“Queres gallo pinto!”
“No! Pero gracias,” I say as my stomach’s grumbling fills up the kitchen.
“¿Estás seguro joven?”
“No.”
This woman, Amparo Salmeron, is someone who I may have known. All Nicaraguan elderly women seem to have that haircut anyways. Short and combed back. I keep coming back to that thought while writing, recording and editing the lives of these people. That they are people I might have known or feel as if I know, despite how different they are to myself. They remind me of my family, my father, my grandmother and my mother.
I have been surrounded by addicts all of my life. And sometimes I can see the tendencies within myself, can see how easy it would be. So speaking to Mauricio reminded me of my father. Hearing how close to the edge he was reminds me of how my father’s faith, although different, is the only thing keeping him calm.
I told my Dad yesterday:
“I think you’ll like the story I am working on.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said.
“No, you are going to like it.”
The bitterness that Mauricio has when he talks about home and the disquiet in his heart reminds me of things within myself. I am split up in so many ways that all I have to hold onto sometimes is myself.
Journalism is to me equal parts self-inquiry as it is external exploration. I learn about myself as I do it. This project has helped me hone my skills as a writer and journalist but also has given me the opportunity to talk to someone that has taught me more about myself.
