Unless you are an expat yourself, it is hard to explain to anybody else what is THAT like. Time does move forward, but some memories forever remain.
So, yeah, I was born in the city of San Francisco de Quito in the Republic of Ecuador.
Happy 486th Birthday to the beautiful city where I first saw the light and I have not been able to visit in more than 12 years. Who knows when I will get a chance to go back to visit the city who welcomed me to the world. Have you ever experienced something similar? It is such a weird realization, right? Life tends to move fast and I don’t get a chance to reflect upon this fact very often but, once in a while, when things calm down I contemplate and ponder on those memories from my origins.
© Marcelo Baqueroalvarez / HLC | Playing my piano for my mother in the house I grew up in Quito, Ecuador, April 12, 2007.
Thoughts from this expat.
How many of us, today, live far away from the place where we were born? I actually know a lot of people who built their life away from their homeland. I immigrated to the great USA in the mid-90’s and, subsequently, I had the privilege to become an American citizen. Since then, I’ve been able to visit so many places around the world but today my home is wherever my wife and daughter are. Home became a subjective term rather than a physical place. No matter how far away the hassles of life take me, my home is with them.
Don’t get me wrong. There is always that nostalgic emotion that’s associated with the city you were born and raised. In the relatively short time I lived in Quito, I was able to create life-long friendships. Interestingly enough, many of them at some point or another, became expats themselves. Every now and then, I find myself singing “traditional songs” from the city and remembering the many adventures of years past.
When I was growing up, December 6th- and even the week leading up to it- was a big deal and full of fun times. I took part in parties on the streets and hung out with my friends at the time. Many of whom I’ve never seen again, but would recognize each other if we ever crossed each other on the street. But yet, the memories remain and became a part of who I am, today. I miss the people, the moments we shared, and yet I cannot even recall some of their names. Does this happen to every expat? We all have friends who turn into acquaintances and, before we realize it, we’ve become estranged.
Memories…
In that almost faded image, where I’m playing piano, there are so many memories associated to it. The lady in the picture was my mother who passed away in 2015. Her final day was in our home in Quito, in the room just above where she was sitting that day. I was playing a piano song I had composed for my grandmother who passed away in 2004 in the very same bedroom that my mother subsequently passed away in. I was not able to be present on either of their final hours. When I look at the picture of me playing, there is a story behind every piece and object and a memory associated to them all. Obviously, many of these memories cause the smile on my face to fade and make me realize that time won’t stop for anyone.
Incidentally, both, my mother and grandmother gave me that piano for my 17th birthday which I referred to as “my son” and named the instrument “Gregorio” or nicknamed, “Goyo.” Maybe, one day, I will be able to ship it to my house in the USA and enjoy it as a link to the memories I left in Ecuador. There is quite a story to that piano but that’s an entirely different rant. I have always been big on symbolism and I appreciate the meaning behind things. I don’t care about the material object, per se, but the memories behind those are things that I will treasure forever.
Happy Birthday, San Francisco de Quito. I only lived within your confines for a relatively short part of my life, but those memories will never fade away. My grandmother, my mother, and great aunt who made Quito my first home took their final breath in the same city, and all three of them now live in my memories. As I bring this to a close, how many other stories like mine have you witnessed in your almost half millennia of existence, San Francisco de Quito? Maybe one day we’ll make new memories together and I’ll add a new memory to my collection of stories. If I ever return, I will bring along my wife and daughter and show you my home. HLC