If Scars Had Words

Every day, at some random point, I spot a scar that is placed on the left side of my right thumb. It's about an inch long. Nothing too too fancy. No one really knows I have it until they stare at my hand like creepers. But despite how insignificant this little scar may seem, it reminds me of where I come from on a daily basis.

My scarred thumb next to my little friend's 9month old thumb.

I am truly blessed - not lucky nor unaware of the struggles I've encountered on this short journey of 21 years called life. As I type on my laptop, I think about my exact location on Earth and within the space of time. Today I am sitting in my apartment in, what I call, the armpit of the state of Florida (a.k.a Gainesville), in the U.S., in the Northern hemisphere, west of the Prime Meridian. But I have come a very long way...physically. Twenty-one years ago I was in a crib, in my parent's house, in the Southern hemisphere, in a little paradise of a country called Ecuador.

Now, I'm sure there are enough blog entries out there about immigrants and their unique stories to last a lifetime, but this one is worth looking over. I feel that getting a sense of who I am from the get-go is important.


I was born into a privileged family in Guayaquil, Ecuador. My father's side of the family descended from English businessmen/merchants/nobles....quite frankly I hear better things about my family from Ecuadorian strangers than from my actual relatives. It's a fact that the Gilberts have been influential doctors, athletes, politicians, entrepreneurs, etc. so it's no wonder that a fortune existed at one point. My mom's side of the family arrived to South America about 4 generations ago from Oviedo, Spain. The Lara y Granda family split to Venezuela and Ecuador upon arriving to the not-so-new world. My maternal grandmother then married my grandfather, a member of the Paredes family. 

That's me in the middle - waving at the age of 2wks.

By the time I was born in 1991, my parents and sister Gisella moved into a house within a neighborhood set aside for the sailors/marines and their families. We were able to live there because a portion, or perhaps all, of the neighborhood was owned by my mother's uncle. The house had one level and was very spacious from what my childhood mind remembers. We had a woman to wash our clothes, a cook, a gardener, a nanny, and a handy-man who walked my sister and me to our "jardín", or pre-school, but none of them lived with us. Our huge backyard was my domain. By the time I was 3, if I was missing, anyone could find me playing with geese and ducks, singing hymns to them, or running through the mango and guava trees. Because I was an explorer at such a young age I thought I could do ANYTHING. Which is why one fine day, I cut my finger.


My parents took out an old T.V. to be thrown out later in the week. It didn't work for some reason, but I thought I could fix it because at that age I thought wiggling the antenna would fix anything on a T.V. So I found a piece of scrap metal and tried forcing it onto the antenna to make it longer and fix whatever was wrong with it. Applying all my force to join the metals, the scrap piece slipped downward, sliding and slicing my thumb. I associated blood with dead animals since I had seen many brought to the kitchen to be cooked, so I freaked out. Our gardener saw me bleeding and came running for me, but by that point I left a little trail of blood across the front patio and ran through the living and dining rooms until the trail ended at my mom's lap. She took care of my battle wound, but the scar remained.


Every time my scar comes into sight I remember the trail of blood that I left behind on the patio..and then my mind wonders to memories of pristine happiness, of anniversaries, birthdays, new year eves, "carnavales", etc. So much happened on that patio, and I refuse to forget that feeling of bliss and uninhibited happiness that I felt from all those experiences.


These memories are the energy reserves I need in order to continue when the present leaves me hanging.

My second birthday with my parents.