The sound of a bubble bursting
Look around.
Do you see it?
What does it mean to be American?
Is it a legal process? Or maybe a birthright?
Maybe it’s the color of one’s skin or the sound of one’s
voice.
Maybe it’s the way in which we see ourselves when we look in
a mirror.
Maybe it’s what we tell ourselves to ensure we are and they’re
not.
What is America?
Is it simply a piece of land? Or perhaps another country
altogether?
Maybe it’s the people who inhabit it.
Maybe it’s the people who built and died for it.
Maybe it’s those that act most like us.
Do you see it?
Do you feel it?
Are you aware that you’re living in it?
Spain may be here and America may be there, but it certainly
doesn’t feel that way.
Broken Spanish lends itself to using English.
Using English lends itself to not fixing the broken Spanish.
Why travel abroad?
To see the sights?
To eat the food?
To do as they do?
To expand the Bubble or to burst the Bubble.
Nothing more
Nothing less
Do you see it?
Do you feel it?
The Bubble is all around me.
Things look American.
Smell American.
Sound American.
The Bubble expands.
The People.
The Culture.
Their language.
Their traditions.
Their fights and struggles, their triumphs and victories.
Where Catalonia history and Spanish modernism collide
The Bubble bursts.
And that is what I seek.
Not only to see the bubble all around me, but to burst the
bubble as it’s bursting inside of me.
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