The Last Trip to My First Home: A Story of Overcoming

Hello, people! As usual, I've taken so long to post from my blog, basically because I've been busy with some personal work. After my latest post detailing my visit to the Southern General Cemetery in Caracas, I had one more mission to see through regarding my past and my ancestors: I had to go to the place where I grew up to close a cycle, say the last farewell to that part of my life and leave a few offerings in specific locations.

At first I planned to go in mid-November, but I've been quite limited with money in general and cash in particular throughout this year, and due to the strange quarantine restrictions applied here, I couldn't use the subway for most of the month. But I wasn't idle, I managed to go to the Ávila and bathe in a stream there, cleansing my tools, leaving offerings there as well and returning with a full load of mountain water. Finally, this Monday I was able to carry out my task, which was perfect, considering the Full Moon and the Eclipse that day.

I took off early in the morning with my mountain water, the offerings and a sketchbook to draw while on the subway. The trip was pretty straightforward and uneventful. My family and I used to live in a slum west of the capital, a few kilometres west of the last (or rather first) station of the city's subway system. I found that the buses that used to go to the slum were discontinued, so I ended up doing the entire journey on foot, as I had to do so many times in my earliest years. Although the area isn't particularly appealing, the day was beautiful and peaceful, so I enjoyed the air and was also impressed by how easy it was to find my way through staircases and streets I hadn't trod in decades. I'll start by describing the feel of the land a bit, since many of you probably have never been to these communities or even seen their like in your own countries.

Caracas and its surroundings are filled with places like this one, packed with houses haphazardly built on the slopes of mountains and hills. The slum where I lived as a kid is called the Isaías Medina Angarita neighborhood, after one of Venezuela's first democratically (albeit indirectly) elected presidents. It remains as healthy an environment as one can get in those circumstances, but a lot of these slums have been breeding ground for gun violence, kidnapping, prostitution and drug trafficking for a long time in my country, and we had a few of those in our vicinity even in my childhood.

Aside from social decay, people living at the edges of urban development have to face other issues. Invariably, the roads are in poor shape, sometimes so narrow that they scarcely accommodate a couple of vehicles at a time; public transportation only reaches certain spots, so unless inhabitants have their own means, they have to move around on foot just as I had to do. Sewage systems are mostly in disrepair and collapsed, and inhabitants are constantly plagued by power outages, water supply problems, partial or complete lack of telecommunication services and inefficient garbage collection, although I must admit that the area was much cleaner than I expected.

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Some of the streets here, like the one you see in that picture, are tremendously steep, a challenge to car engines and brakes, and a test of endurance for anyone, young or old. In some places, they brush the sides of the hills where they've been laid down with scarcely a low wall to prevent anyone from falling off. The electrical wiring is a constant blemish even in the brightest of days, like the overgrown threads of a monstrous spiderweb, but that didn't bother me when I lived here, it was only when I left that I noticed a problem. Most citizens living here are oblivious to that.

Since I had a very specific mission, I didn't stop anywhere except to produce these images, and I didn't care to meet anyone from my past, so I walked briskly, keeping my attention ahead. When dad was alive, I came here a few times to visit him, the only one of his children to do. It changed very little since his death, but some houses and structures looked considerably worse than I remembered them, rust eating away at their grill doors, gates, windows and roofs; soot, mould and alarming cracks covering walls whose paint was peeled or had faded under years of sunlight and rainfall. In certain parts, large mounds of rubble were pushed to the sides of the streets just enough to allow driving. No wonder the buses that used to take this route stopped making the rounds. Even without the lines of cars parked close to the buildings as you can see them here, it's really difficult to get a truck or a bus through these roads.

Finally, I arrived to my dad's house, or what's left of it. Hours after he died, one of my sisters, her husband and me had to run there to empty the place because we were warned that some guys were planning to break in and rob it. We moved most of his belongings to a nearby house and although we originally thought about making some sort of a deal to sell the place, we decided to just let it go, so someone took over and made serious modifications, but you can still see the same roof (the stones are there to prevent that sheet of metal from being blown off by strong wind) and the wall, which used to be covered with overlapping metal plates when I lived there.

On the opposite side of the structure, you can see a sewer. Yes, I literally lived next to the gutter. I can't remember how many toys and balls I lost there. I guess I wouldn't lose any now, because it's completely blocked by detritus and garbage. Not even my oldest friends ever laid eyes on this place or knew about it, for the longest time in my life I was ashamed of having grown up here, but that's no longer the case. After all I've been through, all of the things I've accomplished, I feel proud and satisfied with this part of my story, and that's what I wanted to express with this post, so I left my offering in that tree you see there, gave thanks for the time I spent here and left.

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My other destination was the San José church, which my mom used to attend. She was very involved with the parish there, headed a musical group every Christmas for decades and was a catechist. I had my First Communion in there as well. I also went to the institutions where I had my elementary education. The one called "Colegio Eugenio Andrés Mendoza" was actually my second school, but since it was closer to my former home, I went there first. The other school, called "José Gervasio Artigas", represented the most troubled time in my childhood. I was there from Kindergarten to 2nd Grade. Kindergarten was fine, I liked my teacher and the activities, but the rest was pretty traumatic for me; I was mistreated by teachers, physically and psychologically bullied by classmates and witnessed a murder right in the courtyard in the middle of an event. While I was in here, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Turbulent times indeed. In some ways, I made this trip specifically because of this school, to fully let go of the bad vibe around it. As you can see, the place has seen better days.

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So, this is it! This is what I wanted to show you, my origins. Everything I know, every skill I've developed, began here. Despite the limitations, the poverty and all other hardships, I have wonderful memories of my childhood thanks to the love that holds my family together. My feet have walked those streets for the last time, but I'll certainly return here in dreams and musings, because this place is now a source of great strength and power for me, no longer a shackle holding my mind back or an encumbrance upon my heart, but something to be grateful for.

I thank you all for taking the time to read this, and I fully hope that you can extract some insights for your own journeys. No matter the duress you have to go through, where you live or how much money you have, you can always surmount the obstacles and grow, and you have the choice the make the best of every single experience in your life. Be blessed, my friends!