I didn’t realize I would miss the chaos of home so much until I stepped foot in Sweden and was met with silence, a kind of silence that felt deafening. Walking through the city and only listening to the soft swoosh of electric cars passing you by. It was confusing. Where is the guy selling empanadas on the corner of the street? The group of teens with a loud speaker listening to the new Feid track? The loud honking and shouting from the astoundingly large amount of cars on the road? Truly, it is kind of mesmerizing how quiet everything feels. A kind of politeness that I never thought of. Still, if I’m being completely honest, I really miss the rudeness of noise.
In Colombia, we are loud. I don’t mean that in an annoying or overbearing way, I mean that we are loud and proud. When celebrating something, we do the most. Drinks, food, music, and most importantly, family. We share, because sharing is caring. We cook together, your tías in the kitchen preparing food for the whole family, the primos gossiping around the table and the tíos drinking beer as they prepare the grill. Food is such an important part of our culture, not only in Colombia but in all Latin America. There is no better way to gain someone’s heart if it isn’t with food.
In Colombia we say “¡Buenos días!, ¿cómo estás?” every time we greet someone. And we expect an answer, not only because we want to be polite but because we actually care how you are. The warmth of my people is something I always talk about. When people ask me how it is to be Colombian the only word that comes to mind is: beautiful. We are welcoming by nature, we love when foreigners try to learn about our country, like I said, we love sharing. And more so when you show a genuine interest in our culture.
In Colombia we love music and dancing. Every type of rhythm you can move your feet to, we do. From the famous vallenato that sounds in every tiendita along the coast, where people are filled with sazón, to salsa from Cali, —“La sucursal del cielo”—where people don’t walk, they move to a beat. Music is so rooted in our culture that not moving your feet when “La rebelión” from Joe Arroyo plays is a crime. We’ve been trained to sleep through the most joyous, energetic and loud beats you can possibly imagine. Music is how we express ourselves, it is a way to share every feeling you have through the rhythm of tambores and maracas.
That’s why, as a proud Latina, it feels strange when you step into an elevator and no one says good morning. It’s strange when you want to be friends with Swedish people, but they prefer to keep to themselves. It’s strange to have so much free time when back home you’re always rushing somewhere. It’s confusing when having a homemade meal feels like a luxury. It’s strange to go to a club and not hear a single song from el grupo niche. It’s strange to hear students talk to their professors like they’re friends. It’s strange to hear someone call fika a tinto con hojaldre.
Still, after almost two months here, I’ve learnt that even if Swedish culture is very different from mine, it is not a bad difference. It is difficult getting used to the silence, but I’ve learned to love the sound of the lake. I’m not so afraid of making a mistake in class because I know my professor won’t reprimand me. I love having some kanelbulle with my coffee. I can appreciate the lovely nature Sweden has to offer. I adore the fact that here, people’s happiness is such an important matter. I love that swedes fight for love and respect. It is rewarding feeling so at peace. I love feeling safe anywhere I go. Even far from home, I’ve realized that warmth, rhythm, and kindness can grow anywhere, even in the quietest corners of Sweden.
Writer: Sofia Espinosa Vera
Photographer: Adrien Dessy
