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From my school, houses made of tin metal, mud and cardboard could be spotted with an entire family and a scrawny pet dog barely scrapping by to survive.As the poor struggled, the higher class families also suffered due to the rebellion of the FARC guerillas against the C government.
In 1994, my little brother and best friend C was born. My best memories of A were developing a strong love for soccer, and swimming.
While attending the French school, every recess I was the only skirt running up and down the dirt soccer field, pushing the boys down and scoring goals.
Her body begins shaking uncontrollably; her legs and arms were like...
My first pitch sailed over the catcher’s head and slammed against the backstop. Just slipped, I told myself as I dug my heal into the pitcher’s mound.
The majority of my elementary school years was a blur, but I vividly remember this occurrence as it is the earliest memory I have of going decisively against the crowd. As my thoughts drifted through Geometry class, I was startled with a loud “BANG!
” My classmate slams to the ground like a sack of potatoes, after crashing her head onto her desk.
I revitalized my roots through music and food, and perfected my Spanish.
C also took me away from a fairytale view on the world, and opened my eyes to poverty and war.
Stories of bombs on buses, kidnappings, and murder dominated C news channels. Finishing my last two years in this unique country, I was amazed when I saw my first Cholita (indigenous women) carrying her aguayo, a colorful cloth bag perfectly holding her baby.
In my new school, I continued my love for sports, and discovered new passions in fashion and theatre.