A Transformative Trip to Colombia
Awakenings of identity in South America.
The USDA’s definition of “free-range”, as it relates to chickens, states that the poultry must have access to the outdoors for more than 51% of their life. If I were to observe the years I lived prior to my journey to South America, I would have certainly fallen short of that qualification.
During a typical spring break from university, I’d fly home to Texas. There, I would inevitably throw myself into any number of trivial personal projects, order meals from one of my two go-to restaurants, or chip away at my massive watchlist of films, accumulating by the boatload, all while the stray markings on my academic planner faded into obscurity. If not for the persistent meddling of my two closest friends, I would have returned to that familiar, comforting cycle that junior year. But, instead they prevailed. This go round, I would be boarding a plane to Medellín, Colombia, where the previously determined boundaries of my perspective would be reshaped in ways I had never imagined.
I arrived on a separate flight from my brothers in spirit, Edson and Nathan, whom I met during our first class in college: Engineering Design. As three Black kids majoring in Computer Science from different corners of the world, we instantly clicked—united by a shared sense of ambition, self assuredness, and appreciation for observational humor. Edson brought a grounded playfulness; Nathan, a mellow, irreverent charm. Together, their mutually vibrant, impulsive energies synced with the mischievous edge of my more measured nature to create an intriguingly harmonious balance. As a trio, we easily met at the same edge of spontaneity and liveliness. Within months, our distinct yet complementary personalities converged, inspiring the creation of our own video production initiative. Aptly titled ANE (a blend of our initials), we poured our ever-spinning ideas into a mix of comedic man-on-the-street videos and candid sit-down conversations among friends. Drawing on my previous filmmaking endeavors, I took charge of the conceptual and practical aspects of production while they generated ideas that we collectively transformed into final products. Soon, our semi-consistent flow of content gained popularity among students on campus and ultimately earned us a Barstool repost, after our interviews with locals in London captured a distinct level of attention during our study abroad.
As my academic aspirations evolved in alignment with my ambitions, I shifted from engineering to the arts and changed my major to film. This transition led to our strategic focus on fictional short films, where their raw acting chops dynamically complimented my developing technical and creative skills. After producing two such films, our passion project gradually ground to a halt as our schedules and responsibilities diverged beyond coordination.
That standstill followed us all the way to our next adventure—Colombia, an impromptu reunion that felt like a rekindling of a dying flame.
We settled into our AirBnB with only a subtle idea of the week's plans but a clear idea for the night’s: CLUBBING. An activity in which I was largely uninitiated on account of both never having indulged in a sip of alcohol and being an absolute recluse. Our place was just a bit removed from El Poblado, the vibrant vessel of the city. I was awe-struck by the view on the drive up, even having only experienced it from the car, the plane and the brisk transition between the two.
Before officially confirming my participation in the excursion, I, of course, did my research, and in addition to the more traditional travel inquiries, my first priority was to confirm that the local attitudes toward gay people were favorable. I learned that they indeed were, as Medellín had grown increasingly welcoming and progressive, particularly in its more youthful neighborhoods. Still, pockets of conservatism lingered—a quiet reminder of the complexities that color my navigation of the world.
When the boys arrived and took in the grandiosity of our rental house, we finally made our way inward for dinner, on foot, which would be our primary means of transportation. I remained completely captivated by the atmosphere. My first trip abroad was also with them, in London. While that was an exhilarating experience in its own right, this evoked a different sense of enchantment. The city brimmed with color—not just in its visual hues but in a palpable energy, infused in every street. The people showed a hospitality that felt boundless, greeting you like an old friend they’d known for years. The restaurant we chose was a steakhouse, which would not be the first time our Americanness infiltrated our judgment. Although discouraged from doing so, we would often allocate the cash leftover from each night to several unhoused locals who lined the sidewalks, many of which were mothers with their children. At the restaurant we were greeted by a hostess who quickly and graciously led us to our table. She had a strikingly radiant smile and deep brown eyes that sparkled with an inviting openness, as captivating as the city itself. I would very often on this trip be taken aback by the magnetic beauty of the women who’d cross my path, a quandary not exactly exclusive to Colombia, but one heightened by the graceful confidence that the women there exuded, always engaging you in kind, inquisitive conversation, undeterred by any barriers of language. I often felt the charm of special attention, though whether that was due to a cultural kindness or my air of mystery, sparked by being the only woman among two men, I couldn’t tell. Luckily, that question would soon be answered as several nights unfolded.
We wasted no time diving into the pulse of the city. Before our meals had even settled, we were already scouting the nightlife. A club called Perro Negro had already been on our radar for its particular notoriety, and it quickly became our first and most frequented stop of the trip. Parque Lleras, where Perro Negro resided, was our certified stomping grounds as we returned night after night. Home to our favorite club, Parque Lleras was our nightly sanctuary, drawing us back without fail to indulge in the area's endless energy, bustling crowds, and hypnotic rhythm from music spilling out of every corner. As the renowned heart of Medellín’s nightlife, the park was an electrifying maze of open-air bars, clubs, and patios, each one offering a unique flavor of the city’s social scene. A small but intricate concentration of balconied buildings with narrow alleyways and hidden nooks that seemed to hold secrets of the city’s nocturnal magnetism. The establishments were tightly connected, with open terraces that dissolved any boundary between inside and out, allowing the lively atmosphere to spill freely onto the streets. Neon lights glowed against rustic brick walls and wrought-iron railings, casting a vibrant glow over the bustling crowds below. The soccer field and an outdoor gym we passed by each night were constantly alive with young locals showcasing their skills and boundless energy, laughing and cheering as they played well into the night. Fueled by a few too many drinks, we occasionally would stumble over to the monkey bars and tinkle around with the rusty, mechanical weight machines, cackling as we attempted pull-ups and clumsily challenged each other to feats of strength before finally making our way home. After only a few days, we were recognized upon entry to the park by the promoters who stood outside their workplaces, calling out to passing crowds and waving us in with familiar smirks.
