In La Union, to say that everyone is a family is an understatement.

There must be a better word, and perhaps, Union, its own name, could best describe it.

Para Josue, mi hermano volcánico

 

Sitting at a roof of a house near the peak of Conchagua, a volcano east of El Salvador, I learned that unified doesn’t mean that there’s no differences. Unified means being one, above age, above color, and ultimately, above the idea of the self.

 

As I kicked the soccerball in front of me, I asked loudly, “which one is my team?” And someone said: “Everyone. Everyone is your team”.

 

I learned that time can indeed stop here. Time, which has been commodified by the oppressing power of monetization, I wish, and I think, has no power here. 

 

Josue said, “I remember when I was a kid, some people from the US will come here and give us things. I learn how to give freely from them”

 

He invited me to be part of his siblinghood, and as I wrote this text, I have received all the love from La Union and Salvadoreños in its many forms: passing raw chilis, bulbs of sorbet from the cart, fresh pupusas, sopa de pollo, minuta, aguahate, laughters, smiles, touches, and embraces. 

 

I learned that love is not expensive (to the expense of ourselves), and it shouldn’t be. At any time, I can hear Cumbia playing from afar, Reggaeton playing in the house, chatters, yells, and parties that could last until 4am with endless Golden Extra and patroling tequila bottles. Of course, if I choose to sleep, I can. 

 

(Everything that I consumed, comes directly from La Union and its surroundings. The food, the sounds, the words, and the feelings that comes with it.)

 

This is not to negate all the problems that are currently heightened as I write this text. 7hrs before my flight back, the lights at the party went out, and as we continued singing, one of the military men holding a rifle approached us and yelled “no canción”.

 

I wonder how life is without songs. Can there be a life without one?

 

Despite all: love, food, laughters, fights, winning, losing, songs, and voices, will and shall prevail. We are part and parcel, and I’m reminded of that constantly here.

 

Here, I touched the hanging roots of a tree called family, and for that, I am forever grateful.

 

Vamonos,

Jimmy