Trust Fall: A Blind Date with Faith

It had been 8 years. 8 long years. In truth, it shouldn't have taken me this long to return, but I guess I went back at the right time, when my heart was ready. There's something about age that inspires you to embrace things in a different way.

Travel teaches you a lot about yourself. This trip was no exception. The combination of a mini solo trip and a family vacation revealed a lot about who I am at this point in my life. I welcomed the beauty of my naivety and leaned into the purity of my trust. Although I ran into some strange situations, overall, staying true to my spirit and leading with my love and innocence showed me that humanity is good. Choosing to trust and believe in people allowed me to have some of the best days of my life.

On June 2021, I wrote:

"The slum is run by barefoot children. Naked legs and ashy arms cover sky and earth as they kick balls made out of rubber bands on dirt and jagged rock. They run and smile on blistered feet. Laughing with uninhibited joy even though there's no water to quench their thirst at the end of the game. There are no locks here, every door easily opened by untying shoelaces that act as keys. Mothers wait by the water truck holding yellowed plastic bottles talking to each other while babies run around them playing what looks like tag. It's in the 'poorest' places where you see joy in its most genuine form. Yesterday, was one of the best days of my life. It was those who had so little that showed me the grace of God."

The most beautiful experiences in life are never planned. Things seem to find you when you most need them. After an unsettling first night on my solo Colombian adventure, I was praying for my mom to arrive to the city as soon as possible. My loved one's worries, my overactive imagination, and unsavory conversations upon my arrival left me feeling vulnerable. Something they don't tell you about solo travel or solo living is that space feels so much bigger and quieter at night. The walls expand as the lights dim and you end up feeling smaller, more exposed. I felt like I was in a ghost town, not a sleeping city. I was scared. I felt unsafe, but I remembered that I had a choice. Moments like these are a test of faith. I chose to enjoy sleep and be grateful. As I peacefully surrendered the obsession with staying alive and controlling what happens to me, I felt myself again. I woke up the next morning safe and well-rested to a bustling city full of life, smiles, and sound. Things are all a matter of perspective and choosing to see the reality of all moments.

I'm not a morning person, but every time I travel, I'm miraculously up and running by 6 or 7 AM. I guess I'm more thoughtful of time and don't take it for granted. As I walked through the old city, I ran into a group of boisterous children saying "ELLO", "YO YO YO". I saw that they were all wearing a uniform of sorts and I asked the leader who they were and what they were doing. Jorge very kindly told me about "Creo en Ti." He told me about the program's mission and I was touched by their story. I asked if there was any way to donate or help. He surprised me by saying that more than money, they were short on volunteers that day and needed extra help. He asked if I could join them for the afternoon and spend some time with the kids as a sort of mentor. I agreed without hesitation.

Spending time with the kids was a generous gift that I didn't even know I needed. We were both experiencing the city for the first time together. Even though they were from there, they never got to step down and visit the more affluent neighborhoods. They only saw it from the top of the hill, which they call home. The kids danced, made noise, laughed out loud, played with no reserve. They felt no reason to hide. Through them I saw an innocent pride displayed. They didn't gawk at luxury. Instead they expressed how they'd become famous futbol players or musicians and own a house like that someday. They dreamed big. They did not understand and did not see the unfair limitations that society has placed in front of them. Those sad truths will be revealed to them one day and their dreams may quiet down as their hope dulls. That is why it is so important to allow kids to dream and hope.

I won't glamorize poverty or lie about the fear I started to feel as time made the slum feel more foreign. I felt that my life was in the hands of a stranger. Paranoia and anxiety began to brim in my mind. I was all the way at the top of this alien place where I was the only stranger. No one knew where I was, I didn't have any family around, and there were no taxis or buses there because it was the city of forgotten people, a city ignored by the government. People knew I wasn't from there. I talked, walked, and dressed differently. You can speak a language, be born into a family, but you cannot wear or adopt culture. As fear continued to well up inside me, I realized that the only thing I could do was trust my initial choice and let the organization protect me. I thought that no matter the circumstances, I did not regret spending my afternoon with these beautiful children and coming to their home. Nothing would change the fact that this was one of the best days of my life.

Even though our time together was short-lived, I feel honored to have been able to create and capture memories with the children from Popa. I left a piece of my love up on that hill where I hope they're still running and laughing with joy. All the people of Creo en Ti gave more to me than I can ever offer. They invited a stranger into their home and protected me from the dangers and brutal realities of the slum so that I could leave with a memory that is beautiful. I didn't feel like I gave much, but Jorge told me while we waited for the Lyft that what I gave the children and him was hope and trust. I believed in them, enjoyed the day with them, trusted them, and chose to see their humanity, even though we were from different worlds.

As I was leaving the world of Popa behind, the Lyft driver reprimanded me for being a "good girl" going to a dangerous place. I listened and thanked him, but did not feel the need to justify my unique experience. The residents of Cartagena see Popa as a place of crime, a place of forgotten hope, alienation, and darkness. However, I was able to see the beauty and light of Popa because I chose to walk past the door of opinion. Poverty and wealth are separated by a thin line. At some point in the 10 minutes of my Lyft drive, I was back in the comfort of wealth. The transition was jarring, unsettling. But just like that, I continued my day.

As I ate lunch at a restaurant, I looked around and realized most people won't take the time to get to know the fullness of a city. There are so many stories they don't care to hear. Instead they'll drink their afternoon martinis to manifest their spiritual numbness into physical form. It feels lonelier here. People seem to have it all together, but their smiles feel false. I wondered what the children would eat and how they'd spend their evening as their parents continued to try and sell handcrafted goods on these touristy streets.

There is so much more I can say, so many more stories to share and tell. But overall, my time in Colombia reminded me that we're all just a people full of dreams, hopes, loss, and love. We are not so different. It seems that we are all plagued with wanting more. My strife is another person's wealth and my wealth is another person's leftover change. What I take for granted, someone else is praying for and what I pray for, someone else is taking for granted.

I have a long way to go, but I remembered that what drives me is helping people, connecting with them, and listening to their stories and dreams.