I miss the white dusty architecture, cleaned by the morning sun. The sidewalk cafes and bars, filled with people of every age. I miss hearing castellano roll off Spanish tongues, smelling cafe con leche and toast from their morning breakfast.

I miss the sound of morning cathedral bells and trains pulling into the station. I miss sitting by the window, any window, staring out into a world that was maybe never my permanent destiny.

I miss the laid-back current that rolled through the streets like a year-round spring breeze, that almost everyone possessed. No pasa nada, no pasa nada, no pasa nada. It’s no big deal. I started to believe them. I was good at taking it easy. I was good at taking long coffee breaks and strolling through history. Now my desk drowns in never-ending, incomplete tasks, no time for even a snack or a bathroom break. America is a squeezed out sponge, it takes every gotita from you. It demands every damn drop and no one can really explain why. Why it is demanded and why it is done.

It all brings me back, to my humble little life, venturing through cobble-stoned calles, caught between two worlds, wanting to keep the best of both, but always knowing, that wherever I go, I would have to create the balance all of my own, shaking off the cultural expectations that surround me.