A Stranger in my City

Alejandra Baccino

 

Julia woke up abruptly after the first wheels touched the runway. She realized it wasn’t a dream after the two or three bumps that followed. The pilot worked to slow the plane.

She looked out the window and exhaled a deep breath at the gray and rainy day, as it if were an omen of the times ahead.

Although desperate to stretch her legs, she refused to be one of those passengers who stand up before the seatbelt sign is off. This was much to the despair of the man seated in the window seat, who kept looking at her and fidgeting uncomfortably. “It’s not like you can jump ahead of all the people anyway,” she thought to herself, but refrained from making any comment. Julia knew she wasn’t in the best emotional state. Two layovers and a 13-hour flight for the last leg of her trip definitely did not help her mood. She was tired, scared, nervous, anxious, hungry, cold – but trapped by the stickiness and heat exuded by the other ~200 bodies on the plane. And on top of all that, she really had to pee. Her main priority was to reach the nearest bathroom with some dignity left. Then, she’d worry about the rest.

“Finally, they are moving,” Julia thought with relief. She was in the middle of the plane, so she’d still have to wait her turn, but there was something demoralizing about being in a line that’s not moving. The feeling of being stuck was terrible. When her turn arrived, she grabbed her things and moved to the aisle, more slowly than she should normally have done. She wanted to annoy the man in seat A. Why? She didn’t know. Perhaps he also urgently needed to use the restroom. Anyway, it felt like a small victory. Or maybe it was just the feeling of power, the only bit she had left – as she sensed that any power she had ever had over her life was gone. Pricked by a tinge of guilt, though, she let the guy go first; after all, she knew he would be following her otherwise.

Luckily, she found a restroom and, after relieving herself and quickly freshening up, she felt much better, almost like a human.

She hadn’t wanted anyone waiting at the airport. In fact, she hadn’t even told most people she would be there. She still had many things to figure out, many decisions to make and, most of all, many facts to come to terms with; facts that had forced her to start over once again.

There was some background music playing softly in the ceiling; the tunes of the tango Volver. She hadn’t liked tango much when she was a girl, but, with the years, she had learned to appreciate the power of its lyrics and the sweetness of its melody. It also reminded her of her grandmother who would softly sing to her and lived during the halcyon days of tango in the 20s and 30s. She would imagine her dancing with her grandfather at the city square. She wished she had asked more about her life, her experiences. “Am I getting older or dumber?” Julia thought to herself. “Who cares about Tango and the birthplace of its most famous singer?!” she continued to herself. “Uruguay, we all know that,” a calm and firm voice replied in her mind. “Yes, we do,” she replied back, settling the matter and finding some peace that at least some things remained the same. That gave her certain comfort. This song in particular touched a nerve that had been slowly swelling and was now ready to burst. “To return, with a wrinkled forehead, the temples turned silver by the time’s falling snow…” She felt all that and much more. She had gone to live a life, to fulfill a dream and grow… leaving her people behind. She had chased new memories that would never be created, just to challenge herself to overcome all difficulties without a safety net, and succeed. Succeed… such an overestimated and evasive word.

“OK, stop now.” Luckily, the song was over and something cheerier started playing in the background. Eventually, she went through immigrations and was now waiting for her luggage, a few pieces. You don’t carry years of life in just one piece of luggage, and that’s not even including the unseen baggage. No, but that’s a different story. Now, Julia was hoping that her three suitcases had safely landed. She’d figure out how to have the remaining boxes sent at a later time.

She was on the verge of tears. The tiredness and hunger compounded the anxiety. She was perspiring as if she had been cooking next to a fire for the last 10 hours. But no, “I’ll have time to process that later today, when I’m alone. People won’t understand.”

She took a deep breath, picked up the last suitcase (at least they arrived safely!) and headed to the exit. She kind of wished she had told more people she was coming back home. Everyone seemed so happy and eager to reunite with their families after being apart for who knows how long: maybe years, maybe days.

As she pretended like she just didn’t care, she couldn’t help but timidly look around, trying to catch a familiar face. She didn’t want to appear eager, though, and have people feel sorry for her afterwards. So she just feigned being someone else – a tourist, an expat, just doing what they do, arriving and trying to understand what’s what in a foreign land.

All of a sudden, she saw him. A smile that could light up a city. Teary eyes, slow movements and the evidence of many a snowy night – again that song – in her head. She should have known they’d be here. Julia hurried up and gave him the tightest hug she’d given anyone in recent years while repeating “Don’t cry, don’t cry” to herself.

