I’m an alien here. A little peculiar woman wearing weave to cover my antennas, lashes to hide my four eyes, and sneakers to conceal my webbed feet. I do not yet identify with my surroundings. My wide spread nose, pecan tan complexion, and slightly slurred accent are easy give aways that I must be a martian in Madrid. As I commute from place to place I can feel eyes attached to my skin like goose bumps. The natives are in fact my goosebumps. They often lead me to feel extremely self conscious and unsettled as though I was wearing a sign saying,
“Hi, I don’t belong here.”
To them, I am extra-terrestrial and I am not yet sure if they see that as a positive or negative attribute. I desire to fit in. To hold a conversation without using google translate. To go to the supermarket without getting lost. Yes, to just feel normal again. I am usually one to stand out and dance to the beat of my own drum, but unfortunately as I packed for this trip my drum set would not fit in my suit case. So now I am here. Squandering around until I find my place in this world. I call my mom every chance that I get to remind myself that I do have a place somewhere. She always gives me a piece of her sanity since I often lose all of mine. Our conversations bring me back to reality. They reassure me that my weave is just a hat to keep the sun from burning my scalp and my lashes are visors so that nothing can stop me from witnessing all of the beautiful things around me and that my sneakers are my vehicle, taking me places that I couldn’t even imagine. I’ve always heard that home is where the heart is and since my heart is always with my mom I conclude that she is my home. I will continue to be an alien here. Moving throughout my days utilizing all of the skills home has taught me. Awaiting for the perfect moment within our 6 hour time difference so that ET can phone home.