Advance Essay #1: Long Distance

Introduction:

My goals for this essay were to write something that would really stick people and make them realize something and see things differently. I wanted it to be memorable for them and for the essay’s idea to develop into a bigger, deeper topic by the end. I am very proud of how the essay turned out, I think my theme ended up developing into something very interesting: objects, memories, and connection and I think the descriptive writing in my scenes really immerses the reader. Although I had a hard time coming up with my scenes as for some reason I couldn’t remember anything as soon as we were assigned to write about memory, I think the scenes fit into my essay well and take the readers by surprise as there is not much foreshadowing to what happens in them. For my next paper, I would like to improve how much analysis I have in my essay because even though I liked having my scenes, I could have written more analysis to really go even deeper on the theme.

Essay:

Frequently moving has left my house lacking in sentimental objects. I hold very few things at value as I’ve learned not to get too attached to them. The few items that I have that matter to me contain the story of my life, past, and family. At the same time, my memories have been the main thing that I have been able to take with me wherever I go.

In my house, I have a palm-sized alpaca, which is made from wire that can only be seen in the feet, where it is looped for each foot so it can stand up. It is covered in real fur, which is apparent by the smell that’s similar to that of a pine tree. Over the years some of the fur has fallen off, revealing the white leather beneath. The details of the face are made with black string sewn onto the leather in a caricature style noted by the big eyes. Placed around its neck is one of the decorations put on llamas’ ears, the size of a bracelet, which stands out by its bright green, yellow, fuchsia, and maroon colours.

I can still remember when I got my little alpaca. It was during one of our trips to the North of Chile, a few days before we traveled to Peru. Right when I saw it, I knew I had to have it. It became a real pet to me and I would take it everywhere with its yellow leash that I had made from yarn. After visiting Peru, we were afraid that on our plane ride back Chilean customs would confiscate it, thinking it had been made in Peru and brought to Chile. So, to get it across we hid it between our clothes and were able to safely get it back to its rightful home.

For many years, my alpaca had a special place in my room, where I could look at it and remember all it had taken for it to be where it was. As I grew older, I stopped paying as much attention to it, getting used to its presence. Years later, when I moved to Canada, I left my beloved alpaca behind. There it stayed for five years until I finally returned to Chile and rediscovered it, abandoned in an old box. Now that I live in the U.S., my alpaca has reclaimed its spot in my room, where I can fully appreciate and recall its story.

My memories from Chile are limited since I left when I was so young. It takes a lot for them to resurface and even then it almost seems like they were a dream and part of somebody else’s life. This is especially because the moments feel far away, and are mostly foggy to me. Most of what I remember are either small, random details or surreal, almost movie-like experiences, dramatized by my young mind. One of those moments shares a lot of similarities with the getting of my alpaca.

A year after the alpaca debacle, we were at the airport ready to travel again. Canape, my hamster was buzzing in his cage. He was grey with a dark stripe running along his backbone and crazed eyes almost bulging out of his head. We had no one to care for him while we were away, so we couldn’t leave him behind. I took him out of his cage and placed him in his travel box, his little whiskers wiggling as he took in the new scents around him. We knew that if we checked him in with the airline he would be put in the cargo hold of the plane and we were afraid he wouldn’t survive the trip.

We checked in our suitcases and it was time to go through security. My eyes trailed along the line of people placing all their belongings on the grey trays and preparing to pass through the tall metal detectors. Our turn came to be inspected. I looked back to my dad who had placed Canape’s cage in a bag, but the little grey ball of fur was nowhere to be seen. “You can go,” said one of the officers. I walked across the metal detector, fearing that it would ring even though there was no reason for it to. My parents both made it through without any alarm and as we started to get our things from the grey tray, my dad opened his hoodie pocket and inside two small eyes stared up at me, it was Canape.

Overtime, the stories my parents have told me of my childhood, have become so ingrained, they have become my own memories. This was one of the few events that I needed my mom to assure me that it had really happened. Almost like a movie or a TV show, it seems unreal. Because we lived far away from the rest of our family, we would visit frequently, mainly staying in my grandparents’ home. We would spend Christmas there, and wait until midnight to open our presents together. I have many memories like that from that house like how my cousins and I would hide under the long-legged bed and would light up whenever one of our parents gave us money to get candy from the store next door. The most memorable one though being a time that brought us closer than we ever thought we could be.

That night I remember not being able to fall asleep. We had just arrived to visit my grandparents after a long trip and I was sleeping in my dad’s old room. It was a small room with a twin-sized bed and some shelving whose outline could vaguely be seen. It was dark but the light from the window caught my attention. Through the curtains I could see as the streetlights lit the pavement, creating a shadow of the contents of the street within the room. Movement caught my attention. The telephone pole outside almost seemed to be vibrating, moving of its own accord. Was I just imagining this? I passed it off as me just being tired, closing my eyes and letting sleep wash over me…

“Wake up!” my parents jolted me awake. Rubbing my eyes I realized something was wrong. Everything was shaking. I could hear the voices of my uncles, aunts, and cousins outside the room. My parents pulled me up and took me downstairs where we found the rest of our family huddled in a corner in the living room. It was still really dark and I realized I must not have been asleep for that long. As I took in my surroundings, I realized it was shaking harder now and I could hear the breaking of glass as some of my grandmother’s decorative plates were falling. It was the only sound I could really hear other than the creaking of the wood of the house. I’d felt earthquakes before but never this bad, still fear never crossed my mind as my parents held me tight. There we stayed the whole night, in that corner, waiting for the shaking beneath our feet to come to an end.

My memory from that moment is still vivid and although I don’t get to see my family very often—in fact, I haven’t seen them in the last three years, which in and of itself seems bizarre—I still miss them and feel connected to them through my memories. Regularly moving from country to country has made me feel detached from places and people, like I’ve had four different lives and no deep-seated roots. My family is the one thing that has stayed constant and I know that they are always thinking of me just like I am of them. Being away, the most precious thing are those memories that even though they seem like a dream, they are the connection to my origins and childhood.