opinion

The Colombian in me
by Dominique Wiese

My mother is crazy about Colombia. However, with her being Colombian, this isn’t surprising. She always has something to say about her country, whether it is about politics, food, culture, family, memories, or even public transportation. But, you see, the thing is that she talks about her homeland a lot and it can drive you crazy.

Don’t get me wrong. I like that she loves her country, but if someone is discussing the same subject almost everyday, it tends to get a little annoying. I’m sure the rest of my family will agree. Although, maybe I’m wrong --- that’s because at home no one ever says anything mean. Instead, we politely listen to her.

But after my most recent trip to Colombia, in February of this year, I changed my attitude. I had traveled there previously, but the last time had been when Princess Diana died, so watching the news of her death on television is basically the only memory I have of that visit. Now, as a 17-year-old, I have gained a new perspective --- and a better capacity for storing memories. I remember being excited before we left Panama, except that was only because we were traveling over Carnival break, and I love to travel. But as soon as we stepped outside of the airport in Bogotá, Colombia, I surprised myself by falling deeply in love with the country.

While there, I developed an admiration for everything: the food, culture, history, tourist attractions, and for my family. I met many relatives --- mainly aunts and second and third cousins. I also saw for myself what my mother has been telling us for years: Colombians have a great sense of humor. The family barbecues and parties were extremely enjoyable, all due mainly to their jokes. I never knew my relatives could be so much fun.

What impacted me most about the whole trip, however, was the 4th of February march --- held worldwide --- against the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, otherwise known as the FARC. The FARC is a revolutionary organization that has been terrorizing the nation for the past 40 years. I saw thousands of Colombians go out in the streets wearing white t-shirts with logos that read “No más secuestros, no más mentiras, no más muertes, no más FARC.” And even some that read “Chávez, go home.” Many waved the nation’s flag or clutched pictures of loved ones currently being held hostage by the FARC. Huge posters of Ingrid Betancourt hung everywhere; and one man rode a white horse while dressed up as Simón Bolívar.

I gained a new respect for my mother’s people as I witnessed their patriotism and their determination to end the FARC regime. Even though they have suffered greatly, they are proud of their country and unafraid to stand up against terrorism. Colombia now fights for freedom and for peace, and I deeply admire that. Now I’m somewhat ashamed of how I had previously disregarded my mother’s culture; but this trip opened my eyes and has allowed me to embrace my Colombian heritage. Today, whenever my mother speaks of her country I don’t secretly roll my eyes, or listen quietly just to be polite. Instead, I listen with enthusiasm because I have gained a new interest in what she has to say. I love Colombia and I’m eager to go back. And just as I’m proud to be an American, I can sincerely say the same about being half-Colombian.

Dominique Wiese is a senior at Balboa Academy