What if you’re not who everyone thinks you are?

It’s weird seeing at yourself and realizing you’re not sure if you’re who you’ve always thought yourself to be. I wrote this on a whim and thought twice before submitting it, as it’s more personal than my usual posts. Then I remembered nobody reads this anyway, so it makes no difference.

It’s been a hectic month. My last month in Mexico after 16 years. My last month at my company after 5 years1.

It’s hard to say goodbye. It’s especially hard when it’s impossible to explain why I’m leaving. People come to me and say “You have a great job, you have a good life, you have a lovely girlfriend that loves you and you love back, tons of friends that would do anything for you… What’s the reason?”.

And it’s oh, so hard to explain that all the above (save the last one, bless her) are part of my reasons for leaving. I’ve reached a point in my life where I start pondering what is going to be of me in the future. I’ve reached that weird place where suddenly you find yourself wondering about having a family, settling, and surprised see yourself OK with it. After thirty years of being satisfied with your life, your decisions and having a thousand and one reasons for why you were the way you were, thinking them to be so obvious… After all that suddenly you realize you don’t believe in them any more and maybe you never really did.

It’s weird, it’s hard and it’s humbling.

People ask me if I’m happy because I’m going to Spain, or if I’m sad I’m leaving the closest I’ve had to a “home” in my life and I usually reply “no” to both. I’m currently in that relaxed state that usually precedes things crashing down, the “calm before the storm”. I’m exactly in the middle of the emotional rope. Divided and quietly thinking of my life as if I was part of a public. A mere spectator commenting on someone else’s fate.

And I’m afraid.

You see, I have several reasons for leaving México (and I could as easily have as many reasons for staying), as they are actually really simple: I want to live close to my family, at least for a while. I want to know what it feels like speaking of a sister or a cousin or an aunt and knowing they live, at the most, at a 2-hour trip from home. I want to be close in family’s tragedies (which, the circle of life being what it is, predicts I’ll have a few of in the near future) instead of being contacted in a rushed, sniffled phone call to be told I’ve lost yet another loved one and I wasn’t again able to be there for them and the rest of the family.

I leave, officially, to be with my family. To be in the country I was born and learn firsthand what it is to actually LIVE there. To know what it means to have the concepts of “family” and “closeness” together. I want to stop being “The relative in America”. I don’t want to be a damn tourist in my own country.

And it’s so scary. I swear, I can’t even say out loud how scared I am.

I’m scared to realize, once I’m there, that I am not the person I think I am. That all I achieved, the great opportunities and wonderful moments I had in Mexico were just borne out of lucky coincidences and of being blessed with both the timing and the friends to pull things off. I’m afraid of knowing I’m a fraud and I’ve just been riding the mixed wave of having great people behind me and having a quirky enough personality that people confuse it with geniality. I’m not afraid of letting anyone else down. I’m afraid of letting MYSELF down.

To this I should add things were simpler a year ago, when I decided to leave. I was single and alone. I had friends that, all of them, happily said they’d leave to be with me in a heartbeat if I could find them a job. I had all the support of my family and all the people I loved.

Only one thing has changed now: I’m not alone any more. I have found the perfect woman (oh, Murphy, how I hate thee, let me count the ways!). A woman who’s not only beautiful and enjoyable to be with but also incredibly smart and who, unbelievably, loves me in a way I’ve never felt before. She loves me so much she’s willing to support me in this decision she doesn’t understand to the degree of leaving her own country to be with me later on. She also believes fully in me and thinks me this genius able to success anywhere2.

And the problem is I could live with letting myself down, but I couldn’t live with letting her down. So the problem increases.

She’s sad, now. She knows it’s less than a week we’ll be with each other. She’s upset and the little angel tries her best to hide it, to be happy for me and to try and turn it for the best.

Is there a point to this rant? Probably not. I just had to write this down somewhere. As I know my blog is hardly read by anyone not close to me (and those that aren’t I don’t know) it seemed like a good idea. I also chose it to be in my in-english blog instead of the one in spanish, as that would limit who would read it as well. All that is left for me is to pick up my stuff, strut to Spain and demonstrate Itzel, Myself, my family and my friends I am who we all think I am, or collapse trying.

Thanks for reading.

Wish me luck.

EDITED to adapt for new blog code, 20080103

  1. Or 10, depending how you count. []
  2. The gorgeous fool. []

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