I thought to myself, and gently suggested the term we were all dancing around, machismo. The table exploded in agreement.

"Yes, exactly," said 'Carrie.' "These guys cheat on their wives and girlfriends with no consequences, and then wonder why their partners turn into crazy, insecure monsters!" Carrie was pissed that women were made to look like the bad-guys when they were, in fact, the innocent victims.

"They can sleep around and STILL get a pat on the back by the women's brother," said 'Miranda.' Yes, the brothers, mothers, AND fathers will actually cheer a man on for cheating on THEIR daughter! I nearly choked on my Dragon roll (it's my fav). I wish I had asked if they 'cheer on' domestic violence, too.

Meanwhile, 'Charlotte' was sitting on the far side of the table, and when prompted by a friend, admitted that she had a Colombian boyfriend. The table fell silent, waiting for her rebuttal of these accusations against Colombian men. More silence....

There are serious relationship/life consequences with this sexist attitude of men toward women. It's the same in most countries when a man abuses a woman, or vice-versa. The victim ends up believing they're to blame and, inadvertently, causes the abuser to continue his/her abuse. Typically, the man sees he can get away with the cheating and physical/mental abuse because the woman keeps coming back...it's what she's used to, and her parents and friends justify his manly actions. It's what her society says is 'normal.' The men have this machista support from their family, friends, and culture...and don't waste another minute thinking about the possible consequences.

The sad part is, there are lots of Colombian women who start to believe that that's their place in relationships, and in a greater sense, the world population. They fall into the subordinate hole and don't make it back out. These women start thinking that men can disrespect them in any way imaginable because they deserve it for some reason.

Fortunately, the strong, independent Sex & the City type women I was with at this sushi restaurant in Colombia had had enough. They knew this machista way of life was B.S. and were not going to fall into the same unhealthy patterns their predecessors did. I hope from them, and from the women who inspired them, there will be a wave of independent women setting the record straight.

'Sex & the City' was actually brought up in our conversation before we started talking about machismo. While some may think this is just another silly, popular TV show, it may actually be just the right kind of influence women in Colombia need.

The Ugly

Thanks for your kind words, thoughts, calls, emails, posts, etc regarding what happened last weekend. I really appreciate having a strong, supportive backing- you don't know how much that means to me. 
I did, however, have ONE bad response. This person told me that I couldn't have been drugged- i must be making it up because I was too coherent to be writing a blog at 4:30am. They also told me that I was probably being called an escort because I had probably been sleeping around in Cartagena, so it was probably justified. 
I don't feel the need to justify myself because I know me...and I have absolutely no reason to lie. Plus, the last thing I came here to do was find a boyfriend (need proof? see El Mundo Machista). I was utterly shocked at this response, but I suppose everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But just like them, I can say what I feel.
So, without further adieu, I would like to tell that person to F off.

