When in university me and my friend Tarik were asked all the time the same old question “where are you from?”. One day Tarik came up with the answer “I’m from Extranjia”. I thought it was brilliant! It’s not a real word in Spanish, but it comes from the word ‘extranjero’ (‘stranger’). Extranjia would be then Strangeland. The idea of being a foreigner wherever one goes is how it stuck with me. It also did the job of leaving people puzzled and quiet.
I feel like that in my own country, a stranger. And I love it. The idea of a person who looks different though may blend in, a person with a different point of view in a conversation, with a different sound and accent, someone who doesn’t have the right to vote yet is so passionate about the reality of a place that travels through it, somebody who cares and appreciates what’s there cause he may not be there the next day. A she or he who will, as everyone does, pass.
Extranjia are my traces on the places where I pass. But mostly it’s the traces of those places that remain in me.
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