A FB friend updated her status referencing the humidity in Miami, my hometown, upon her return from a short out-of-town trip. Most interior spaces in Miami are airconditioned; so when --in the month of August-- you go outside from an airconditioned space, the humidity strikes you like a knockout punch. My FB friend said, "The humidity just hit me in the face...," as she exited the Miami airport.
My response was this:
"Man, I miss that. As weird as it sounds! I've watched the sunset over the Sahara Desert, watched it rise over the Tigris in Iraq; I've swum in the Libyan Sea, bathed in the Mediterranean, walked in the shadow of the Acropolis, lost my way through the canals of Venice, touched the walls of Petra in Jordan, climbed to the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, stood beneath the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, gazed [in awe] at the Mona Lisa in the Louvre, had gazpacho in Madrid, witnessed a bullfight in Sevilla, enjoyed pure flamenco in Jerez de la Frontera, and had a Weiss beer in Munich. Despite the wonders I've seen, and the adventures I've experienced, there is NO place like home! God bless the USA, and la Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre watch over mi tierra: MIAMI! 'Where the royal palms stand proudly, underneath the summer skies, where the tropic sun shines golden...'"
That's a play on several facets of my life. Firstly, the souvenirs --the memories-- of the places I've been, and the things I've seen. Secondly, the strong identification with my Latin roots and culture, particularly the exiled Cuban culture (or the Cuban culture of exile) of Little Havana, where I grew up, and whose patron saint is la Virgen de la Caridad. Lastly, the final reference is to my alma mater, Miami Senior High School, through our school song.
Between the lines are bits of me throughout my timeline: when I was 17, in high school, and visited Italy for the first time; when I was 21, a Junior in college, and discovering Greece; when I was 25, working as a court interpreter, and finding my Self in Spain; and later on, when I was thirty-something, in the military, and fighting the Global War on Terrorism in the Middle East.
The more I traveled, the more I opened my mind, the more I became a citizen of the world. And the more I visited home, the more I realized how much I'd changed, as others had stayed unchanged. Yet, like Odysseus, my instinct has always been to come back home. Even though I'm no longer in Miami, Miami is still in me. I've never forgotten where I came from: my childhood, my favorite parks and beaches, my favorite radio stations, the parties, the holidays, my favorite restaurants and cafes, the architecture, the festivals, my family, my friends, my music, my food, my palm trees, my Calle Ocho, and even my afternoon thunder storms, my tropical storms, and my hurricanes.
In my ongoing search for identity, I have traveled the world. I am concurrently a student and citizen of that world, and a proud son of el barrio. I've taken my culture with me to foreign lands. I've assimilated foreign ways. In so doing, I've played the role of cultural liaison: seeing ourselves and the world through the eyes of the Other, while rendering the Other more familiar, thus playing an active role in diminishing our collective fear of the unknown, and endearing us to the world.
In order for a culture to know itself, it must look into another culture. I was born into a life defined by the parameters of my name: Angel Alberto Diaz Rodriguez Perez Rodriguez Andino Acosta Castro Martinez, and into a hybrid culture, with one foot firmly on American soil, while the other one dangled precariously over international waters. The moment I stepped outside the parameters into which I was born began my love affair with the world, and my ongoing quest to know myself by getting to know the Other. My given name alone no longer defines me exclusively. In Italy I am known as Angelo. In Greece I am called Alexandros. In Arab lands they call me Malaak. As a citizen of the world, I represent every culture I've known, and every name I've been given. Ultimately, however, and no matter where I go, home will always wound me.
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