I boarded a plane holding hands with my mother and fraternal quadruplet brothers at 7 years old. She sacrificed her upper-class life in Bogotá, Colombia, venturing into the unknown as a single parent of four and immigrating to Miami for us to achieve educations in English and dreams in dollars.
Just over two decades later, I've come back for the reason she left: the pursuit of happiness. For my mom, that meant safety and opportunity during a time when our country was considered one of the most dangerous in the world. In certain parts, it still is. I built on her foundation to seek opulence.
"The ones that live there are the ones that can, not the ones that want," my private driver commented while arriving at Poblado, my new neighborhood. I blushed, thinking I was finally included in the elite.
"You can't just give up," my mom said on the phone when I arrived.
But entering my two-bedroom, two-bathroom doorman apartment with a balcony overlooking a city surrounded by mountains did not feel like defeat. I treated myself to dinner at a renowned restaurant and walked out thinking, "How cheap!" The next day, I paid $13 for a manicure and pedicure, then $37 for a facial.
You can't buy happiness, but I suddenly felt the high of power and access that doesn't exist in the US for a freelance writer.
I couldn't afford my lifestyle in New York
TO READ MORE CLICK HERE...
