Journalism with wings/ Periodismo con alas

He— the only man that came to her mind while putting on her guaraches she bought long ago in a guarache shop in San Juan de Dios; while driving to and from work through those familiar streets which she now drove through almost unconsciously (as it often happens with things that become mundane); he came to her at random times and moments. But most importantly, he came to her when no one else did.

 Still, she wondered how she would ever manage to grasp ahold of the vision that they both had once dreamed up. Of living together, of traveling to foreign lands, of raising their first child. One night, while laying awake in bed she had a vision of him carrying their little boy on top of his shoulders. The little boy happily held on to his fathers head, and the father held onto the little boy’s finger-sized hands. She watched from afar. She felt content. She didn’t question. Her need to escape, to fly was gone. Calmness was abound.

But now, and in reality; she always questioned. She had so many dreams, goals, ambitions. She wanted to do so much and experience new things. And she wanted to do it on her own. She wanted to take her guaraches to other lands—lands of ancestors different from hers. Above all, she wanted to find her true mission in life. She wanted to follow through with her dreams; whatever these may be.

She wanted to do so much. And at times, she wondered whether she would need to choose between the array of wants that often came popping up inside of her heart and in her head like a TvGuide of time-slot choices. She longed for him, and knew in the very core of her heart that there was no other man she could ever envision carrying her offspring on top of his shoulders… walking towards a playground, heading towards a baseball stadium… a park, a paletero… maybe?

She didn’t want to choose. She was afraid to. Choosing would be easy to most women, but for her—it was being in limbo. In between two heavens and not knowing where to turn. Above all, in the very core of her heart also sat her spirit. Her ever-flapping butterfly winged spirit that longed for nothing else but for constant change; for a constant flight, for different moons and horizons. For independence. Voyages…. Loneliness?