When I was about eight years old I would religiously dress up as a gypsy from Monday through Friday night to watch a famous soap opera at the time named “Romané”, a story about a gypsy family living in Chile. Yes, I know you are thinking I am nuts, but bear with me.
Every night I was intrigued that the people in the story spoke a different language and went from place to place around the world, carrying their belongings, trinkets, and baggage.
This past week I went to Denver and a friend I made there, Jamie, pointed out to me that the early risers and night crawlers of Denver were not homeless people but rather gypsies, people who look for their purpose in life from one corner of the earth to another, looking for someone to love or to go after their life’s meaning (while others simply spent all they had and found themselves stuck roaming the streets for help).
Fernando and I have been gypsies for the past month; we embarked on an adventure, moved to Austin and left everything else behind. Why? We wanted to find our place, a city where we could start fresh, form our own dialect and take direction of our own lives. I look back at how I wanted to be a gypsy when I was little and to be honest with you, I rather settle down roots. I can roam places of this wonderful world from time to time with him by my side and still have a place to call home. I will always be a gypsy at heart, being fascinated with traveling and seeing the world, till these feet can’t anymore.