Where Am I?

One of the most disorienting moments of my nomadic life is that instant upon waking when I have no idea where I am. It feels like a void between worlds: not fully asleep, not quite awake.

I try to prolong it without opening my eyes, hoping to locate myself by sound, and I fall into a routine that has become a game with myself. In New York, I never get lost — it’s easy to know I’m there because of the constant wailing of sirens. But in other places, it’s much harder to find clues in those early moments when I need something to guide me. So, I keep my eyes shut, take a deep breath, and listen:

Do I hear the sea, the wind, the rain?

Are those birds?

Gulls? Tanagers? Guacharacas? An eagle? A rooster?

Is it cold or hot? Is it winter? Summer?

Do I have a blanket? A sheet? Am I in a bed, on a sofa, or in a sleeping bag?

Suddenly, a scent gets to me:

Grass? Flowers? Are we in spring? Does it smell like a stable?

Mmm… is it real, or am I just hungry?

What will I have for breakfast? Arepa? Bagel? Pan con tomate?

And to drink? Chocolate with cheese? Mimosa? Tea? Changua?

Often, no clear hint is given.

Maybe the dream I was having makes it worse — I don’t even know if I’m genuinely awake.

Sometimes, the morning game becomes one of my dreams, and even though I think I’m awake, I just keep dreaming.

—Mommy? I hear my son calling me from within the room.

It can’t be! He’s not here. But it felt so real…

Other times, a memory flashes through me, and I feel certain I know the answer — but when I open my eyes, I realize my feelings were wrong. They’ve carried me to a different place.

With my eyes open, I keep shuffling through possibilities:

A silver ray of light filters through the crack of a wooden window.

I might be in an old or rustic house…

I can still catch a glimpse of the star-filled night through the glass. If I can see stars, I must be far from the city…

Rain and wind hit the zinc roof, and a bare branch casts its shadow on the wall. Am I in a forest?

I stretch out my hands and my feet and begin to grope, to touch, to feel.

A mosquito net surrounds me, and when I peek through, I see a pair of eyes watching me — a tiny monkey lies beside me, gazing through the mesh.

A cat has fallen from the roof onto my pillow, startled by a nearby thunderclap.

A bat hangs, wings wrapped around itself, in a corner.

The sun’s reddish tones begin to paint my room, and a dance of color begins.

Maybe — just maybe — in that moment, I’ll finally know where I am.