Saturday, January 05, 2008


I just finished watching "Diarios de Motocicleta". Why I waited so long, or what I thought it would be, I don't know, but the story so beautifully portrayed, has moved me.

For about 40 minutes, I was able to see the landscape of the land where I grew up which haunts me to this day--the towering, snowcapped Andes; the lush rainforest of the south, dotted with lakes and quaint towns of familiar architecture; the desolate yet majestic desert of the north; the weary gaze of the women in the market, and the youthful curiosity of a blooming generation. And I was taken back to a time and place not quite so hectic, much less muddled, and as much a part of my soul as my genetic code.

Why can't I go back to that place, if not that time? Why not simply take off as Ernesto Guevara did, to discover a world that is broken, and my place in it? Why do the depths of my being fear facing my past and the failures of who I've not yet become and the goals I've not yet accomplished?
¿Cómo es posible sentir nostalgia por algo que nunca conocí?
(min. 1:06)

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