So it’s been 8 months and 10 days that I left Colombia. 8 months and 10 days I’ve been missing it. 8 months and 10 days I’ve been feeling it more than alive in me. It’s amazing how falling in love with a country can change you, like if you’ve switched identity without even noticing it.
So I made up a quick test, you know the kind of “love quizz” you can find in all women’s magazines. I just changed the potential boyfriend into a country, so here we go:
When you think about Colombia…
- Are you bouncing between euphoria, increased energy, sleeplessness, racing heart, loss of appetite? YES. Every time. Though I haven’t lost my appetite at all, I’m always craving for Colombian food and seeking continuously arroz con coco, bandeja paisa, arepas y platanos. I am probably developing some kind of eating pathology here…
- Are you obsessed with finding places that remind you of the country? (Hell) YES.
- Do you often daydream about being there? Every single second since 8 months and 10 days. YES.
Big, crazy and unconditional. LOVE. The weirdest thing when I meet people from Latin America or Spain, is the typical conversation:
Hola! De donde eres? (Hi, where are you from?). Soy francesa. (I’m French). No te creo, pareces latina. (Seriously? I don’t believe you, you look like a latina).
Mmm, interesting. Does the fact of having an Andalusian grandmother, long black hair, loving cumbia and Arepas and becoming crazy when I hear a few notes of salsa count? I could also add than spending hours on a buseta is (relatively) much more fun that being stuck in Paris on a suburbean train without knowing WTF is going on (oh yeah, the wind has changed direction, sorry guys).
So what makes me French then? My mother tongue, my love of French gastronomy? My epicurean side or the idealist one? I really am not sure anymore.
So, hello everyone, I am 31 and I’m a Colombia-addict. No cure needed thanks. I’m just trying harder each day to find my landmarks again, I must have left them somewhere in a flight between Paris and Bogotá. Remember Jason Bourne’s crisis? It is just the same, without all the muscles and different visas though. I checked the name on my passport and it’s still the same as the one on my ID, so far so good… Lately I randomly met a Colombian girl from Bogotá with the same family name, who spoke French and who has a cousin with the same name too. Pretty weird isn’t it?