Bourdainism in El Salvador: The Importance of Play

I’ve never been very good at loving people up close, for too long anyway. And that’s probably a result of moving so much since I was a baby. Continents, countries, schools, family members. Constant shifts in environment. Constant goodbyes.

In time, I suspect I’ll be better at it. Like any skill, it probably just takes enough tries.

I’ve been taking some time to pinpoint exactly why El Salvador has been my favorite country I’ve visited so far.

I keep returning to one specific moment.

I was overwhelmed, stuck on something I was trying to learn, unable to tear myself away from it. Frustrated with myself for still being on European time. My body felt wrong. My mind was sprinting ahead of itself.

Then, almost hypnotically, I remembered my therapy.

I took my foot off the gas pedal.

Closed my computer.

Pulled myself out of the chair.

Walked to the ocean.

At first, I just wanted to dip my feet in. Then I remembered something.

When I first arrived in the U.S., there were a few months, maybe weeks, where it was just my dad and me against the world. Impoverished, struggling, but facing life together anyway. I remember being at the beach one of those days. My dad can’t swim well, and neither can I. So we just held onto each other through the waves. We were playing.

I think all of us need more of that.

I hate the haunted, exhausted look I see on my friends’ faces lately.

Before I knew it, I was in the water, floating. I went to my next meeting dripping wet and absolutely loving it.

There was a version of me before that moment, and a version of me after.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time, maybe around the moment Japan invaded Korea, and love my war torn ancestors the way they should have been loved. But I do believe we are a collective consciousness. And I believe deeply in balance.

Without childhoods and lineages like mine, I don’t think there would be very many adventurers. Or seekers. I don’t think people would understand the value of uniting and healing.

And I don’t think there would be nearly enough stories to tell. Or words to write.

El Salvador welcomed me with open arms, with a warmth it didn’t owe me. People who didn’t have to be so kind to an American like me, but were anyway.

I gave the local Japanese spot in San Salvador a few giggles as I regularly dined there, unofficially certifying them as authentic, being the only East Asian person around for miles.

Near Tamanique, in Surf City, I met Cece, an older version of me. A true Golden Retriever uniting the beach. Her Black Cat husband was usually asleep. She keeps tagging me in photos I’m not in, and I’ve realized it’s because she wants me to see them. I appreciate that more than I can explain. I hope my friends start doing this too.

I met Lou, who dove into the ocean to retrieve my sunglasses, then helped me pack my suitcase so I wouldn’t miss my flight.

I ate enough pupusas to last a lifetime. And somehow found enough energy to start interviews again for The Four C’s.

Thank you.

I remembered who I was before survival taught me to forget.