“Jules! You made it!” he said excitedly. A few steps behind was mom, waiting to hug Julia as well. She wasn’t as effusive. She never had been. And Julia had learned to accept that. After all, she was like that too. She also sensed her mom was wary in her words. She could see through her and her disappointment about being back, which seemed to say, “I want to be happy that I’m with the people I love, but I’m not.”

How can you even explain that? Sometimes, things were better left unsaid.

The ride back home was pleasant. It was a warm autumn day, and the sun was timidly peeping from behind the clouds, which seem less dense now. Nothing is that terrible when the sun is out, Julia thought. Unfortunately, days like this are always followed by nights, and warm days are followed by long, gray ones, she continued pessimistically. She liked seeing the city; she hadn’t been there in quite some time and despite looking familiar, she sensed a new vibe. Going through the streets surrounded by platanus trees, seeing the usual small groups of people at the lights, offering to wash the windshields, gave her a quick flashback to her teenage years and she suddenly felt gloomy all over… There had been many reasons why she’d left, this being one of them. She’d have to go back to her old self, looking mean and distrustful. She did not like that. She did not like it one bit.

The conversation during the ride was superficial but nice. It’s not like they hadn’t talked in a long time. Current communications made it so easy that those long stories and anecdotes after being away for a while were no longer a thing, since you could share them with the people you wanted at the exact time you were experiencing them yourself. So they discussed the changes in the city, the weather, the legs of the trip and her mom’s favorite, the plane food. It had been quite bad, truth be told, but as long as it was edible, Jules was content.

After about 30 minutes they arrived at her parents’ new apartment. She’d seen it before, but she’d never lived there, so it didn’t feel quite like home. She would have the spare room for now… for who knows how long though. Hopefully, not too long.

“Now, presents!” Jules exclaimed, opening her suitcase in the middle of the living room, before her dad had even closed the door.

Jules dove into her suitcase and searched in between shoes, books, make-up and loose socks and dug out a bottle of wine for her dad, some sweets for her mom and a few other souvenirs. The presents were modest, given Julia’s unemployment, but nobody made any comment.

She couldn’t sleep very well that night. Her mind carried her from one weird dream to another. When dawn was breaking, she jumped out of bed. It was a warm morning, so she had a quick breakfast, prepared her typical mate drink, and headed towards the beach. Man, had she missed the rambla! Montevideo has a long and beautiful promenade along the coast that runs through the city, from one neighborhood to another, traversing the port and gorgeous beaches surrounded by parks and buildings. Despite not being a tropical country, there are palm trees lining the bay. Even at this hour, there were people running, doing yoga, or meditating on the rocks by the sea. She took a deep breath and said aloud, “This is not so bad.”

About an hour later, the sun was almost up, and the humidity was making it too uncomfortable. She was familiar with high temperatures, but had completely forgotten humidity. When she found a nice spot under a tree, she decided to chill there for a while: watch people go by and maybe even read her novel.

“Oye, no!” – Jules’ suddenly opened her eyes and intuitively reached for her purse, as she felt someone tugging on it. She pulled harder and a few seconds later, two big guys approached her and, after throwing a few punches that did not hit the intended target, they were able to chase away the empty-handed thief.

Jules was speechless. “Yup, I’m definitely back home” she thought with sorrow. It hadn’t been just the humidity she had grown unaccustomed to. A few seconds later she realized the two big guys who’d helped her were asking her something. “Oye, chica, are you okay?” the taller of the guys repeated.

“Sí, sí, thank you,” Jules replied, slowly coming to her senses, “I must have dozed off for a bit. Thank you so much for your help.”

“No worries, chica,” the guy replied. “We gotta help one another,” he added with a smile any dentist would be happy to claim responsibility for. “Are you from around here? You seem a bit lost,” he asked, concerned.

Julia smiled. How could she tell him she was from here and from somewhere else? That she was trying to understand how to adjust to her own culture and feel part of it again? So she just replied, “Yes, I am, I’m just a bit disoriented, that’s all. Where are you two from? I hear a Caribbean accent?” she inquired with earnest curiosity. She’d always been fascinated by languages and accents.

“Yes! That’s right!” the shorter guy replied, as if she’d solved a mystery. “We all are!” he added proudly, pointing at a group of about 5 people in their 20s or 30s staring at them, awaiting an update on the situation.

“Care to join us? Maybe you can then tell us why you people carry a thermos under your arm every day, all day!” – he laughed loudly, and Jules joined them. Only now did she consider how something so natural for her, like the mate and thermos, a habit she hadn’t lost after years abroad, could look so strange to outsiders. “Sure!” – she caught the joke quickly. “Not only that, but I’ll also even let you in on a few secrets, like why we drink hot mate in 90° weather!” she continued, and everyone burst out laughing.

