It’s springtime in the U.S., which means it’s fall there. Something about the cool morning air always made the smells carry better, even to the fourth floor of an apartment building. The smell of diesel wafted along with the smells of the panaderias, while the squeals of the buses braking for the morning traffic served as an alarm clock. Sometimes when I walk by the restaurant near my work in the fall, I pretend for just a second that I’m there.
My parents are visiting Buenos Aires now, and for some reason it feels like my connection to “home” is a little bit stronger today.
I grew up in divided chunks of time, significant numbers of years spent in pretty different places, which leaves me not sure what to say when people ask where I’m from. None of my go-to answers feel very honest. My default now is to say that I am from Tennessee, and I am! Even if I really only lived there for 6 years of my life, it is where my parents and two of my brothers are. It’s as good of an answer as any.
Funnily, I’ve never once said I am from Mississippi, even though I spent 5 years there too.
But the one place that comes into my brain, every time that question is asked, is also one I never say. I have never once said I was from Argentina, even though the majority of some of my most formative growing up years were spent there. 7 years out of 18 is not nothing.
It’s always felt like it would be pretty fraudulent to say I was from Buenos Aires. When I was younger, I couldn’t remember the first four years of my life that I spent there. The rest of my family had real memories of our time, and I was the odd one out. The only remnant left was a few little vague memories and a bizarre ability to sound out words in Spanish without an American accent. A cool party trick, but not much else.
We moved back to Argentina when I was 15 years old. It was so strange and stressful and also familiar. I had to take intensive Spanish tutoring, just to get to a workable place. It was a blessing and a curse to sound like I should know what I was saying, but to stumble over the grammar, the vocabulary, or just being able to talk to people. Not being able to speak made me feel so…American.
But when I moved to back to the U.S. for college, I felt so…not American. I sounded right, could speak and not be questioned, but my whole brain just didn’t understand why everyone was so loud, why every food had some kind of creamy sauce made of who knows what, and why nobody walked anywhere. Even writing that makes me feel like a fraud, because of course I understood that that was just the U.S., but it just felt different. I felt split in two, and I still do.
I wish I could say that I’ve figured this out, but I haven’t. I am not Argentine, and I am most certainly fully immersed in the United States culture.
But I cried when we won the World Cup. I sobbed thinking of how happy “we” were, how long this had been coming. It was insane in those streets with celebration, and I certainly didn’t want to be in the street, but I sure wanted to hang out my apartment window and bang a pot for joy.
There is no American flag on a wall in my home, but there is an Argentine one. It’s not because I believe myself to not be American, but the Argentine flag just feels right. I don’t know what to do with the duplicity inside of me, and I guess there isn’t much to do about it, except accept it. I guess I’d like to learn to not hide it, but just let it be what it is. I think people are capable of allowing us to be people full of stories they wouldn’t expect. I actually think people might prefer that we be our whole selves.
I always thought that there would be some big reason that would reveal itself for me to have had a childhood split between two countries. I’m not sure there is one really big reason, but maybe some small ones. I am grateful to have had the chance to learn two languages, one better than the other, but still usable. I am grateful to know that there isn’t just one way to do things. I am grateful to have been loved by people in two different countries. Not everybody can say that.
I am mostly grateful to have two places to call home, because that’s truly what Argentina is and always will be for me. Home.
I have learned so much about you in one post! I love your whole self Emily. I had no idea how many different places you had to call home. I can see how that question would be hard to answer and saying TN makes it an easy way to move on to the next question. Lol. I love the part about the World Cup. I hope you banged a pot that day!