by Sara Fernanda Acosta Vargas
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Home is where I feel safe.
It is waking up to the radio and smell of coffee,
the feeling of los individuales (placemats) sewn
out of this type of basket where the
breadcrumbs fall through and are lost forever
much to my dismay as I feel the future cleaning
duty getting harder, the kitchen utensils
themselves; molinillo for hot chocolate, a rock
just because, la licuadora making the fresh
juice for the day and waking up the whole
neighborhood… But although this mundane
rituals do create home for me it is mostly my
mum’s rushing around, her chatting and the
smell of her perfume as she leaves the room
what reminds me I’m home, I’m safe.
My name is Sara Fernanda Acosta Vargas and I am a Colombian first generation immigrant currently studying Fine Arts: Painting in London.
In what I consider my short span of a lifetime I have moved countries three times, continents once and cities many times more. Whilst everything was transient and my future uncertain one thing I knew would be for certain: my mother.
I involuntary gravitated towards her when thinking of my experience as an immigrant and more specifically what little comfort I have always found abroad. As remains of my original culture seem to dilute due to the time and space that stretch between me and my hometown; I wanted to share positive memories rather than painful narratives of migration and adaptation, of which I have many, to commemorate international women’s day (and in turn my mother’s efforts in getting me to this date, point and time in space).
