Boluuuda
Today I have been making a Power point presentation about Argentina. I´m feeling so nostalgic. I miss so many things and people. It was a good time. I miss the friends and the intense days at work with the street kids too. I just read the advices sheet I had written to the future voluntaries. It´s such a different reality there. I´m bad at describing "my realities". I would like to put them in words, but I feel like words put limits to thoughts and experiences. Rarely I find a word which truly can express what I want to.
I miss the everyday encounters at the streets, people calling me negri or boluda. I miss HUMITA, the delicious corn soup...The small food corners with the empanaditas...
I miss drinking mate with Paula in the park or at her place. I miss sitting at Luciérnaga tables listening to the guys telling their dirty jokes calling me bombón or bomba. I miss the important deep conversations about very serious problems.
I feel like I felt the day I left Córdoba. I don´t want to be away from here/there.
I want to stop by the small desk on the street where the señor sold newspapers, I want to go to the Cineclub and to the artesan market...
I miss the everyday encounters at the streets, people calling me negri or boluda. I miss HUMITA, the delicious corn soup...The small food corners with the empanaditas...
I miss drinking mate with Paula in the park or at her place. I miss sitting at Luciérnaga tables listening to the guys telling their dirty jokes calling me bombón or bomba. I miss the important deep conversations about very serious problems.
I feel like I felt the day I left Córdoba. I don´t want to be away from here/there.
I want to stop by the small desk on the street where the señor sold newspapers, I want to go to the Cineclub and to the artesan market...