On Flight

I left Houston on time to Buenos Aires. My excitement began when I settled into my seat and listened to the buzz of Spanish in the cabin. This is when it hit me. That buzz will be everywhere when I get to Buenos Aires. I had a little tear and got cozy.

They passed out a piece of paper to fill out, an entry document, to enter into the country; no one mentioned this to me. They ask your nationality. What am I? I’m a mutt. I’m American? Caucasian? What am I? I am a Chicagoan from the United States of America. In fact, there was a space marked CHI for chili, instinctively I almost checked it. Oh, the CHI-town.

I don’t really associate myself with most of the United States. What I love most about my Country is that we can travel freely through without borders and all the states are so different. We are like little countries. Why isn’t there a better way to say it then ‘American’? This is a flaw in the system.

My friend Bob argued that we say American because we are the only Country in the Americas with America in the title. Now that I am faced with meeting other people from another America, It feels wrong to take ownership. I’m glad to be a part of the Americas. My nationality, estadounidense. There is no English translation for this.