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Eng as a little girl growing up in colombia
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That girl still lives in me—barefoot, brave, and stubbornly hopeful, with a heart full of salsa and a memory of mountains that never fade.

The streets were a symphony of noise: the arepa vendor’s call, the rattling chiva bus grinding up the cobblestone hill, and always, always the thumping of salsa spilling out from someone’s kitchen window. I learned to dance before I learned to read—not formally, but by standing on my father’s feet as he spun me around the living room, my feet barely touching the tile.

Yet even in that lush, vibrant world, I learned early about quiet resilience. I saw my mother sew buttons back on uniforms at midnight, my father leave for work before the sun dared to rise. I heard whispers of hard times—violence that lived on the evening news, neighbors who disappeared, families who packed one suitcase and never came back. But the adults rarely let us feel the weight. Instead, they offered bocadillo with cheese, a hammock strung between two palms, and the promise that “Dios proveerá” —God will provide.

As A Little Girl Growing Up In Colombia Info

That girl still lives in me—barefoot, brave, and stubbornly hopeful, with a heart full of salsa and a memory of mountains that never fade.

The streets were a symphony of noise: the arepa vendor’s call, the rattling chiva bus grinding up the cobblestone hill, and always, always the thumping of salsa spilling out from someone’s kitchen window. I learned to dance before I learned to read—not formally, but by standing on my father’s feet as he spun me around the living room, my feet barely touching the tile. as a little girl growing up in colombia

Yet even in that lush, vibrant world, I learned early about quiet resilience. I saw my mother sew buttons back on uniforms at midnight, my father leave for work before the sun dared to rise. I heard whispers of hard times—violence that lived on the evening news, neighbors who disappeared, families who packed one suitcase and never came back. But the adults rarely let us feel the weight. Instead, they offered bocadillo with cheese, a hammock strung between two palms, and the promise that “Dios proveerá” —God will provide. That girl still lives in me—barefoot, brave, and