Eyes Wide Open...at 4:30am

I thought to myself tonight that I probably shouldn't write this blog. I didn't want people to worry about traveling to Colombia. The drug wars and horror stories from 30+ to 10 years ago were enough to destroy Colombian tourism for years, I didn't want to add anything else. But, as I wrote in my first blog, I want to tell anyone who reads this the raw truth about my experiences here. I absolutely love Colombia. I feel very comfortable here, and Colombians are extremely friendly and helpful. The beauty of Colombia cannot be overlooked- from the people to the landscape to the music. I have tried to immerse myself in the culture as much as possible and I'm passionate about bringing more and more people here to share this gem of a country. I can't say the same about a few other countries (1 in South America) that I've been to.
Tonight was my boss's last night. He told our French clients that we were going out to a local discoteca after dinner. The Frenchmen insisted on coming (with the Colombian escort I mentioned below). I really didn't want to go this time, but felt obliged since it was my boss's last night, so we left for dinner. On the way, the Colombian girl waited till we were alone and told me that a girl she knows, who was at one of the discotecas we had gone to, had seen me and commented that she was pretty sure that I was an escort too. She said that she had seen me walking through the city several times with different foreign men. The girl I knew argued with her for awhile, telling her that I worked for a hotel and often gave tours or was around tourists. I thanked her for setting the record straight, but she warned me that I should wear a badge so people know that I work for a legit business. Apparently, word spreads quick since I've only been here for 6 weeks. Needless to say, this made me more paranoid about going out with these people.
I suffered through dinner, exhausted, waiting for what seemed to be an eternity for everyone to finish eating. I noticed, however, that one of the French guys had been in the bathroom for quite a long time. When he got back he was acting a little abnormal. I know when someone is high and I'm 90% sure he indulged in a lil' cocaine while in the men's room. This also made me feel uncomfortable. My boss and I had a second to chat while the 2 Frenchmen and this girl went out to smoke a cigarette- they were very jumpy about leaving all of a sudden. I explained to my boss how I felt and told him I was going straight home and skipping the club. While disappointed, he totally understood and felt terrible that I was put in that position- I hadn't told him how I felt about walking around the city with this girl and these guys before tonight. The last thing I need here is a bad rep. I noticed, however, that I began to feel VERY strange. I was talking, but I was shaky and nervous. I decided I was just upset and very tired so I hurried the rest of the convo so we could leave.
We walked a few more minutes together towards my hotel and this chica told me more about her paranoia walking around town knowing that people know what kind of business she is in, which in turn made me more paranoid. Finally, I got a chance to split off from the group with my boss and we started chatting about everything that had happened. My boss randomly noted that he, too, felt very strange. He said he felt like he was flying. Scratching my head, I noticed that I felt the same way...we started talking about our symptoms and soon realized that we had been drugged.
Ok...so I was sitting at the same table, never got up, never saw any weird movement around my cup, and can't imagine why a restaurant would drug their customers, but I know how it feels to be on drugs. All of a sudden my head was warm, pupils dilated, my senses were definitely heightened, and dammit...I felt like i was on Ecstasy or cocaine. Confused at how this could've happened, my boss and I started walking home a little faster. I saw several people I knew on the way home (furthering my paranoia about how small this city is and how this negative gossip about me being an escort could be spread quickly if i continued to hang out with this really sweet, but confused girl). We made a b-line to our hotel and drank several cups of water (how many signs do you need??).
I can't say I completely trust these French guys, but I don't get how, nor why they would try to drug Anthony and I. I was PISSED off that someone could do this to me. How do they know I'm not allergic or have bad reactions to drugs?? How do they know I'll live to the next day? I decide what goes in my body- no one else does (well, unless it's an authorized doctor who I trust). One of these guys had taken his antibiotics before he starting drinking (never a good idea) and the other was sniffing powder in the bathroom, both were very disappointed that I wasn't coming out (which is odd cuz we've never had a long, good convo- they're not interesting people & I don't try to talk to them unless forced)...I have no strong defense, nor strong evidence.
Whoever did it better hope I don't find out about it. I am through forcing smiles and being polite. I was exhausted at 10pm before we left, all through dinner, which lasted until 1am, and now, at 4:30am, I'm WIDE awake. While I'm positive I didn't get a full dose, I know what I had. I'm extremely disappointed in someone, I just don't know who. I should've listened to my mom's advice, and lied to get out of dinner. I know this may worry friends and family, but I do not feel in danger here. While I can't be certain who drugged us, I lean quite a bit more toward the French guys over the Colombians from the busy, semi-fancy restaurant in the Old City. It's a pity that some people feel the need to control others in any fashion possible, but at least I got out before anything else happened. Someone's looking out for me...and I'm definitely grateful for that.

El Mundo Machista

Yesterday I went with my boss, two male French tourists, and a Colombian chica on a private boat tour to the Rosario Islands. I thought it was really nice of the two Frenchmen to invite me to come along considering I wouldn't be able to afford a private boat by myself. We went to Isla Cholón for the day, which is a private island opposite Isla de Baru (where Playa Blanca is located). On the way over, we spotted a school of 10 dolphins- it made me want to go diving again soon. The water was super warm, clear, and calm on Colón so we were able to sit in the water and talk.

I got a chance to talk quite a bit with the Colombian girl who had come along. I was baffled by her decision to be with this tourist because she is so beautiful and nice- not that he isn't, but he is significantly older (upper 30s) and not anything special. She told me she was 24 and from Bogotá, but had come to Cartagena to make more money for herself and her 7-year old son. She said she had left Bogotá in a hurry because she was trying to get away from her ex, who she described as 'machismo.' She said that a lot of the men here are 'machismo'- definitely not the first time I've heard about this (our Spanish class even had a discussion about 'machismo' in Colombia in comparison to the US). This woman's ex didn't allow her to work or study, he never allowed her to pay for things, and to top it off, he was physically abusing her. He was obviously trying to control everything she did. She told me that she had wanted to be more independent and in control, so she got up and left.
Interested, I asked what line of work she was in and she then told me she was working at that moment. This beautiful girl who studied through college, found the courage to leave an abusive relationship, and wanted to become more independent and in control, had decided to become an escort. I was so disappointed and told her that she could do much better. I didn't want to be too aggressive with my words, but I outright told her that she was in the wrong line of work. I didn't understand how she felt like she was in control of 'machismo' if she was an escort. Yes, I understand that women in jobs such as these feel in control because they decide who they want to go home with and sleep with, but in the end, I have always felt that they are simply a product for sale.
So while it was nice to have food and drinks paid for and to be able to go on a private boat trip, I felt extremely uncomfortable after I learned more about these guys. I didn't want them to feel in control of me, buying me everything (Note: while writing this, my boss told me that their credit card had been declined over 5 times. We figured they were spending a lot of cash and thought it best to ask for their payment now rather than wait...hmph). Plus, as nice as this girl was, I didn't want locals to think I was in the same line of work!

