& This Matters Too

How Unforgettable it Cant be Forgotten

Getting in a line from here to another country
Engines revving and planet tickers paper-thin within our eager hands
The plane's life trembled beneath our feet,
seat belts fastened, tray tables locked, seat in upright position--
didn't I know these instructions by heart?
I'd had enough chances to learn.
Then: please prepare for landing.
And all the hustle and bustle of voices that followed,
my sisters endless complaints echoing like we'd heard them a thousand times,
because hadn't we?
Stepping away from our old world to embrace culture anew.
We didn't stop moving the second our feet hit the ground, because we knew the course they were headed,
directing us straight into the thicket of a foreign land, deepening our shoes to leave our mark as aliens from another planet.
The world we were visiting towered above us all the while, so we had to pause for good measure,
scared it would all disappear if we didn't see it soon enough.
The five us became trekkers, explorers, road-runners to the vast Argentian lands–anything you could think to be, we were it.
Trees blurred by in my peripheral vision as we rode along uneven streets, a whole physical map of rainforests sprouting up from their 2D placement on the paper,
the one I had stared at hours before but was now walking inside of.
South America, we're here.
Argentina, we came for you.
Buenos Aires,
I can tell you how I have looked up at your towers
seen the face of your unique identity–
your coffee with flavor so rich it must've been unearthed from a soil of pure divinity.
The thin-rimmed champagne glass I sipped while gazing out along your tourist-thick boardwalks,
fireworks combusting like notes on a saxophone in the back of my eyes.
Tango dancers with routines so long we felt our energy waning, feet skipping beats on a worn floor hours past the right time to rest, because you kept yourself moving even when the rest of the world slept.
Patagonia, you next, enveloping my sleepy soul in awe and giving me an alarming resurgence towards nature.
Opening my eyes to the mountains stretching out along every border, a panoramic view so wide I couldn't see it all with one glance,
and had to keep shifting my eyes from Nahuel Huapi river back to the Andes, trying to decide how such a harmonious balance of beauty could  exist
in the ever-growing corruption of our fragile world.
For you, I wanted to explore every unseen inch.
To distinguish your take on the sweet, honey-tinged dulce-de-leche
To taste every wonderfully folded, meat-filled pastry–empanada–my greedy eyes laid upon.
I wanted to gobble you up and swallow you whole so I could digest your beautiful sights on the way back home.
For you, I saved a thousand pictures.
Hand clicking on the button over and over until even my camera stopped to appreciate the views, giving up on making them last.
You didn't disguise yourself well, I saw how naturally you held your looks.
With you, I awaited my adventure, hand gripped tightly on an old paddle, having been pushed a countless number of times through the rapids of a swelling monster.
I hitched screams in the back of my throat and hid behind the adventurous girl I was not yet familiar with.
She told me what to do,
you led the way.
And I stumbled across your rivers, paddle in hand, for two giddy hours of non-stop adrenaline.
Heart-racing till the end when we pulled up to the shore, and my face, so full of a pride, fell with a sad sense of disappointment that washed into my shaking body.
I heard the sounding of cheers and paddle slaps catching up to us from down the river, and let loose a defeated sigh.
I'd have to leave you behind, too.
But don't think I'd forget the way the tips of your strong green trees bowed in my direction as I zipped through them.
Don't think I wouldn't miss the way the hotel floors creaked when I walked on their spines,
and not remember how sun weaseled it's way into every living cell, your world bathing us blind.
Wander-lust in your foreign grip,
I found myself eagerly pursuing your gaping mouth,
you invited me inside and I couldn't turn my back, Iguazú.
From the sights and scenery of a wall only thunder or God could compare, to earth-shattering, heart-clenching water held in your tight fist before me.
Just water, you say?
You made it look like so much more.
I didn't turn back unscathed after seeing the way such vigorous life spewed from your earthen lips.
There was a reverance within you that left me in shock, and maybe a little bit deaf.
7th natural world wonder, all citizens had boasted.
And I only nodded, amazed, in agreement.
How could one see themselves as anything important after getting drenched firsthand by your miraculous, roaring waters?
I jumped from the perch of my safe balcony and was pulled into your arms,
learning to believe that even in the most dangerous things, we find comfort.
Fine, maybe I didn't jump. But I felt as though I had so many times, falling for your inescapable waterfalls.
I believe you told me a story, and it started with awe–ending in disbelief.
Don't worry, Argentina, it's your time to be recognized.
I can mention how you made me sigh deeply from my chest, having me experience what I had never imagined thrummed in the heart of our planet.
I can mention the joy you gave us, suspended in ever breath-taking moment,
never leaving one to the hands of a dull fate.
I can mention each day we took in our surroundings,
taking with us the flavors and flairs of a country now travelled, check, done.
And I can mention how every day we tried to take in the spanish words hurled at us, checking them in our mental translative dictionaries,
but not knowing even half of them,
even if we pretended we knew them all.
Jenna, at least.
Eight plane rides of a trip and you'd think we'd have had enough, right?
No. 
There was never enough.
Enough to see, do, live.
Enough air to breath, tinged with the sound of South American accents.
But somehow I stood at the airport, my feet falling with a finality in them that was only recently gained–when did that get there?
–and I was holding my last souvenir.
A tasteless chocolate-scented alfajore from the airport bakery.
That is when I finally said goodbye, a fleeting realization telling me that this wasn't forever.
Never could it be.
Home called to me from a long distance apart.
My dad smiled expectantly at me, and a sense of appreciation bursted forth, pushing it's way through my blood and into my cheek muscles to smile.
I stood with one foot pointed south and one turned north, 
and then, turning towards the plane, I waved to you.
Adios Argentina, I said,
you will be missed–
but never, not ever
forgotten.