Lately Iâve been thinking a lot about how we experience distance today. When you emigrate and move so many times, you get used to goodbyes. Or at least, you like to think you do. Between flights, new countries, and friends you leave behind, you learn to carry absence as if it were just another piece of luggage.
And with all this constant connection, that absence can start to feel like closeness. You see their stories, hear their voice notes, get an occasional message⌠and your mind convinces you that the person is still there, available, even if you havenât seen them in years. Itâs strange. Distance doesnât feel like distance anymore.
And thatâs why goodbyes sometimes feel so unreal.
This weekend I went back to Paris to say a final goodbye to a very important friend from my life there. Since the moment I got the news of him passing, itâs been incredibly hard, but I also felt âsuspendedâ somehow, not fully believing it. And it wasnât until I came back, walking around the same streets, that it finally sank in. Heâs actually gone.
I think that, as immigrants living far from home, with lives, friends and family spread across countries, we rely a lot on these âdigital presencesâ to soften absence, often taking it for granted. But we mustnât forget that people arenât eternal and they wonât always be just a message away. Letâs not allow this habit of constant connection to make us forget it. đ¤
Tenerife nos recordĂł lo que Venezuela ya nos habĂa enseĂąado, que irse de casa no solo es despedida, tambiĂŠn es encuentro. En cada esquina alguien tenĂa un pedazo de Venezuela en su historia, y todos coincidĂan en lo mismo: que los venezolanos aquĂ se sienten bienvenidos. Eso es lo mĂĄs bonito que nos llevamos, ademĂĄs del salitre en el pelo, el calor en el corazĂłn y nuevos lugares en el mapa. Otro viaje increĂble a tu lado @soy.yowyow âĽď¸