They all sat in a circle and immediately started talking on top of each other, cracking jokes and laughing. Jules asked where they were from, and how they had ended up so far away from their homes. She was well aware of current events, instability and social unrest throughout the continent, but what you read is never as insightful as what you can learn from someone who’s been through it, from their unique perspective. They had come in recent years from far away. Some were professionals awaiting their papers; some worked as Uber drivers; others did all sorts of odd jobs. They had arrived here after being sponsored as guest workers by an international network, had overstayed their visas, or had been hosted by a friend of friends of friends. They had all left communities and families behind, and were trying to adjust to a culture with many similarities, yet even more differences, by trying to make their own Pan‑American bubble where they could unjudgmentally reminisce about their own lives, try to understand these differences, laugh at their own blunders, and, most importantly, support one another. They also asked about her story. Why had she left? Why had she returned? She had an idea about the first one, but was only starting to allow herself to answer the second. She told them about her travels, her experiences and they asked her many questions. There was mutual admiration and intrigue in their words; and yet, they all understood a little bit about how they felt.

“Arepas!” Maricarmen exclaimed, “I miss them so much! Nobody can make them like my mom!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, but I know this new place, I’ll show you, their arepas are to die for!” Carlos interjected. “The first time I ate them I almost shed a tear.”

They all laughed, the feeling too familiar.

“I know!” Jules said and started chuckling. “I nearly cried yesterday after enjoying a real asado. I hadn’t tasted anything like it in 3 years!”

“Patacones!” Eduardo shouted.

“Sancocho,” Mari tossed in, giggling, as she let her curls bounce over her shoulders.

They continued talking and sharing their experiences and feelings of being foreigners in a country. As Jules listened to each of their stories, she grasped what she’d been sensing for the past few weeks without being able to put a name to it. After so many years abroad, she felt like an outsider here, only this was the country she’d been born in and where she’d lived almost her entire life. She was curious about how they felt in this city that had become their home. She found it funny that they all had a favorite spot in the city, a favorite place to eat, their most hated bus lines, and hilarious stories about their nosy neighbors. They too had faced the hardships of being alone in a foreign country, of trying to understand cultural differences and a new language or slang and adapting to another culture while preserving their own. However, the hardest had been having to find jobs in a struggling economy and starting from scratch with nearly nothing. Her experiences had not been as extreme as theirs, and she only had feelings of admiration. Hers had been an adventure, seeking academic knowledge and a deeper understanding the world; theirs had been survival.

They spent the entire afternoon together. They said goodbye, exchanged numbers, and arranged to meet up again soon. Jules was bummed to call it a day. She had completely forgotten her worries and felt like she was back with her group of friends from abroad, exchanging details about their own countries around the globe.

She started walking back home with a slightly different mindset. She was starting to feel like things might not be so bad, and she would not feel as out of place anymore. As she continued, she started seeing her city through different eyes. She tried to recollect all the things they had told her about their own first impressions, their feelings, what they liked and disliked in Montevideo. She tried, as she’d done elsewhere many times before, to see the city through virgin eyes.

She slowed down her pace and allowed herself to look up. She paid attention to the buildings, the old ones and new ones – graffiti included –, the shape of the road, the monuments. Then, she focused on the skyline, the horizon above the water, the people on the beach. She tried to imagine their conversations, their hopes and their concerns. She saw the sun go down, and people clapping, as if congratulating themselves for living another day.

Slowly, she felt a huge weight lifting from her shoulders. She was appreciating her city in a way she never had. She’d always taken it for granted, like the background in which the movie that was her life was set. Static. However, she now realized the city was the protagonist, and her life, as the ones of all others, were supporting actors, guests.

She promised herself not to forget this feeling. To continue, wherever life might take her, to appreciate the everyday details that make a city and a moment in life. As her memories of the city clashed with these new perspectives, she saw things she hadn’t seen before. She thanked these new people for having shown her that, despite the cards you are dealt, the game is won by how you play them.

By the time she got back home, she was exhausted. She hugged both her parents and told them she was happy to be there with them; they hugged her tighter, with a mix of understanding and support. That night, they had dinner together and just talked about life, about her future plans, about all the possibilities she now had, instead of only the closed doors and unfinished roads she had seen until today.

She knew her plans would change a million times over the next few months; she was both excited and scared. She spent the following week catching up with friends and being a tourist in her own country. She was now ready to embrace uncertainty and to enjoy it every step of the way.