“Where are you from?” has become the question I dread. One
of the beautiful things about traveling is that everyone is from somewhere, and
most people are going back to that somewhere. But there are those who are just
on the road. Roaming from one place to another until it seems like home. I
don’t think I’ve ever truly traveled like this – I’ve always lived in the
places I’ve been. And the question isn’t asked as to say, where are you from,
where are you born. It is asked as, where are you coming from. Where are you
going back to. Those places are not the same for me, and I’m not sure if they
will ever be the same again. So where am I from?
I’m from Oakland, California. The place I was born, the
place I was raised, though there is now a disconnect. When I went home for
Christmas this past year, I discovered how different I am than the girl who
left over two years ago. I will always love the bay area and I will always have
that connection to it. My family is all there – in fact I am one of two members
who are not there, and it is a fact I am never let to forget. I am from
Oakland, California, but I am wandering until I can go home.
I’ve been living in Panama. More than that, I am Santena. I identify with Los Santos,
with my small town in the middle of nowhere, thirty minutes down on a dirt road
that is not cared for. I am a part of that town, in a way I will never lose. I
am a member of their community, of their family. I have my Panamanian parents,
my aunts and uncles, my nieces and nephews, my brothers and sisters. They send
me love, they send me hugs and they send me guidance, from far away. Outside of
my blood family, I have never felt this way about a group of people, and I
know, the minute they disappear from my life, I will have lost something special.
But I am not Panamanian, I am reminded. I am only a transfer into the life.
I’m on the road, now. I am one of the mad people, of Jack
Kerouac, of Dean Moriarty, of Neal Cassidy. I have no true home, except for the
people I interact with. Except for my families, except for those who open their
hearts to me.
The people I’ve met on the road have changed me further. I
hope they can say the same about me. I am coming closer to the person who can
connect these factions of my life, Panamanian and Californian, but I am not
there yet. They are still separate entities and I am afraid of returning and
losing a part of myself. In the Peace Corps, I had an identity, a persona
outside of who I am, and the last time I was home, it hit me in the heart that
when I lose Peace Corps, when I lose Panama as a core of my identity, I run the
risk of becoming a person who works because she has to, who has no passion for
what she does and loses herself because she does not know who she is. The last
time I was home, I saw my friends in the same places they were when I left, but
I also saw the huge connections and changes that they made within themselves,
without me. I was left out of their changes the same way they were left out of
mine.
I have become closer to the people that I’ve met in the past
3 months than most of the people I left behind. The friends I refer to when I
think about them – only a small number are remnants from my life before Panama.
And only two of them are still in California. The friends I refer to are the
ones from Panama, both Volunteer and Panamanian; the ones from Belize, my
roommates and co-workers and students; the ones from the road. The ones who
understand why I stumble when I answer the simple question: “Where are you
from?”
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