Own picture
It was 2015 and in those days I happened to be on vacation. My mom comes from another state in western Venezuela, which is why I grew up between two lands that brought me a lot. The truth is that, at that time, my 105-year-old great-grandmother died and we had to travel from where we lived near the Venezuelan Andes, to the land where my mother was born, a small town called Suruy which is hidden in a mountain range.
With only one street and houses far away from each other, Suruy was a must for my mother's family vacations. This was because they had all grown up there and then spread all over the country. There, the television signal is weak and telephones do not receive coverage, so going to Suruy meant getting away from the world for at least a few days. Those days were very special, especially because my grandmother treated us very well. That was the last time I was able to share with my family, all together and alive.
I remember with special fondness, the "celebration" that it meant to be together, all as a very united family. My Uncle Joel, was kind of a curmudgeon, but as soon as we arrived at that house made of mud and wood he made us feel at home. Living there was learning to harvest corn and eat animals from the forest, something quite difficult for me to cope with. What I did like was to eat the harvest, both vegetables and grains, which were grown by my family. It was a self-sustaining household.
Part of me longed to go to the supermarket and get everything I needed, but being surrounded by mountains, silence reigned. I felt peaceful for the first time in a long time, with no cell phone, enjoying the pleasant weather, and almost no communication with anyone. I had never felt like this, especially because I am from a generation where having a phone or internet access, more than a luxury is a necessity.
The evenings were to tell each other about our lives, to toast to those who were no longer with us, but above all to talk about the future. A future that we did not know would come tragically, after that occasion, my uncles began to succumb to diseases such as diabetes, hypertension, and covid-19. But, what would mainly make that our last meeting, would be the deterioration of the economic situation in my country. That 2015 was the last time we would be together as a family again.
When the end of that meeting came, I hugged each of my family members. Whenever I say goodbye to someone I love, I like to feel their breath. We never know when it will be the last time and many of those present I would never see again. We saw my grandmother again, no longer in Suruy, but in the state capital, Coro, in 2019. Tragically, we lost her, whose name was Rosario, to covid-19 in the middle of the pandemic and we could not travel to say goodbye to her because the world had stopped.
We never went back to Suruy, but a part of my heart stayed there. The loss of a loved one is never easy to deal with, but as long as they live on in our memories they will never die. And I remember them, always. I remember all those moments, that death cannot take away from me. I remember those smiles, those days of the meeting, the hugs, the food, the smell of corn, the pea soup, the breeze, the fresh air, the silence, the empty streets, free from the horns of vehicles with people in too much of a hurry.
I remember how much pleasure it feels to disconnect from the networks, to feel free of any ties, to turn off the phones, to wake up with the sunlight and listen to those myths and legends of characters that once existed and so many other things. And today, as an adult, I long for that family. But, above all, I long for the peace and vibe of Suruy, forever and ever.
