A Book Shelf

It is silly that one simple thing like a shelf can bring so many memories.

I say and mildly brag that I have lived in several countries. Although this is technically true, it never felt that way. I don’t remember Canada or Miami so my life as I know it really only begins in Bogotá and the 777 apartment building. I don’t remember where I lived while the 777 was being built but I remember going with mom to see the construction. I always wanted to wear the white construction hat cause it was the one the architects and the engineers wear. I remember the day we moved in. My sister (she must have been around 2 years old at the time) had a fever and my mom was pregnant with my brother so mom was about to go nuts so I went out with a friend of the family Mario Ochoa, (big mistake of my parents cause I ended up bringing home a rabbit).

I was 4. We lived there for 8 years. My sister and I shared a room and we had what I always called Princesses beds. Our room at had bears that my mom had stenciled it was pastel orange. When we became “grown ups” we made my mom takes us to a home depo store so we could re-paint and get like a paper wall (but no bears cause those are for kids) we picked a pink and a (yes you guessed it) green for the wall, and a bear wall paper. We had a costume chest that we loved; we had 2 desks and 2 bookshelves. My brother’s room was baby blue for the longest time then we painted it white and my mom painted a mural of a jungle that we got helped on. I panted a toucan and the waterfall.

Where we spent most of our time was the everyday living room. At that point in time my mom still had the idea that there should be an elegant dining room and living room and an everyday one. The biggest item in the room was the bookshelf, not even the books just the shelf.

When we moved to the farm and then to Panama it stayed in deposit and it has been 8 years since I don’t see it. Recently my mom brought it back out and this flood of memories filled me up: my brother’s first step, my hatred towards my homework, the black and white computer, the vinyl disks.

My home felt like home again.

My Life at the farms.

This year I have come to realize that not everyone knows how to ride a horse and that some people are very afraid of them. This made me start thinking about when I was learning how to horse back ride.

I have never done the whole helmet, pants, going around a circle, jumping fences horseback riding. I never saw a point to it really. The reason? I had two farms with horses to which I would go every weekend. In the farm there is a much bigger space to gallop, trot, to just make the horse go into his own pace.

When I was little, farms were my life and although now I live very far away my farms they are still a big part of me. Each of them has a part of my heart because of all the family moments and the times where it was just my brother, my sister and I, or with my cousins or just me spending time. Each of my farms has a different character, story and nature.

Andalucia is located in La Dorada, Caldas. It was named by my grandpa Ramiro and my grandma Alba after their trip to that region in Spain, each parcel has the name of a place in that region; Sevilla, Torremolino, Granada, Malaga, and so on. The house is simple with high ceilings, the walls are white and the floors have ceramic tiles. There is a nice outside area with big comfy chairs which have gotten smaller as I have grown up, my grandpa’s desk which he would sit on to take care of the ranching business “move 30 bulls from Almeria to Granada”, and three hammocks when I was little these were white purple and stripes; the purple was my grandpa’s he loved it that’s where he would take his naps. Now the purple one is no longer in service and has been replaced by another stripes one. There is also an outside area which has the best part of the house that I am sure my cousins would agree to, the pool. This title is slightly deceiving, no very deceiving, it is actually a large size Jacuzzi shaped well, when the water is really high the water will reach a normal adult to above the waist. No matter the children loved it and still do. Around the house is a beautiful garden that my grandma tended. This farm has a large extension, and many animals in full capacity it can hold around 600 young bulls. My grandpa made sure every one had a horse to ride on and a job to make no matter how old you were. In the break fast table I still remember him saying, “ Weo weo weo! Las faenas de hoy son asi…” It always mage me feel so especial.

La Candelaria is a milk farm right next to Madrid, Cundinamarca. In contrast with Andalucia this farm is in high altitude and has cold weather. Its real name is “Las pesebreras de la Candelaria” but no one actually calls it that. Although it is a milk farm the biggest part of its character is the apple orchard, hands down. They grow the best apples in the world and I have been spoiled rotten by them to the point that I wont eat any other because lets face it they are just not as good. The house used to be an old stable and has two silos, one on each side. My mom remodeled the stable to be a house but it kept a lot of the characteristics, and the silos were transformed into separate houses. The one on the farther end was my family and I lived for around a year. It has 3 levels, the ground level has a bathroom and a closet and one desk, the second level is a small round room with a bunk bed that has a pull out bed where my brother slept and the fireplace, the last floor was mi parents room, it has their bed and the sofa my dad made for my mom when they were newlyweds.


I am not done and I will probably revise it but I wanted to get something on here and this one is the one I have been working on for a while.

My new hair cut.

Well this post is short but it has some pictures of my new hair cut.

Fainally a new post

I haven’t written in a while. This is because I usually like to talk/write about stuff that is funny, happy, and/or cool. Well seeing as I haven’t been feeling any of the lather well I found no reason to write and seeing as my last post was about how I was home sick writing about that again would be just an over kill to write about it again. I am now better. Not great or good but just okay. But it is now Reading Break and I am going to Port Alberni with Courteney things look better. The ferry ride and the beautiful scenery reminded me that I actually live in Canada and in beautiful British Columbia. The mountains and ocean are right out of the post card. The ferry is really really nice. Courteney’s family was very welcoming. I am sorry this is quite short but I am not very chatty and or imaginative.

PS. Thanks to all of the people that were there for me. You know who you are.

Tengo mamitis, papitis y hermanitis.

I have gotten to the point in my life where I am not sure if I can do this whole year away from home. Next week I will be starting my second semester in college and with it marking the longest time I have been away from home. I wont see my family until this summer and I am not sure if I am going to be able to make it. In the end I will but right now it doesn’t look that way. I miss my dad and my mom and my sister and my brother. I want to be part of their lives not some one they call once a week to see what is up. I don’t want to here a week after my brother broke his arm about it, I want to be there helping him and taking care of him. I want to help my sister get ready for her party, not hear about how pretty she looked. I miss being able to torture my brother and sister. And play cards with my mom. And talk about anything with my dad. I even miss them dragging me to exercise and them scolding me when I bite my nails. I want to go to the farms and ride horses and paddle. I miss the sayings, inside jokes, the traditions. Right now I am tired of trying to be strong and not breaking down. So far I have been good about it but I cant do it any more. I miss them.