Un paseo de Nostalgia
las montañitas and the eucalyptus tree
During my second week in Colombia, a day that I have always loved but that I have recently come to dread arrived: my birthday.
As a child, my mom always made sure that my birthday was a spectacular day. On my third birthday, she single-handedly planned and executed an over-the-top cookie monster-themed backyard bash, complete with homemade cookie piñata and all. At least this is how our VHS home video has forever memorialized it. When I watch that video, I feel like I’m three years-old, running through the backyard obstacle course in my fabulous pink rain boots and firmly holding a chocolate chip cookie in my chubby hand.
Nowadays, birthdays are significantly less exciting.
This past Leo season, I turned 28 years old. I’ve officially entered my late twenties. Those of you who are older than me may be rolling your eyes and scoffing right now. Don’t worry, I know I’m still young. But, try to think back to 28, or forward to 28 if you haven’t gotten there yet. It’s the first year that you have to fully own being in your “late twenties.” It’s the first birthday that has felt dangerously close to 30. It’s the first time if you’ve really felt yourself aging. But this isn’t a story about my fear of turning 30, more on that later. This is a story about my recent my birthday and a trip down memory lane.
On my 28th birthday, I decided to take a day trip North to my hometown of Chía, the main source of my childhood nostalgia.
It was my aunt’s idea. After a pre-noon celebratory aperitivo in her Chía apartment, we were off on what my aunt dubbed “ a nostalgic paseo to the main sites of my childhood.”
We started off in the town square, which has, unfortunately, gradually deteriorated through the years. When I lived there as a young kid, the town of Chía was a quaint, small Andean town, a neighboring suburb just North of Bogotá. Now, 21 years later, Chía is a small city of over 100,000 people. As you might have guessed, this growth has led to massive construction and a move away from the charming, small town aesthetic of my childhood. Today, Chía feels more like an extension of the capital, bustling with a comparable level of activity, traffic, and pollution.
After lunch at one of the town’s nicer restaurants, in which six other people were celebrating their birthdays(the restaurant staff sang six times), we went for dessert. Remember that this is Colombia, so dessert often includes or features cheese. Not stinky French cheese or pungent cheddar, just plain old white queso campesino. Queso al Especial was an institution and a crowd favorite for dessert pit stop on our way home from visits to Bogotá
As a child, this place was a huge treat. As a 28 year-old though, I saw things very differently: the place is a small storefront displaying pretty unappetizing slabs of cheese. I felt obligated to order a small portion of their most popular offering, the one that I remember eating as a child, and that was that. It was decidedly not like I remembered.
The main setting of my childhood in Chía was, of course, my childhood home. In retrospect, it was a very small, humble, 3 bedroom house in a quaint, circular housing development. Houses were built surrounding a large park and were arranged so that everyone’s backyard opened up onto the park. I didn’t understand the social dynamics of it as a child but I definitely reaped the benefits of the strong community that the design created. The neighborhood kids were tight.
There are two main spots in the park that have etched themselves into my long-term memory. The first are las montañitas (pictured below). Las montañitas are right behind my childhood home. They are 5 tiny mounds of dirt covered in grass that form a path along a row of houses. I used to run up and down and up and down and up and down las montañitas, screaming gleefully as gravity propelled me forward. It’s incredible how we, as human beings, remember joy.
It’s such a visceral memory that when I think about it, I feel like I’m 5 years-old — screaming, laughing and running up and down those hills.
On my 28th birthday, I ran up and down those hills. Spoiler alert: It didn’t fill me with that same sense of joy. First off, I am now 5 foot 7 inches or 1.68 meters tall and las montañitas are tiny. I may be the same person but I’m also bigger, older, and less compelled to scream, laugh, and run. How could I expect to feel the same sense of elation 21 years later?
The second part of the park was a huge, magnificent eucalyptus tree. The tree was just outside of our back garden — so close to our house that I felt like it belonged to us. My sister and I would climb it’s firm, wide branches and play for hours. When we were sick, my mom would collect fallen branches and leaves from around the tree and add them to boiling water. The intoxicating, minty scent would go from the kitchen and fill the entire house, clearing my sinuses and rejuvenating my tiny body.
When I thought about my childhood in Colombia, this tree was always the backdrop. It brought me calming, safe sense of joy.
On my 28th birthday, the eucalyptus tree was gone. I couldn’t even find its roots or the spot where it had been. It was almost as if it had never even existed.
The thing is, deep down, I knew the tree wasn’t going to be there.
As I ran up and down las montañitas, I knew I wasn’t going to feel the same boundless, innocent joy I still feel in my memory. I knew it wouldn’t be the same because there’s a reason that people say “you can never go home again.” But does that mean it isn’t worth trying? Does that mean it isn’t worth reacquainting yourself with places and spaces from your past, creating new memories? I don’t think so.
My parents had always planned to move back to the U.S. It was the obvious choice for greater economic opportunity and so that my sister and I could be educated in American schools. This was the best move forward for our family.
My family left Colombia in 1998. This was toward the end of “la epoca de las bombas” or the “bomb era,” when several terrorist bombing attacks against civilians had the country on high alert. Many of these bombings, including the famous January 30th attack in the middle of Bogotá, were perpetrated by the Medellin cartel and other narcotrafficking groups. Needless to say, it was a rough time.
As a child, I was very well-protected from the grim socio-political reality of our surroundings. When we left, I didn’t understand that we were leaving a complicated, dangerous place. I understood that we were leaving my big, loving Colombian family behind. I understood that we were leaving las montañitas and the eucalyptus tree. Even though I was 7 years old, I understood that moving to the U.S. would change everything.
I didn’t find exactly what I was expecting on my birthday paseo de nostalgia, but I did find validation. Validation that revisiting sites from my past is completely worth it, even if it’s bitter-sweet.
The paseo reminded me that everything that has happened since I first created those memories has made me who I am. It reminded me why I chose to come here — to challenge myself, to reconnect, and to grow.
I’ve held on to my childhood memories and to the joy they contain. I’ve let them build and mature over time, forever contributing to my sense of self.
21 years later, I’m writing this in a café in Zona T, Bogotá, D.C. As a 28 year-old grown-ass adult woman, I’m getting to know the city and who I am in it.
I’m here in search of new joys. I’m ready to experience the 28-year-old equivalent of running up and down las montañitas.
