Note: The following posts are parts from a 45 page journal entry (in word 23 pages), I wrote while in Buenos Aires. The entries were written during my first three days in the city. I had a rough start but by the end of my trip all was ok. However, my final thoughts about my destiny with the city in part 8 still stand true.
P.S. I am including a soundtrack with each post. All the songs are from my “The Return to Buenos Aires” playlist. I hope you enjoy!
Here is part eight of the epic journal entry. Don’t forget to read Pt 7 before you read any further.
Wendy and I broke the sad news that it was our time to part from the group. With great reluctance, they were sad to see us go and tried to make us stay. I gave each of them a warm hug as they made sure to give me their contact information so that I wouldn’t lose touch with them. Danijela told me that she thought what I was doing was amazing and inspiring. Cierrah expressed similar thoughts and shared a story about how sometimes people ask to take pictures with her because she is a black girl in Buenos Aires. She told me a girl once said, “We don’t see a lot of people like you.” Ah, another thing that has not changed.
I said one last goodbye, promising them I would add them all to Facebook the next day. I may have inspired them but little did they know, along with Wendy, they provided me with the greatest gifts anyone can give a writer: motivation and inspiration. They restored it in me and gave me the power to finish the job I started. As I retreated to the door with Wendy, I took one last glance at them. As I watched them laughing with each other, drinks in hand, young and just beginning their Buenos Aires journeys, I saw myself with my friends, five years ago, reflected in the very spot they stood. And in that moment, I realized with finality, that at its core, Buenos Aires had not changed at all—I did.
I am not the same girl I was five years ago. I’m confident, liberated from heartbreak, and I am a hard working independent woman on my own. There is nothing left for Buenos Aires to teach me anymore. My story has already been told in this city, the chapter already written. My story is still relevant and being recycled into new stories, experienced by the next generation. Being black in Buenos Aires is an experience and theme that bounds us all and remains timeless.
“Hola, Morocha” will be my official fare well to the city, a sort of bitter sweet swan song. I owe it to my beautiful experience that spring and summer of 07/08. And to the next Morocha, arriving in Buenos Aires for the first time, lost and bewildered. Whether “Hola, Morocha” becomes the beloved dog eared copy of one or thousands, I owe it to the two things above to make sure the story is told.