It was five in the morning, her husband and daughter were still asleep and Laura thought about waking them up. She knew they could make her feel better but decided against such a selfish impulse. This was her problem to deal with.
Laura went to sit on her favorite spot next to the window. There, she stared at them, the majestic mountains that looked over the city. Los Andes. It was so beautiful! Yet, she felt lost, lonely.
Ten years have passed since the first time she had seen them, ten years as heavy as an entire life and all she was able to feel was some painful sensation oppressing her chest. It was as if a shadow devoured the light in her heart.
She looked at them again, making an effort, really making an effort to focus on the beauty of the magnificent view. Nothing. Those huge white peaks just made her feel small, vulnerable, never at home.
Someone told her once she felt that way because she was a child of the sea. The blue-green immensity had been there for her while growing up, framing her memories in particular sounds and smells.
Laura shook her head. If that was true why had she felt the same crushing sensation two days ago while contemplating the sea from her childhood room’s window? The truth was that the place where she had grown up no longer existed. It had felt foreign from the moment she walked out of the airport. And the city where she was living in now wasn’t home either. Was this the cliché endless-longing-of-the-migrant sentiment some psychologist had mentioned on a talk-show?
“Mommy, you are here!”
The small girl’s voice and hug surprised Laura, those little arms around her waist made her feel loved, cherished. But the ache was still there.
She hugged her back. “I missed you so much, Celia.”
The girl sat on her lap, outlining the mountains on the glass with her tiny finger.
“Do you like the mountains?”
“Mhm, I want to climb them.”
Laura blinked surprised, that was unexpected.
“What about the sea? Do you remember it?”
“Yes, I miss the waves, I want to sail them.”
Suddenly, she understood, she could see herself in Celia. She remembered running along the shoreline of the Caribbean Sea, a child full of anxiety, wanting to grow up as fast as possible to go and explore beyond that endless flat horizon.
It was all clear now. She had packed her things and said goodbye because there was a curious spirit inside her, pushing to go to those places that were outside the reach of her eyes. The anguish was just her nomad soul claiming that there was still so much to see, so much to touch, to hear, to smell, to taste