So this is about a nightmare I used to have as a child. But before I begin, I'd like to say that I wouldn't use the word "exile", I only adopted this word because the exhibit was called EXILE and we talked about being exiled and migrating quite a bit during brainstorming and curation meetings. I know me and my family were immigrants when I was young, and I am an immigrant again now, but I do not think I should use the word exile because my family had the choice to stay in Colombia, but thought it best not to.
So, long story short, I was born in Medellin Colombia, and when I was around 1 year old, my family left the country due to the complicated state of the country and the looming violence (that was too close to our young family for comfort). I'd never use the word exile, because I know we were lucky enough to be able to move before it got too bad. I know leaving was a choice, but I also know it was a forced choice. Anyways, we emigrated to Miami, as lots of Latinos do, and lived there for a few years while the violence died down in Colombia. Nonetheless, my parents desperately missed their home and their family, and we traveled back to Medellin at least twice a year, during summer and Christmas. We loved going home to Colombia, but airports on either end of our journeys were terrifying experiences. It's amazing how children pick up on their parent's energy, even when they try and shield us from their fears. My parents would always get stressed flying back and forth between Colombia and the United States because of our status as immigrants, and because airports, simply put, heavily discriminated against Colombians.
I must've been around 4 when I started having this nightmare. I had (and still have) a stuffed unicorn, and Eni was my favorite cuddly toy. I took her everywhere and slept with her every night. so naturally, I'd take her back and forth with me when we travelled to Medellin for Christmas. But before traveling, I'd always have this recurring nightmare...
We'd be at the airport in the line for security, we'd get to the front of the queue and take our shoes off, put our bags on the conveyor belt, everything would be going fine and then a TSA officer would take Eni out of our hand luggage. They'd put Eni on a tray by herself and push her though the x-ray machine. Then TSA officers would gather around Eni and start sticking huge needles through her. Right in front of me. These needles were the girth of chopsticks and the length of my arms. And TSA would stick needles into Eni from every angle. Sometimes, they'd cut her open and dig around her stuffed insides.
I'd wake up sweating. I never understood why TSA officers would do that to my stuffed toy. I never really understood why I'd have that nightmare either. I was only 4 or 5 years old. Looking back on it now, I realize that the news and media, as well as my parent's fears and hushed conversations had seeped into my subconscious. Without knowing it, I had been having nightmares about being searched for drugs. Without understanding it, I was having nightmares as a consequence of fear, discrimination, and migration.
So, as an ode to my 4 year old self, who ran from violence without knowing it and had nightmares about being discriminated against for being Colombian, I drew Eni. Stitched through her, and told this very personal story at the EXILE exhibit.
Nightmare, Graphite and Embroidery Thread on Paper
Below these two drawings I wrote: "Are you looking for what I'm. running from?"
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