DIEGO VALLE

Driving down Liberación Boulevard there is this thing if you’re heading east. First, you must go in the middle lane, when you pass by the zoo, then after the Reloj de Flores you must start finding a way to your left, otherwise you’ll be left in the wrong way. If you’re looking for good home-made sushi, you can go to that Taiwanese place behind Pradera, but if you’re looking for a fancy impressive Californian/Japanese dinner, Sushi-Itto is way better.

These are two facts of the many, many more through twenty-two years I’ve learned by living here. I’m not patriotic or anything close to that, I just love this city. The way the sun sets by the western mountains and how when you’re coming back from the south there is a moment when you see a kind of skyline drawn above Roosevelt Street. How a red light does not necessarily means “stop” and the distance that in other countries will mean only crossing the city, here will take you to a completely different town with a completely different look.

Hell, even if you’re getting robbed, you know exactly how it will happen.

So, there’s a vague idea that’s been around ever since I can recall having a slot of memory that somewhere else life gets better and things are safer and… yeah, many more things of the sort. But I wonder: How would these guys adapt when they get there? Besides the language barrier, which I guess some of us would have already surpassed, there are way too many things to take in consideration.

For example, let’s pretend you move to Japan. And after several months you’ve finally adapted to the fast lifestyle of Tokyo, gotten a few tattoos and know the true story about Hello Kitty, not to mention the gazillion rising sun souvenirs you’ve mailed back home to your friends. But, you mailed those souvenirs back “home”. Can you call your Tokyo loft “home” or do you still need that typical two-story three-bedroom condominium house we usually call “home” around here? Did you get used to the sci-fi customer service of top-notch high-tech fast food? Or do you still need those home-made eggs, beans and bread for breakfast?

I’m sure a few would say: “I don’t even eat that”, or “I don’t live in a condominium house”. Well, find your own definitions of what you call “home” and analyze if there is a chance you could find those little details somewhere else. I’m pretty sure it would be hard, if not impossible.

These are the reasons I call this my town, where I raise my pride, where I’ve made my friends and where I’ll live my life. Not because of whatever patriotic statements they may try to brainwash you with every now and then. I couldn’t care less about a blue and white flag or a quetzal; but this is “home” for me. I cannot think of a fulfilled life made anywhere else. Yeah, the paycheck may be fatter and the glory might be brighter somewhere else; but I “only do this for the scars and stories, not the fame”.