I wonder how being an escort makes her feel. She is definitely working this deal to her advantage- got a new pair of shoes, convinced him to buy tix to a reggaeton concert, got good food, drinks, private boat trip, and a lot of cash, but there were times when she looked very uneasy. My boss told me that our French clients wanted to take him and I out, and we should really go to be polite. I went because I wanted to see how she was treated and because I'd get to see a few of the elite clubs I had never been to so I could tell future clients about them. These are the types of tourists who like to sleep all day and party until 6 am, so I knew it would be a different kind of noche. This chica looked uncomfortable at various times during the night and would come up to me and tell me that she saw a guy who had used her services or that she saw other girls in the same business. I'm not sure if she was embarrassed to see people she knew because they knew what she was doing or what the situation was exactly. (Picture note: Just being silly in the pic to the right...ha!)
At first I was surprised at the amount of girls partaking in the escort business (they were at the ritzy clubs as well as the cheaper ones), but then I figured they're a product in demand and 'machismo' definitely plays a role in this demand. This girl was used to being treated in this manner by her 'machismo' boyfriend, so I'm assuming her situation is pretty common. My co-worker said the escort business is so big here that it's almost normal for girls to get into this business. While 'machismo' varies by culture, Colombian women have seen the opportunity to sell their company as the 'subordinate' and try to use it to their profit. It's an interesting dynamic. Who's using who? Either way, it's a problem that needs to be addressed here (and everywhere) and seems to be overlooked, especially during busy holidays like Cartagena's Independence Day/National Beauty Pageant.
Machismo deserves more discussion, but I don't have time to write more. I have a feeling this topic will come up quite a bit during my travels as I observe the culture here and try to figure out what exactly happened with my birth father who disappeared on my birth mom when she was pregnant with me. To be continued....{Title accredited to Lizety, my co-worker and amiga, who said it while we were talking about machismo guys all over the world}

Beauty or Independence?

Cartagena gained its independence from Spain on Nov. 11th, 1811 (well, it was actually definitively won in 1821 b/c Spain took back this city while Colombia struggled to regain its independence). Regardless, November 11th has become of extreme importance to Colombia. Not only does today mark Cartagena's independence from Spain, it's also one of the many days that Miss Colombia is celebrated.
To foreigners, this is an odd combo. In the States, no one seems to care about the Miss America Pageant. I think the last time I watched it was back in Elementary school because it fell on the same day as my friend's b-day sleep-over. But to Colombia, the National Beauty Pageant is HUGE. Hotel owners increase their room rates (not Casa Sweety though :)), bars claim they have a cover charge, tour operators charge more for excursions, and bar owners from Bogotá, Medellín, and Barranquilla shut down their clubs and open up shop in Cartagena. Thousands of Colombians flock here for the fiestas, parades, fireworks, and good times! The Beauty Pageant contestants were welcomed this year by dozens of navy officers singing from atop their ship's mast with fireworks going off in the background...quite the spectacle.
What I wonder is if Colombia would explode with the same enthusiasm if the Beauty Pageant wasn't held on the same day. Miss Colombia seems to be the talk of the town....i haven't heard anyone talking about Independence Day. Even newscasters judge every detail of these women. It's hard for me to take it so seriously. People are hypnotized when one of the contestants is nearby.
I just think Colombians place a lot of importance on a person's beauty. Men are constantly whistling and calling after pretty girls (i've had to relax my mentality on this), and women don't take it offensively here. The women all tell me it's just a man's way of complimenting a woman. Still don't buy it, but that way of thinking does help change the way I feel about it. It's still degrading to me, but I'm trying to assimilate into their culture to fully understand what it's like for a woman here. My girl friends from Colombia were shocked when I told them that if a man did that in the workplace in the States, they'd be charged with sexual harassment. I've come to realize that 'sexual harassment' doesn't have quite the same connotation in Colombia.

While women might not be completely equal with men in the States, they sure have it better than in Colombia. In that regard, I know I was lucky to have such great opportunities available to me and even luckier to understand that it doesn't have to be this way....
I'm still not sure what it is we've been celebrating the past few weeks, but it's hard not to enjoy it! The tradition of spraying anyone who walks by with white foam and water is actually pretty fun. Constant music, colorful parades, lively atmosphere, no work for 2.5 days - can't get much better than that!  People in Cartagena seem to be having the time of their life, so it doesn't really matter what they're celebrating as long as everyone's happy...right?!

