Today marks 1 year of living in Colombia — and what a wild, beautiful, arepa-filled rollercoaster it’s been.

In just 12 months, I’ve learned that:

✔️ “I’m on my way: Ya casi” can mean 5 minutes, 50 minutes, or never.
✔️ “Aji” isn’t just a hot sauce — it’s a test of character.
✔️ You don’t just drink coffee here, you worship it.
✔️ Reggaeton is the national background noise — at parties, in taxis, at work, and probably in the maternity ward.
✔️ And “hágale pues” is the verbal thumbs-up for absolutely anything.

I’ve been called parce, amigo, mi amor, veci, and sometimes all in the same day. I’ve seen landscapes that made me forget to take a photo. I’ve eaten things I didn’t recognize but loved, now my breakfast is caldo de costilla.

I’ve danced terribly in public and no one cared. I’ve met people who made this place feel like home faster than I expected.

Also — and this is very important — I haven’t experienced a single blackout all year. Spain, I love you, but take notes. No candles, no spoiled fridge food, no dramatic clapping when the lights come back. Just pure Colombian stability… well, except when it comes to traffic rules.

Has it been all perfect? Of course not. The roads have more craters than the moon. Bureaucracy feels like a telenovela. And I still don’t fully understand how people survive on just patacón and soda. But damn, it’s been worth it.

So here’s to one year in Colombia.
To the chaos, the colors, the kindness.
To the people who made me feel like I’ve always belonged.
And to the second year — bring it on.

💛💙❤️ Gracias, parce.