For Those Who Are Soul-Searching
by Tara Emily Doherty
It’s a warm Argentine June and you’re talking to a boy with glitter in his hair about your best
friend who is dancing on the Pinamar sand with people she just met.
He asks why you are here and you watch the colourful flags lining the patio of the
beach bar flap gently in the wind as you sigh.
“We’re visiting her relatives,” it’s midnight and you’re content, so you indulge him,
“she wants to come back permanently, though. I like seeing her like this… she’s never this
carefree back home.”
“Laws or people?” he asks.
“Both.” you reply.
He nods in understanding and there is a beat of silence before he speaks again.
“I haven’t always been here—moved when I was 18 because they never seemed to
see me back home. Not all of me, at least.”
“Laws or people?”
“Both.” he chuckles.
You hum in acknowledgement. They’re not quite sure what you are back where you
live, you barely look like them, yet you speak their language and not your own. And your
home country? They find out you don’t understand them and they’re already halfway out the
door. Although, they both wouldn’t accept people like you no matter what language you
spoke.
“And her?”
“She’s half from there and half from here.”
Another silence passes and you look back at her, the firelight catching in her dark
hair as her laughter rings in your ears.
““You know, you could choose.” the boy says.
“Hm?”
“Who you are. Where you belong.” he pauses “If the place that you come from and
the place you are now don’t accept you as you are, you either stay and let them pick which
parts of you they want to tolerate…”
“Or?” You turn to him now, wind ruffling your hair.
“Or, you leave all that behind. You become a naturalized citizen of República
Argentina where less people care about what’s in your blood or who you kiss.” he says.
“That sounds nice.” you say, albeit wistfully. Did you want to open that Pandora’s box
up, though? Confront the fact that the first time she said te amo in public was yesterday, or
the fact that even if that were different, the laws at home still weren’t on your side?
Your companion smiles suddenly and you follow his line of sight to see another boy
with beautiful golden skin behind you.
“¡Mi amor! I’ve been waiting por siempre!” He drapes himself dramatically across the
boy’s back in feigned weakness.
His lover says something in a language you don’t know and he pouts, all the while
muttering “dulzura, so mean.”
You’re laughing to yourself as he is hauled away, screaming “¡buenas noches chica!”
at you and you turn back to see her. She’s mouthing the lyrics to Bailando playing over the
speakers and you laugh even harder because she looks ridiculous twirling as she makes her
way to you. Admittedly, you think, you’re still afraid—but she smiles, and it feels like the sun.