"Enter"

When I was little, my parents got a phone call from Leo, the liaison who had helped them through the process of my adoption. He said that my orphanage in Cali had called and told him that my birth mother had passed away. Leo also said that often orphanages will relay that message to the new family so that the child won’t come back to look for his/her birth parents, but he really couldn’t be sure in our situation.

My parents immediately told me. I was always grateful for their honesty and openness about my adoption. As far back as I can remember, they were always reading me children’s books on adoption, asking if I wanted to know more about what it meant and how I felt about it, what I could say to other kids who didn’t understand why I looked different than my parents and brother (kids could be pretty brutal and say nasty things- even today, I still get childish adults saying nasty things), etc. Truthfully at that age, I don’t remember how I felt finding out about my birth mother possibly passing away, but it has always stayed in the back of my mind.

As I grew up, I chose not to believe it. I didn’t want to think that I could never find my birth family. I’ve always wanted to look for them, but have been scared for multiple reasons of which I’m sure will come up in upcoming blogs.

Today I decided to do more research. I read on a random forum that if you have someone’s cedula (Colombian ID card) number, you can enter it into the Colombian election registration database and see whether or not they’re registered to vote. I found the link, entered the number I have for my birth mother and paused. I hesitated because I didn’t want there to be nothing at the end of the link. I thought about it, realized I was thinking way too much, and pressed ‘Enter.’

Sure enough, my birth mother registered to vote 2 years ago in Cali…the same city I was born in 28 years ago, and the same city I walked around in for the first time 8 months ago. I was so emotional because it was the first time I had confirmation that as of at least 2 years ago, she was alive. She exists…and that to me is priceless information.

The next step is to locate a lawyer I can trust who can search for more information using her cedula. Then I’ll know if there really is someone at the other end of “Enter.”

¿Hablas Español?

No matter where I am, people always make assumptions. Assumptions on my background, my first language, my education level, my social status, you name it. One of the most bothersome assumptions for me is what language I speak. It may seem harmless to you, but it has always brought up issues for me. Ok, so I'll give it to you- I look Colombian...or Mexican...or like i'm from some other Latin American country, but does that mean I MUST speak Spanish? 

Growing up, I had a hard time dealing with this language barrier issue. Before I graduated college, if someone started to talk to me in Spanish 7,000 words per minute, I would try to discern what it was they were asking. When I attempted a response, I'd always get the same confused, bewildered look accompanied by the response, "Como??" Then I felt obliged to explain myself, and went into detail about how I was adopted when I was three months old by parents who didn't speak Spanish at all. I'd always get a sympathetic look from these strangers, like they felt sorry for me or something. These conversations never left a good feeling inside.

 

After college, I decided to change my routine. Instead of try to understand someone speaking fluently to me, I'd interrupt them and say that I spoke English, or I'd simply reply in English. They'd laugh and say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed you spoke Spanish." I'd shrug my shoulders like I had no clue why they'd assume such a thing and continue on my way. This still didn't make me feel better about myself, but at least I didn't get their pity.

I felt like I’d been a walking insult to my ethnicity for my entire life. I was the one who should be able to speak Spanish fluently, but my best friend could always rattle it off faster than I could...and she's white! I kept my mouth shut and never advanced because I never even tried. I was just too scared of the assumptions and the judgement that always followed. I didn't want to have to explain myself anymore because I felt terrible for “loosing” my Colombian background. 

Now that I’m here in Colombia, things have started to change. The first few weeks, I was so used to feeling bad about not really knowing what being Colombian meant that I tried to hide the fact that I was born here. I didn’t want people to think I had shunned my Colombian heritage because I wasn’t fluent and couldn’t dance to salsa. But that feeling has started to disappear.

I’m proud to say I was born in Colombia now. I’m still not fluent and I'm still learning new salsa moves, but I can hold my own in Spanish and on the dance floor. People still try to guess where I’m from, and most of them know I’m Colombian, but just don’t understand why I’m speaking differently. I have no problem letting them know now that I’m here on a mission. Not one person here has made me feel bad about that. Everyone wishes me well, and even tries to offer advice or help in some way- be it teaching me the dances, finding a lawyer to help search for my birth mom, taking me to their barrios to experience life outside the tourist cities, filling me in on Colombia’s history, or just letting me know that Colombian women are some of the prettiest in the world- like I didn’t already know. ;)  I must say, that does leave a good feeling inside.