Gypsy

Warning to the reader: this article does not really follow a logical structure. It is a real mess - just like the writer. The English is not polished because I think in Spanish and because I like it that way.

It is both a blessing and a tragedy lacking real roots. Although I have some vague idea about my true origins, I do not really know anything about my ancestors. My knowledge only goes back to my grandparent – and their past is real vague. My grandfather (mother side), for instance, changed his last name and erased his past after touching Venezuelan soil. He never went back to Yugoslavia (now Serbia, Croatia, etc.) Nobody knows who he really was. After piecing together little stories he told me for about 30 years, I think he was one of those unknown war heroes who ended up sacrificing everything for his ideals. My grandma does not even know the truth about grandpa… thanks to her infinite love and care she managed to keep him alive for much longer than he was supposed to. Now he is in heaven making fun of Hitler’s hell.


The story on my father’s side is even blurrier. I only learned on my late twenties that my father’s dad had not really died when my father was a child. We do not know if he was a bad guy, or if grandma simply left him on a whim (por cojonuda). I have asked her forever and unsurprisingly I do not get any answers. Basque people do not really “talk about it” which is very funny because we Venezuelans (even with Basque blood) talk about everything to the point of extreme inappropriateness. I only know that she is the woman with the biggest guts in the planet: she arrived to Venezuela without money, with a broken Spanish (Basque was her mother tong) and with a 4 year old boy to start a new life. She redefined the meaning of bravery in my eyes.

In sum, the only thing I really know for sure about my grandparents is that they’ve loved me to death and that their character and example has determined who I am in many ways. I’m not complaining, this is more than enough, but I still have a real strong need to establish my roots. Funny enough, over the past 10 years, I have lived in 3 different countries and 10 different cities. I’m a modern gipsy – I belong everywhere and nowhere. I try to blame Chavez most of the time and my appetite for adventure some others. I do not even know what the real truth is.

Unlike some of my friends, I cannot trace my roots back to Simon Bolivar or some other independence heroes. I was raised eating Spanish food, saying “laku noc” (good night in “Yugoslavian”), and dancing merengue and salsa. On top of that, my most recent “American dream” experience has added to the confusion. I say to everybody “have a great day”, work 14- hour-shifts and try to sing along with Miley Cyrus “party in the USA”. The only very American thing I do not do is coupons at the supermarket and that’s only because I’m just too disorganized.

I’ve been struggling to get my last names straight all my life, without any success; just imagine how painful it is spelling my last name EVERY SINGLE TIME (ordering Chinese delivery takes me 10 freaking minutes). My first name has been a real issue too. My father had a spark of originality the day I was born - as if my last names were not exotic enough - and instead of naming me “Denisse”, he decided that “Denys” would actually be cooler. I totally agree, the only challenge is that half of the people I interact with think I’m a male. Only when they call me they realize that I’m just the average bitch with an accent. Bottom line: there is confusion all over the place around me, both in form and content.

Dealing with this confusion sometimes feels like a full time job (in practice and in my head). Imagine me filling up any type of application in the US. When they ask my race, every single time I have to think about it. I’m not quite Hispanic, neither Caucasian and definitely not native American… I’m not “white other” either for US standards (my tan just seems too good to be true) but interestingly enough in Latin-American people call me “blondie” … you get the idea. I think next time I will just check the “other” box and on the comments sections will write: “dudes: this exercise is absolutely senseless and I want to help you realize it - if you don’t, next time I will check the “Hispanic” box because it might give me an advantage that I do not actually deserve”

Putting aside all this “minor stuff”, the real challenge is that I want to keep all my confusion in one place. I want to stop being a gypsy, but still have the best of everything! Let me describe it with a few examples:

• I want to kiss and hug my friends, colleagues, whoever crosses my way every day without fearing a sue for sexual harassment

• I want people to answer to my emails in less than 24 hours as a rule, not as an exception

• I want 3 months of vacation but still get an American salary

• I want people to respond when I say “good afternoon” in the elevator without them wondering if I’m just a nice foreigner in a good mood

• I want to have the right to say “it is none of your business” and shut down any further inquiries about my private life with those 6 magic words

• I want to be loud and festive without being considered crazy (or Puerto Rican)

Some of these things are almost mutually exclusive. Typically, people that respect your privacy are not big on hugging; or people that take 3 month vacations do not answer email in 24 hours. I know, these are chronic contradictions and therefore it feels that I do not have much of a choice. Am I bounded to be an eternal gypsy?

The only thing I know for sure is that I’m not going to force myself to stabilize or build some sort of fake roots if I cannot keep my venezuelan, my gringa and my other awesome contradictions living at peace in one place. Unjustified forcing brings the worst in me (believe me when I say is BAD -  or just ask my mom about my teenage years). I guess that for the time being I need to embrace my gypsy and see where it takes me. I will continue enjoying my journey and trying to find (or at least dreaming about) my promised land.

Salud!