Feelings And More Feelings

Self 3, Brookline. Nicholas Nixon, 1947

When you don’t express your feelings out loud, you seem to swallow them as if they did not belong in another place but your stomach. 

Frustration into crashing reality when arriving my so called home was what I felt. I didn’t understand it at first, but the sour gulp that was this feeling assaulted my trachea, impeding the invasion of a breath of fresh in my lungs. My heart was reluctant to accept I had come back, dissatisfied at the already perceived resistance to the fulfillment of my will. With every thought passing by, the more I convince myself needing an emergency tracheotomy. Abundant reasons answer the “why” of my behavior, maybe I was not ready to leave; but when was I going to be anyways? The place I’ve calling home for the past four months gave me an unforgettable experience: it allowed me to reencounter with the person I am and I want to become. Am I going to be able to overcome the difficult process it is forgetting Atlanta? I think I never will, and why should I? It touched my heart, and all the people I met did also. I became just another person in the crowded subway, another leaf in Piedmont Park, and another story to my foreign friends. Will it matter to Atlanta that I had gone? No… but to me, it meant everything, including who I am today. I will not let this frustration interfere with my daily life back in Venezuela, although it seems as if it were impossible. Frustration will only be the essential fuel to my success.

I will come back.