Are We There Yet? ¿Cuanto falta? - A Ramble

I was the child who tortured my parents with this very question. Are we there yet? I was so impatient—an impatience that has followed me into adulthood. I find myself asking it over and over and over again. And again. Firstly, am I there yet?

            I have written about it now that I am moving to Latin America. I feel at home in so many places on this earth—different pieces of myself live in different places. There’s the hijabi Baylie who learned about connection in Marrakech. The scared Baylie who found comfort on the seaside cliffs and endless city steps and corners and stones in Lima. There’s the tired Baylie who found home on the floor of a hostel bathroom in Paris—a funny yet authentic moment where she found what she needed. Home in Atocha. A small café where I accidently stole churros. Becoming friends with the man who chased me down the street to make me pay. So many cigarettes smoked. Cafés con leche. Home. I want to see Asia someday. Eat curry in India—see the Great Wall of China—find out what it is my sisters love so much about Seoul. There is so much left to explore—so many homes to find. But what about the home? My true home? I think there is some of it that will forever stay in Dallas. After all, home is where you’re born. I have claimed Deep Ellum as my own. My friends, my neighbors, my music, my 2AM kiss at Shot Topic. But I have claimed home elsewhere too—less defined. Will it be Argentina? Uruguay? Is it back where it all began—Guatemala? Home is where they speak Spanish. If I fail my test, I still have the connection. I still have the love. I still speak Spanish. A test proctor can’t take away that joy, that home, in the same way my family can’t take away my love for LATAM or convince me to stay. You have to tune out the voices that aren’t helpful. You have to tune in to your calling.

            But the second question. Are we there yet? We. Los Estados Unidos. Texas. This great big, wide-skied and wonderful country that I currently live in. Have we made it? Is the hatred and division here to stay—is this the destination? Are we always going to call the genocide in Gaza a war? Are we always going to turn down building permits for mosques in suburban north Dallas? Are we always going to fund the police without providing training for dealing with those going through mental health crises, or without checks in place to curb racism and homophobia in an institution so essential for public safety? Are we still going to allow automatic weapons without proper checks? When will we have healthcare for all, regardless of ability to pay? When I go elsewhere in the world, I don’t see as much of these things. Maybe I’m only seeing what I choose to see. Maybe I am an incurable pessimist when it comes to my own country. But surely not—surely we haven’t made it yet.

            I got to talk to my cousin Joseph the other day at a family event. He used to be conservative, but even as a conservative I got along with him really well. He is a welcoming person—full of life and brimming with words to say, along with his wife, my cousin by blood, Stephanie. Their house has always been a safe spot for me—one more home. Even as we voted for different people and battled it out in a certain room of our grandmother’s house—the “fireman room”—we always found something to agree on and laugh about. Joseph now recognizes the genocide in Gaza. He sees the harm that the Trump administration is doing. We were able to talk about it extensively the other day. It is having conversations like these that are so important. We have to step out into the real world—someone’s living room—a coffee shop, and have conversations. We might just find that the division isn’t as deep—we all have fears and concerns about our country. If I had not talked to Joseph and Stephanie about politics before, when we disagreed, the door would not be open to talk about politics now, as we agree. The media— social media and the government, want us to stay silent. They want us to stay divided. But all it takes is a conversation— opening up, to diffuse. Would the world look different if we all did that?

            I asked my dear friend Rebekah, as I have written about before, if she believes in a destination. My search for home, my existentialism, my añoranza, seems never’ending. Like I am a vampire already—even before the bite. My questions about the state of my country—endless. But she said yes, there is a destination—there is love there. In that moment I chose to believe. I may not believe in much—no God, no heaven, no hell—but I do believe in love, and I believe in Rebekah´s words. And now, as I navigate through what could be my destiny (if I believe in that sort of thing—I might), I believe in myself, perhaps for the first time in my life. I am sure of myself. I don’t care as much about what others think of me. I care only that I have words to write and a place to call home. In that sense, I have made it. I finally am learning to show compassion to myself for the things I am ashamed of that I really shouldn’t be. I am finally believing that it is possible. I am walking steps my grandparents, great-grandparents, and those before could have never imagined or understood. I am lonely, but you have to be lonely in order to open yourself up to connection, something travel teaches me.

            ¿Cuanto falta? Funnily enough, I learned that phrase from Ben Affleck in The Accountant 2. I learn Spanish in the most unexpected places—it´s why I firmly believe in breaking up with flashcards—a story for another time. I think, my optimism says, that there is more left. To not give up hope. To keep on. It is less about what may or may not be true in this situation, but rather, more important what we believe. Our hope or our defeat will determine the course of our lives. If we choose to accept that it is what it is, then that will become our reality. I´m spinning the top, turning away before it topples or not—I don´t care if my hope is just a dream. Maybe, if I embrace the love that is coming, if I continue on with my work, it will become a reality. Mi sueño estaré aqui. Mi sueño vendré pronto.