Dreams Are Not Meant to Be Demolished: When the Earth Moved, Dreams Remained
I discovered just how joyful my transition into adolescence in Colombia truly was as I walked through places that hold such vivid memories for me. Landscapes and views I can still recognize, even when the infrastructure has changed. The familiar smells, the affection, and the experiences shared with people who genuinely love me, where the essence remains untouched despite the passing years.
The earth moved and shook everything in its path for thousands of people, including me. It shook more than concrete and steel. It unsettled memories, emotions, and vulnerability. For a moment, it brought forward the almost twelve-year-old girl who still lives within me, asking for healing, time, and grace. Even asking to understand what was required from her back then.
Two years before that earthquake (in Pereira, Colombia, 1995), violence uprooted my family from Medellín and brought us to Pereira. What had once been a city of family visits and cherished holidays became the place where we rebuilt our lives. It also became the place where life challenged us again, stretching my parents financially and eventually leading us back to Medellín. Returning home did not feel like coming home. Everything was familiar, yet everything felt new once again.
Then came another earthquake in 2026. From the 13th floor, I felt a fear that seemed to have no end; the earth shook for so many seconds. It exposed wounds I thought had healed and forced me to confront post-traumatic stress in ways I never expected. But healing has taught me something as our Executive Director, Mr. Halil Demir,'s words resonated inside me:
“I am not required to carry what only God can carry. I am responsible for faithfulness, not for control.”
With the love of friends and family, the support of colleagues, the guidance of mental health professionals, and the courage to keep showing up, I have learned that healing and serving can coexist.
This journey brought me back to familiar streets and beloved places. The places where I grew up, lived, learned, studied, and loved deeply. Where I first said, “I love you.” Places that once sheltered me and now shelter others who have lost everything.
As my team and I sought to understand our next steps as humanitarian workers, our realities collided. As I stood alongside my team in Pereira trying to understand our next steps as a humanitarian organization, my own home in Medellin was being inspected for cracks.
Meanwhile, I was learning that the coordinator of our Pereira center lost both her home and her job. Yet she began as a volunteer and has now become a humanitarian worker, joining my team at least for this season.
