Bourdainism in Cartagena and Coralina Island: Colombia, Bad Buddy, Immigration, Metacognition and Breaking the Silence on My Last Marriage

I started my trip in Colombia, heading straight to Cartagena—maybe the most romantic city I could’ve chosen. I grew up around Colombians, spent almost a year married to one, and fell hard for the warmth, the culture, and the food. So when I decided to travel, Colombia felt inevitable. I wanted to see as much of it as I could.

Before I get into Cartagena, a quick note on my Substack—because I have this habit (personally and professionally) of trying to over-explain myself (the remnants of being a neurodivergent traumatized by society). I’m deeply curious, and I love learning about a wide array of topics, which sometimes makes “staying organized” hard. But if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that nothing ever goes according to plan—and maybe that’s not a flaw. Maybe that’s the point.

Right now, there are three parallel workstreams moving at once:

One: My memoir. The book I keep saying I’m writing—because I am. It’s the beast in the making, slowly coming together as memories return, sharpen, and rearrange themselves into meaning. Some days, revisiting the past is the only way I can understand the present—or make sense of the future.

Two: the messy middle—what I’ve been calling my “best journals,” The Four C’s. A wild chapter from 2020 (and yes, it was a wild year for everyone), but for me, it marks a very specific middle: the part of the story where everything cracked open.

If you’re new here, feel free to start with my “read_me” post to understand more about that.

Three: my favorite work-stream right now: the one that lives in the present and points toward the future: Bourdainism. Inspired by Anthony Bourdain, obviously. It’s where I am now: traveling, falling wildly in love with myself, the world, and rewriting everything I thought I knew about life.

With that said—this is another Bourdainism post, with a little memoir woven in.

On the plane ride, I published a raw version of this note. I’m keeping it intact here, the way I did on Instagram, because I felt compelled to share it exactly as it came:

“Traveling the world has been my dream for as long as I can remember. I recalled here, not long ago drawing myself in a cape as a child, in my ‘Suki Saves the Day!’ comic—my child consciousness wanting to save others and rewrite my environment as my first negotiation with life, in a largely traumatic upbringing amidst chaos.

However, like many who hadn’t yet faced their shadows and healed; like many who were yet to bring their whole soul to themselves, I served this idea… no; the fantasy and illusion that I would build the family I never had, the family that got to travel, and I did everything I could to continuously abandon myself and repeat a painful pattern: giving all of me to a marriage or a partnership to complete me, to accomplish my dream, which I only thought was possible as a unit.

I didn’t need this enablement. Throughout my World Tour, I found bits and pieces of myself I’d taken and given to others finding their way back into the gaps of my soul; completing me.

It’s allowed me to love more deeply, be more authentic, and individuate. My hope with this newfound confidence is that seeds are being planted for others that perhaps, I may never see bloom—but I still hope to be shifting progress for all and making it just slightly easier for the next person to grow and be a bit braver as well.

I don’t think this World Tour will ever end: there are simply too many corners of the world that I’ve yet to see. Each country, and its peoples’ unexpected kindness softens me, and makes me infinitely more aware of the work to be done. But I’m grateful: to God, the Universe, and the brave heart that I’ve been given.

I’ve become the hero I dreamed of all along.

I am in Cartagena, and I am blessed and infinitely grateful. Heart open, mind clear, I look forward for my time here to come.”

And so—there we are.

In Cartagena, I stayed at Hotel Capellán, genuinely one of the most beautiful hotels I’ve ever seen. I kept to myself most of the time, but I met a couple (pictured here) that I’ll carry with me. They have an adopted Korean son, and we ended up watching the Super Bowl together—of all things.

Ah, the Super Bowl.

Bad Bunny’s performance hit me harder than I expected. As a former illegal immigrant—and now a very concerned American citizen, honestly contemplating whether I’ll expatriate sooner than later (certainly sooner than retirement)—I can’t describe how much it warmed my heart. Not just his performance, but watching the whole bar erupt, strangers turning into a little temporary family for a few minutes. And walking out together once it ended. Love is truly the answer after all, and we must all stay united together.

To be fair, though… that might’ve been one of the most boring Super Bowls I’ve ever seen in my life.

Cartagena is a city with music on every corner. Families traveling together. People taking care of each other. And it made me think about something I haven’t broken much silence about: my second marriage.

We had more logistically in common—closer circles, the same high school, overlapping worlds. But the marriage itself was short. And anyone who’s been through divorce (or a true rupture) knows: there’s a strange amount of time for reflection afterward.

At first, the ego is loud. We point fingers. We narrate our pain like it’s courtroom testimony.

But if you’re lucky—and if you’re willing—you eventually practice metacognition. You get curious about your own mind. You notice the brain’s tricks. You remember you are the narrator of your thoughts… and that thoughts pass by. They are temporary. They are not always truth. And as masters of our own lives, we have to take responsibility for the story we keep repeating.

This is a long-winded way of introducing what I’ve learned about myself—my role, and why this marriage failed.

I believe we were fundamentally incompatible in what we needed and what we could give. But I also believe a major part of my responsibility was choosing someone who valued family above everything—and in Colombia, as admirable as that is, it’s not just a value. It’s cultural DNA. It’s stitched into the identity.

And as you may know… I didn’t grow up that way.

I wanted—so badly—to be chosen first. To be someone’s priority in the way I never was as a child. And I chose someone who was not built to meet that need. I lived a life trying to be “good”, and what’s more noble than being family-oriented?

It cost more heartbreak than necessary. And I believe it could’ve been avoided altogether.

Going forward, I’m making decisions based on one thing: my gut. What feels clean. What feels true. What feels good for me—and nothing else. I’ve spent too much of my life bending and folding, adapting to what I thought was “right,” even when it wasn’t right for me.

Right now, I’m enjoying my own company. I’m not interested in dating. I’m not interested in building a family right now. And I believe that if love is meant for me again, it will be with my best friend—someone capable of meeting me where I am, seeing who I am, and not forcing a future that only hurts.

After Cartagena, I came to Coralina Island. I have a feeling this will become a pattern—one island, one quiet reset, one chapter at a time. Pierre, the owner of the hotel, kindly let me extend two extra nights. I told him the truth: this is how I travel. I book the bookends—the flight there and the flight back—and then I let life fill in the middle. I talk to locals. I follow intuition.

I think of myself very close to a feral creature in this way, and I certainly attracted all the animals during my stay: chickens, cats, dogs, and even some dangerous ones, but I was ultimately protected by the dogs on the island.

Ah, and while I was on the island, something unexpected happened.

My ex-husband and I were speaking (more like arguing) about logistics, and an unexpected wave of kindness came my way. He took full accountability. He apologized.

They say you don’t need closure to move on—but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t matter. It was nice, even briefly, to be on good terms. To be seen. Heard. Understood. After years of tension and conflict, it unlocked something in me that’s hard to put into words.

It set me free.

My ex is nothing if not a determined, persistent man.

And I have this to say to you, Mr. Cerezo: What’s meant for us, surely cannot miss us. Live every bit of your life to the fullest, as the 5-year old you would be proud of. Keep growing and pushing the limits the world has tried to impose on you. Hold your loved ones close. Be grateful; be happy. I will always love you. But I am not the same person you were married to.

Tonight, I travel back to Cartagena. I’ll get a tattoo—one I think will represent this chapter of my life. And then I look forward to integrating all of this when I’m back home.

Yours always,

Suki