The Land
of my abeoji
A written piece of realization of the self and the inheritance that our parents and ancestors leave behind.
Through water, air, and blood.
It has always been the cold that has attracted me to the mountains,
they've made me feel awake.
It has been the cold that has called my name for a long time.
As the warm weather exasperates me and suffocates me.
I wondered why I was so attracted to the cold and the mountains.
Then as we drove into my abeojis land, I realized why my heart called the middle of nowhere.
In the rural outskirts of Boyaca, Colombia.
In these desolate lands, where villages grow in the middle of nowhere, I find myself grounded.
How amazing are the people of these lands.
The cold, the rocks, the moss, and the paramo landscape.
The land of extremes.
Where people wear the ruana, eat potatoes, gallina campesina, drink agua panela and chicha.
This land calls me like no other.
I am one with it through water, air, and blood.
I am one with it.
I am one with it.
It is one with me.
I am
water,
wind
and
blood.
When do we return to the roots?
When do we recall our ancestors?
When I run fast and scream into the cold night of Boyaca.
That is when I am reminded that I am alive.