Our post-meal-plotting also featured admiring remarks of the beautiful women around us, one of the many shared pastimes that grounded us as friends—or should I say elevated. It also included talks of my first alcoholic beverage, which we decided would occur during the “pregame” period before the club. We stopped at a patio with a DJ for drinks. I went with a mojito… or margarita. It tasted just as I’d expected, sweet and tangy with subtle fiery undertones that lingered just enough to remind me it was alcohol.
As I sipped with an eager haste, I couldn't help but reflect on the circumstances that brought me to such a belated moment. The social discipline with which I have moved through life can only be credited to the way I was raised. I’d never even allowed myself the inclination to drink, let alone frequent the kinds of places where it pervaded. While the effects of this self-restraint delayed my coming out by five years, it mostly manifested positively, granting me the focus and mental fortitude to steadily pursue my ambitions, excel academically, and do so with joyful precision and little distraction. Naturally, this meant the sacrifice of a traditionally appealing social life, but I was never much burdened by a desire for one to begin with. Perhaps also as a result of these choices, my personality carries a prevailingly sharp self-awareness, making the liberation and feelings of freedom I’d experience on this trip all the more impactful.
By the time we reached Perro Negro, I was only lightly buzzed. The line stretched long, but we didn’t mind, savoring the opportunity to absorb the city’s atmosphere and casually practice our Spanish with line holders and passers-by. Inside, the club was packed, seemingly endless bodies all pressed together on the dance floor. I awkwardly wove my way through the crowd, eventually settling into a less populated corner where I could bounce and observe with comfort. Edson and Nathan were deep in their element. After a while, I thought I’d lost them. My eyes searched with a subtle urgency only to find them shortly after, engaging a group of girls in bubbly conversation inches away. Hesitantly, I approached, and before I could settle into the background of their continued banter, one of them turned her attention to me and called me “beautiful.” Her accent—European, maybe French—seemed softer on me than with the boys. When our secluded conversation ended, sealed by a warm embrace, I felt a familiar, dizzying confusion, known by many gay girls maneuvering such uncertain landscape. Was her attention friendly or something more? Back in my corner, I let the flutter in my chest settle and considered whether to pursue answers to the signals she’d left behind. I eventually decided against it, letting my usual shyness around attractive women take over.
Since coming out just before college, I had spent virtually no time entertaining relationships, and certainly none flirting with women. I took solace in directing the bulk of my energy toward my non-woman and far less intimidating passions—making films, music, and writing. Admiring women from a safe, respectful distance had become an all too comfortable habit, a pattern hard to shake. But here, in a foreign country, I felt the weight of a unique opportunity. No one knew me, and there was no risk of embarrassment trailing me back home. So, the second night, this time at a new club, I forcibly shifted tune.
Minutes after we arrived, as if the universe was daring me to break free, a woman approached me. She first asked where I was from, I, in turn, found out she was from the area. As she spoke, she not so subtly closed the distance between us until our chests were nearly touching. With a sudden, almost possessive grip on my arm, she then deepened her inquiries. I was momentarily stunned, that combined with my halting Spanish was enough to delay my next move by at least 10 seconds. Attention from girls was entirely new to me; to be fair, I rarely placed myself in environments where I’d have the chance to experience such advances, but nonetheless an unfamiliar phenomenon it was. When she asked me to dance, I replied with an almost embarrassing eagerness, determined to let myself step into a side of me that I’d subdued.
On the dance floor, I took new form, moving with a confidence I never knew I had, and those who know me are well-acquainted with my impulsive blend of suave flair and rambunctious spirit. The music pulsed through my veins, each beat loosening the grip of old inhibitions, and for the first time, I let my body respond without reserve. Her hand was firm around mine, guiding me deeper into the crowd, and an ease overtook the fear I was so accustomed to carrying. I mirrored her movements, soon taking command with unrestrained boldness. The lights flashed, illuminating her face in bursts. She had a stunning profile, a sharp jawline and deep-set eyes that flickered with intensity whenever our gazes met. In those moments, everything else faded—the club, the noise, even the awareness of being in a foreign city—and all that remained was the rhythm of letting go. We swayed and spun, our movements fluid and almost synchronized. Her hand occasionally found the small of my back, pulling me in, breathing warmth against my ear to whisper something in Spanish I couldn’t quite catch but felt ripple through me. It felt like a montage of events I could only imagine. In those fleeting hours, I encountered a version of myself I’d never met: bolder, unafraid, fully present. As the night wore on, I realized that whatever happened after this, I would carry this part forward. And I did, straight into the next night, where I noticed a girl lingering just on the edge of the dance floor, her gaze meeting mine with unmistakable intent. By now, I was riding a high, reveling in the thrill of being noticed at a frequency that, from the outside, would have assuredly impressed me. When she closed the distance, I let myself take the reins. This time, I found myself meeting her energy without a second thought.
During our walks back from unforgettable nights, my mind lingered on the unforeseen thrill of attention from women, all stunning beyond comprehension—women I’d never dream of approaching, assuming they either weren’t queer or weren’t interested in me. I hadn’t realized how much of my sexuality was still unexplored—not just in experiencing desire, but in embracing a freedom to exist, openly, fully, without restraint. When I returned home and then to campus, I carried with me a new sense of confidence, feeling closer to a “free-range” version of myself than ever before. Medellín had broken my invisible coop, granting me a taste of life beyond my own self-imposed limits. Now, an inseparable piece of my identity had taken root—bold, anchored, and ready to live fully, unconfined by the old boundaries I once accepted.