Ave Migratoria

Do I stay or do I leave?

I took a break from Bodycombat because crowded spaces give me anxiety—whether it’s the office or the gym. Ironically, I’ve always loved sports, but almost always individual ones: gymnastics, running, swimming. Spaces where I could isolate myself completely.

Bodycombat is a group choreography. And although I always end up connecting with the trainers, I hesitate when it comes to connecting with others. Still, I’ve heard comments a few times, like: “I believe in you,” “Esteban the invincible,” “Esteban does Bodycombat like a trainer,” “I’d like to train next to you today, I love the energy and enthusiasm you bring,” or “Your presence in class is power.” Comments that pull me out of my head and into connection with others, which honestly gives me… I don’t even know how to explain it.

Anxiety

One of the things that brings me the most anxiety and discomfort is the way so many people in society have learned to make conversation. I grew up learning that reading gives you the freedom to choose endless topics of conversation. But many stick to the same ones.

Do you have a partner? Do you have kids? Do you work in what you studied? Don’t you starve doing that? Why do you live there? Why do you wear earrings?

I often find that trivial conversations wear me out.

I started a massage course. My way of connecting with people is always to observe first: to read the room, to sense who’s there, what personalities are in play, with whom I might connect and with whom I don’t even need to try.

At first, I doubted whether I should continue. But as we progressed, those personalities became more familiar. Somehow more approachable. And with that, many conversations started. Some not worth my time—not even worth remembering or mentioning—but others stood out. Like religion.

Religion

I say the topic of religion stood out for me because I studied theology. Enough to push back when someone said Adam and Eve ate an apple (the Bible says: fruit).

It almost felt like a school debate. One thing Peru and Romania share is that both are overwhelmingly Christian societies. In Peru, Catholicism dominates; in Romania, it’s the Orthodox Church.

So the discussion drifted among questions: did we believe in the devil, in spirits, in demons, in God, in hell, in life after death, in the existence of evil, and so on.

At one point, someone said: “Well, here we believe in God and that’s it.”
And I answered: “It’s true that I also believe in God. But it’s possible that if we were surrounded by people of other religions, the conclusion of the conversation would not be the same. The point is to have the freedom to express what we believe, without someone silencing us just because they don’t like it.”

I hope you see what I mean: we can disagree, but it’s important to be respectful and kind to one another, even when we don’t think alike.

Fight or flight

Before diving too far into all the topics these moments bring to mind—life in the gym or a weekend course (in Romanian), where attitudes and conversations can be so uncertain—I’ve noticed my instinct goes into fight or flight.

It has taken me a long time, reflection, and self-compassion to temper myself. Fear of other people’s questions. Fear of not having the answers they expect. Fear of seeing their disappointment that I don’t think or live like they do. Fear of admitting that my personal choices defy society’s norms.

The silence that follows my answers. The looks. And yet…

I’ve learned to look away without greeting. I’ve learned to greet without smiling. I’ve learned to say I’m not willing to talk. I’ve learned to disconnect from others without asking for permission or forgiveness.

I’ve learned to express how I feel, and why. I’ve learned to accept other people’s silence. I’ve learned to return after silence with an honest, transparent word.

I’ve learned to explain the reasons behind my questions. I’ve learned that I don’t need to answer everyone else’s. I’ve learned to let silence exist in the middle of a conversation without trying to fill it—and to let others figure out how to keep it going.

I’ve learned to let go. But I’ve also learned to stay. To return. To reconnect. I haven’t learned to lie better—I’ve learned to say just enough.

Thank you for reading.