The Faces and Places of Past Perú
My mind is full of these small memories of living in Perú with my family. I fell in love with the culture, I lost myself in their foreign words and unfamiliar smiles. Out of all the places I've lived, Perú felt the most like home. Moving has always been a constant in my life, but leaving Perú was the hardest move of all.
We left our night guard whom we gave meals to, we left the endless amount of traffic honking their horns that helped you to fall asleep at night. We left the light and dark skinned people that lived there, the European hikers, the skateboarders, the women who wore their hair in braids and draped themselves in the traditional Peruvian dresses. We left the taxis that were everywhere, and we left the skyscrapers that gave the most incredible views of the vast city. We left the live music in the park where you could dance with other couples, smiling and laughing, not caring that you were stepping on your partner's feet. We left singing underneath Óvalo Gutiérrez where it echoed and went through the tunnels, causing a small crowd to come and watch. We left the beautiful faces of all those children who had the most gorgeous dark hair with the biggest brown eyes that looked up at you pleading for attention. We left the stray dogs that bit at your ankles and wandered the streets. We left the dark ocean that crashed against the pointy rocks. We left the dust that covered everything and turned the city brown and beautiful.
It's been years of traveling and moving. I can lift a bag and know if it exceeds 50lbs or not. I'm an adult now, and my family is in one place, yet I can't seem to stop moving. Maybe I persist in the hopes that I'll find something that I've been missing in previous places. Maybe I want to be understood, or maybe I want to get a feeling back that I lost a long time ago. People change and move on, and I feel like I'm constantly searching for something. I'm not good with staying in one place for very long.