Finding peace in a war zone

Last Christmas break, for the first time since April 2000, I was blessed with the opportunity to go back to my home country, Colombia. Colombia is the place where I was born and raised, until the age of 14, when my family decided to leave everything behind and start anew in the United States. It was in Colombia where I took my first steps in this crazy maze called life. I experienced many new feelings, ranging from my first "gol," all the way to my first crush (which ended with me leaving the country).
Sound nostalgic enough? Well, no, not for me. No number of words can explain what I feel for the place I grew up, for those friends that took so long to find and keep, or for those landscapes that fill my memory. For me, Colombia, ironically enough, means peace: peace of mind and peace of soul.

Naturally, based on this perspective, I would also say that coming to the United States was a break from that peace which I had found. All of a sudden I was in an internal and sometimes even external war zone where I had to strive to maintain both my personal identity and my human dignity, in a society where neither was valued fully. Once again, I sought comfort and peace within the last part of my home I still had with me: my family. Through our shared experiences, struggles and victories, I found a new balance, a piece of home. This battle has continued for about seven years now, and I can't say it's gotten any easier.

This brings me back to last Christmas. With great anticipation, I waited for that December morning, when my plane would leave from San Antonio and take me to my home, my peace, my childhood.

Unfortunately, the experience was not what I expected. From the moment I arrived, I was frightened. I could not stop my heart and mind from going to the worst-case scenario of the dangers that I faced by being in Colombia, one of the most dangerous countries in the world. Needless to say, I could not find peace, for I was terrified. I felt alone, singled out, targeted for no reason whatsoever. I felt ashamed of what I felt. I was afraid of my own people.

The trip concluded after two weeks, with great conversations, photos and memories. It was one of the best times of my life. The whole way back I had to sit with myself and think about what I had experienced; I had to deal with my own ignorance and indignity.

Slowly but surely, though, I found myself nowhere: no home, no peace, no Eduardo.

This trip made me realize the importance of culture, heritage, family and a place that you can always call home. It reminded me that to be Colombian (or whatever else) does not mean having been born in one place, or having grown up there. It means actively and constantly building relationships with everything that has a connection to it, whether that is people, issues or memories.

It also taught me to look out and support all those who do not have a place called home, those who, like me, are lost in this crazy world with no one to help them find that inner peace that I once had. So now I ask you: do you have a place of peace? Have you ever had such a place in your life? If you know someone who does not, what are you waiting for?