22/4/1976

I’m sitting atop an enormous boulder in the Valle Frances and in every direction I can look I am surrounded by the most immensely beautiful landscape I have ever seen.  Even the Torres themselves were less stunning.  I cannot stop thinking “tengo suerte”.  Puta…I sound just like Mamá…….!  Parque Nacional Torres del Paine opened last year and Benja was instantly set on visiting.  I was a little more unsure, stuck on logistical questions about getting to the southern-most part of Chile and how much I truly desired to walk around in nature for a week.  Benja was sure that I would change my mind as soon as we got there.  I don’t even know how he knew so much about la Patagonia; the majority of our friends looked very confused when we told them we were going.  But Benja had planned it perfectly, and when Semana Santa finally rolled around we spent two days travelling down here and are now on day three of our trek.

It is fucking beautiful here.  I have never seen landscapes like this in my life…colors so vivid and seemingly unreal nature in every direction.  Every day looks different and somehow more beautiful than the last.  Benja swears that “no hay un país más lindo que Chile” and it seems impossible to disagree with him.  The weather has been perfect, and it seems like we’re nearing the end of autumn in Patagonia, all of the trees proudly display their leaves in a million distinct shades.  En la Patagonia, ya no puedo negarlo…tenemos suerte.

Tengo suerte tengo suerte tengo suerte tengo suerte tengo suerte tengo suerte.

Podría ser peor.  Tenemos suerte.

Mamá only stopped saying that about a year and a half ago, when Matías ‘se despareció’Mamá y Papá thought they were keeping Amalia safe and ensuring her well-being by bringing her home from Santiago, but there was nothing they could do once Matías was disappeared.  After the Golpe, Mamá had urged us all to count our blessings and would constantly remind us that we were safe and together and that was all that was important—it was fucking annoying.  She finally quit with her bullshit positivity when Amalia flipped out at her the first time Mamá reminded Amalia “tenemos suerte” once Mata was gone.

Last week, Jorge helped carry my Patagonia shit to the bus stop where Benja and I were meeting to start our trip.  Benja was unsurprisingly running late, but Jorge had to leave me at the bus stop to head home for once so Mamá wouldn’t yell at him again.  As he was leaving, me preguntó, “¿Estás pololeando?”  I think I glared at him because he laughed, told me to calm down, and left me at the bus stop with a kiss on the cheek and a “cuídate”.  Benja made it in time for the bus, but quickly realized I was not in the mood to talk to him; I had quite the long bus ride to Puerto Montt to think about why Jorge’s question had fucked with me the way it did.  No creo que Benja es mi pololo.  I obviously care about him a ton but I care about all of my friends a ton.  Mata was Amalia’s pololo and look how that fucking turned out.  It’s not fair to me if he’s my pololo (or if ANYONE is my pololo) cause I don’t want to have to worry about him that way.  If he’s just my friend I can worry about him a normal amount and not any more.  I wonder if he thinks about me like that, if he worries about me more than the normal amount.  Fuck Jorge for making me think about this.

 

 

1 thought on “22/4/1976

  1. ssvolk says:

    El parque es precioso, no? I don’t think I’ve ever seen water so blue, or green, or whatever color the light makes it. So, Lorena, it sounds like you’ve got a pololo even though you don’t want to admit it. How are you getting by in the world? What are you doing when you’re not traveling to the far ends of Chile?

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