I know that sounds intensely neurotic, partly because it is, but


there are so many barriers we keep between ourselves and those who show us hospitality. When people do nice things for us, we get nervous. We worry about being a nuisance or a freeloader. We feel a panicked sense of debt we’re not sure we can pay. I didn’t know whether Arthur and Sandra even wanted me in their home or if they were just indulging Tathiana.


illusions of credit and debt. All artifi cal exchanges aside, people are people. We’re all moths looking for a light of some kind. Shouldn’t that unite us? I quietly reminded myself to have faith in my own beautiful


T Her name was Tathiana. She said she had


passed me earlier and decided to double back to pick me up. When she returned and saw I was gone, she thought she had missed me. Had I walked much farther, she probably would have, and I could’ve been stuck walking for hours.


“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” —Carl Sagan


Tathiana’s parents had lit le to say as she


excitedly told the story of the hitchhiker standing in their living room. T ere was a look of concerned bewilderment in their eyes. “You’re crazy,” her father, Arthur, said to


...there are so many barriers we keep between ourselves and those who


show us hospitality. When people do nice things for us, we get nervous. We worry about being a nuisance or a freeloader.


me teasingly in his beautiful Colombian accent. T e Vasquez home was fi lled with love. T e walls were


covered with pictures of Tathiana and her sisters. T ey were all born in Colombia and had immigrated to Florida around 2000. Tathiana and her mother, Sandra, started preparing dinner and


Arthur sat down in front of the computer. I am a tremendously awkward person, ever gauging what I


should be doing instead of just being myself. Walking around the living room aimlessly, I felt especially aware of myself.


personhood, and sat down next to Arthur. Arthur was fascinating. He immigrated to Miami two years


before the rest of his family did. Despite his bachelor’s degree in computer science and strong work ethic, he got stuck working menial jobs. Nevertheless, he saved as much money as he could and diligently worked to fi nalize the paperwork to grant his family’s immigration to the U.S. I was fi lled with respect and awe. I couldn’t


imagine how lonesome it must have been for a husband and father of three to temporarily leave his family. Aſt er a moment of empathetic silence, Arthur


changed the subject back to me and said, “What you are doing...it is crazy.” “I don’t know about that,” I began somewhat


hesitantly. “For me, this is sort of like your decision to immigrate to the United States. I’m sure you must have been terrifi ed. I’m sure there were people who called you a fool. But it was something you felt, in your heart of hearts, you had to do.” T e temporary lull in conversation was


excruciating. I realized only aſt er the words tumbled out of my mouth the potential they


had for off ense. What he did was courageous. He leſt his home and lived alone for two years so that he could make a new life for his family. I was just a spoiled college kid bored with life... I started to backpedal in pitiful at empts to contextualize what


I said, but he stopped me. “No,” he said. “You’re right. It’s diff erent, but it’s also pret y


much the same.” Later, aſt er dinner, the elephant in the room stared at the four of us: it was well aſt er dark and somewhere around 50 degrees


Eastern | SPRING 2013 29


hen, as I watched Arthur sit ing by himself, I realized that this is exactly what I needed to overcome. T is was it. What I was experiencing was the emotional isolation fostered by a society founded on the


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