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The Grief of Exile: Loving from the Shadows

When I left my country, I felt relief. My first thought was for my freedom, the possibility of defending what I believe in. But leaving a country doesn’t necessarily free us from the grief that follows.

By Brisa Bucardo (Confidencial)

HAVANA TIMES – I’ve written before about the grief of leaving a land. About what it means to be distant from the territory that holds our memories, the places that know our names; from all that we recognize as ours. Over time, I’ve understood that the sorrows also pile up. Some begin when we cross a border, while others take months or years to reveal themselves. There are losses that we don’t even know we’re experiencing, until one day we manage to name them.

One of these is a mourning for those we love.

When I left Nicaragua, I felt relief. My first thought was for my freedom, the possibility of speaking without fear, continuing to defend what I believe in, and to follow a vision which, up until now, has never betrayed me. I told myself that all of that had to be worth it – that exile was worth it.

And being able to continue the struggle has indeed been worth it. I still believe that.

However, leaving a country doesn’t necessarily mean escaping all that pursues us.

Those of us living in certain situations of exile learn that borders can safeguard our bodies but not separate our lives from the violence we left behind. We leave but continue wondering what’s going on with those who stayed. And when violence touches the people we love in different ways, a contradiction arises that’s difficult to explain: the freedom we longed for so ardently begins to coexist with the guilt of exercising it.

And we begin to ask ourselves: Should I stop?

I’ve asked myself this many times.

I’ve never wanted to stop. I’ve never wanted to be silent. But there’s a difference between the rational knowledge that you’re not the one responsible for the violence and really convincing your body to believe it. When you feel that your words, your work, and even your very........

© Havana Times