The Bliss or Curse of Forgetting
Behind the scenes: what went through my mind Series I
I got asked to describe my hometown.
Delmas 31, home for 19 years. My world moved between two points: Delmas, where I lived, and Turgeau, where I learned.
And I was out of words.
Is it because of the setting of the moment, being in front of a camera? Under pressure? Not having been prepared as I should have been — spontaneous. Idk. But I was aghast, at a loss for words.
And there I realized I had forgotten. Not just forgotten, but also unintentionally erased a part of my life out of my brain. And I said a few words that made no sense to me, as I realize now.
I said "calm" — and though it doesn’t make sense now, I think I get it from my perspective at the time. I saw Delmas as my refuge, in some way. Whatever was happening elsewhere, when I got to Delmas 31, it calmed down. Is it because I had a family house nearby, somewhere I could take refuge in less than 10 minutes? Maybe. But yeah, it was calm.
But if I were to describe Delmas to you now, I’d say: vibrant, it´s a vibrant and lively city. Like she’s kind of a main-character chic — not the popular girl at school with the extravagance, but the one that’s popular but doesn’t force it. She just cannot not be seen and heard. That’s Delmas 31, to me.
And I knew most of it by foot, so I guess my nervous system knew it as calm, for the time being — and I can’t blame myself for that. Even if now it’s no longer the same, this is what it remembered at the time.
And I miss it. Yes, I miss Delmas 31.
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I miss Saint Louis de Gonzague and Saint Paul, where I would go to church. Where I would go to MEJ. Where I would meet up with friends because there was some activity there. I miss the pate kòde a few steps from my house. I miss the fritay. I miss the neighbors who knew me through my dad. I miss my aunties’ house, where I could go anytime on foot. I miss that little community with faces I know. I miss my friend who lived nearby, where I would go spend a day with her and come back late at night. I miss the roads I would walk every day because it was that peaceful.
I miss that little bubble, where all I needed was in that little town. Spanish classes? Close by. Driving school? Two kamyonèt away — and even if it was outside of Delmas 31, it still was my bubble.
I was not much of a going-out type of girl, but when it came to this town, even being outside felt like home.
Basically, I miss my home.
Why would you leave, then? Why not return? Some may ask, and those who know already understand. And my answer is: I was forced to leave. It’s a different feeling to leave willingly and to escape a place you called home.
It´s one thing to grow out of a place and leave it because it was time, and another to be rushing out of it because you had no choice.
It still feels like a waking nightmare, except four years have gone by already without me noticing.
So yes, idk if it’s a blessing that I forgot for a while about my hometown, that part of me — or if it’s a curse, as my survival needed to erase that part of me.
But I will keep saying it, this time louder:
I miss Haiti.
