Me! — Hive

It all started with a very fanciful decision. I remember that I had and I have (now), so eager to know the world, infinite dreams, millions of adventures programmed in my head ... but I also have this country, my land that I love so much that it hurts in the bones and what it offers me at this moment, for millions of reasons that you probably already know but if you still do not know, I will gladly count here, very few alternatives that could not have allowed me to travel, much less fulfill one or another goal that I set, very much despite having lived more than half of my life in a dictatorial regime and it is difficult to set goals and not change them over time in a nation where changes are the daily bread, and I speak of "changes "Negatives.
I do not know very well the day I made the decision, I really do not think there was a day as such for it, rather one situation led to the other, not getting not only food, but anything indispensable for everyday life, constantly bored with the same jobs, attend here or earn easy money reselling anything, which only led to a "conformism".
Oh! That bad manners, sorry that I have not presented, but that's how I am, I do not even expect that the arepa is cooked to throw the butter, hasty and annoying since July 30, 1990, my name is Andrea Silva, and Yes, of course I'm Venezuelan and I want to tell you how I left my country, the one that smells like guayoyo coffee in the mornings, the one with the plums in May, the joke around, the beach on Sundays or where to drink a Monday is as normal as buying the swords on the way to work, where things are the other way around, that land that surely if you had arrived many years ago would never have left or at least they told me.
My mother! That travel longer. Not that I left my house to live in Carupano, a small town in eastern Venezuela, no, I came to the great Europe, 9 hours on a flight that stopped in Bogota, landed at Barajas airport and then I made an 8 hour bus trip to La Coruña, from there I went a little further north, about 25 minutes, and I arrived in Ferrol, a city with some 90,000 inhabitants, Galicians even more.
What did immigration do to me? Well, contrary to what everyone told me, I had no problem, but I'm going to tell you about my experience in each of the control points I went through, in Venezuela, the girl who receives my bags, I wonder what If I had a hotel reservation and invitation letter, I had both but just before I got what he asked me he said: ok, well, it does not matter. In Bogota we were walking through the El Dorado airport and a police stopped us and asked us where we were going and how much money I had, just that, he dialed some numbers on a super old cell phone that he had and without problems told us "good trip". In Spain, my pulse accelerated, it is worth noting that I have a friend who left the country, to Portugal by the way and the poor woman was so overwhelmed by the stories she heard from the people who returned them in immigration, that she started to scare me until the last day of my leaving the country. When we were first in the line of immigration, the gentleman behind the window told me: what are you going to do to Spain? To take a walk, I answered, he raised his eyes and I fixed my eyes as if looking for some other answer and the next thing he said was "And how is Maduro?" At the same time that I sealed the passports, I already knew that "I had stuffed it in my pocket", a typical Venezuelan phrase that means that you beat a person, took three steps and told my boyfriend "Spain does not take me out anymore (LOL)". At that time I did not know how much I was going to miss my beloved Venezuela.
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