To the South, Where the End Meets the Beginning

What grace, what rhythm, what flavor our land has — our roots, this great mother homeland America and this sweet south.

There is a subtle taste of fertility that overflows, and yes, it is overwhelming — the torrents of love and inequality that exist in these parts. Today, with the desire to share how moved I feel returning to connect physically with my roots: the faces of mestizo features, the ancestral presence of indigenous peoples, the indigenous, colonial and afro mix that intersect as I draw closer mile by mile to my various destinations in this city that is a concrete jungle, full of contrasts, nuances and colors. These faces carry millennia in their DNA.

If this is how I feel during this transatlantic crossing — fierce, fast, full of beauty and, of course, also of a harsh and shifting reality that weighs on the tired and loving faces of Buenos Aires citizens — I can only imagine what it means to live it every day.

I am here for a beautiful and tender family gathering: my beloved cousin got married, and much of my family was here. It was a remarkable event for breaking so many paradigms and molds; also because of the diaspora we find ourselves in different corners of the globe, and yet here we are, supporting and celebrating his union with love. The meeting of geographical and family ties awakens seeds of nostalgia, joy and emotional threads that, however delicate, run deep. There is a familiarity that feels both close and distant.

I have been away from Venezuela for fourteen years; my trips south have been few and deliberate, moving through political and emotional landscapes heavy with tension, though also with joy and pleasure. Every time I return, the reality of this great continent colors my soul in many shades.

In these mixed landscapes, the city dresses itself in a garden of cement. Every corner overflowing with cables, people, blocks, facades, sounds, food stalls, traffic and everything else that makes up a metropolis. And yet, enormous roots sustain it all — its colorful trees, jacarandas, ceibas, tipas, palo borrachos, araucarias — turning this city into a heterogeneous and living garden.

I have witnessed a creative richness that fills me with pride: murals, entrepreneurships, gatherings, concerts, theater shows adorned with feathers and luxury jewels, with an intelligent, meticulous and highly political and critical humor. Because when I set foot on my land, there is an inner voice that reminds me that we are entirely political beings. We cannot lose our voice, our participation — our actions are political and they have an impact.

The city has its own rhythm. Buenos Aires embraces you, nourishes you and jolts you awake with a whip of frantic and accelerated pace. The exhaustion and euphoria of the city seep in like a dense fluid that penetrates slowly but deeply. And I observe and hold on with everything I have — no matter how gently I try to move through it, the city of fury lashes you, nourishes you and ignites you.

After the wedding I decided to embark on a journey to the north of the country, where the landscapes absorbed me and sculpted into my heart and psyche Andean patterns, languages and hidden whispers. The strength of this continent lives in our blood, in the sweet gazes and warm embrace of its inhabitants — the guardians of this fertile and lush treasure.

Here I found answers I have yet to finish articulating. I shed many layers, arriving once again at the common core: that fraternal love of being wanderers, nomads, of reclaiming the habit of observing, contemplating and connecting.

Everything has life — a latent life that speaks and teaches: minerals that shine like gold, the silences of the wind narrating the aftermath of the past, the birds celebrating death and rebirth, the water running like a vein pulsing beneath the earth, blooming abundance.

Such beauty left me hypnotized. I could feel how my body resisted the departure of my soul, which only wanted to dance naked in this colorful orchestra. I don't know if words are enough to describe everything I felt in such a short time, and I sense I will never be able to say it all.

Questions arise that I cannot ignore. How do we plant other seeds in this new generation that is born already embedded in such an elaborate and incongruent configuration, in a system that seems to offer no other way out? How do we reclaim our customs, feel rootedness and connection without being swept away by the frenzy of this overwhelming life, by the constant stimulation of doing and what to do next? More and more, my loved ones and the people I meet along the way speak of how exhausted and saturated they feel, and of the deep desire to live with less urgency and more meaning.

And it is there that something stirs in me — a profound and inexplicable sensation, intermittent but persistent, around a necessary change. A reflective awakening that brings me back to words like justice, belonging, heritage, reclamation. To the need to reconnect with our true nature, with our places of origin, with the wisdom of indigenous peoples and the resonance of our ancestors. That southern DNA that cries out for justice without violence, that calls for the awakening of those of us who still sleep within this illusion.

I only know that this journey helped me release other versions of myself — ways of being, of seeing, of thinking — and made me feel more connected and more committed to change. A change that I feel is not only internal but collective.

I leave with the desire to return. I leave feeling I have already returned, because what I carry with me I know I will put to conscious and committed use — for myself and for those I share the path with. We cannot be blind to the realities that surround us, but we can, in our actions and in our presence, give the best of ourselves. Every grain of sand builds a lush desert like these Andean landscapes, where entire civilizations built kinder, more sustainable systems in harmony with the Pachamama. Something of that is still alive — let us keep building stories and relationships of greater union, of more love. We cannot let that be taken from us.

I will remain here, attentive to seeing the world in all its nuances — with more lucidity, more honesty and a critical eye. Here I leave small traces of experiences lived in the pulse of a journey to the south, where the End is the Beginning.

Thank you for reading me.