See, getting raised in the States was all I knew, so I didn't really engulf myself in any type of hispanic culture. I was taught very little spanish, and actually had to re-take it in high school because I performed so poorly. To this day when someone comes up to me to speak spanish (which happens quite a lot especially now that I'm in New York) I freeze. Anything I've learned, disappears. I get nervous, because I'm SUPPOSED to speak it. People tell me I need to learn, and I look the part. But I don't feel it. At all. 

Back to Colombia: My dad and I eventually took a cab up into Pamplona for my first time, as well as his first time. The whole way up I was a nervous wreck. I knew nothing about this place. We kept passing a wide variety of homes--some in one piece--some in twenty. Some with some roofs, some without. I never knew when the cab driver would pull over and just say, "We're here!"

Eventually we came upon the entrance to Pamplona. There were paved roads, buildings and people milling about. There is a church, a town plaza and small businesses. My dad and I first set out to see the town. We ended up at the hospital I was born at, Hospital San Juan de Dios. (See Below)  

the woman and the family who I spent my first year of life with. If not for her, I don’t


My dad and I met a worker in the hospital & explained I was born here then adopted to someone (that's all we knew) and I was looking to find a little more information about my birth parents. He said he didn't really know of anywhere we he could check for paper records, but that there was actually a Bien Estar office in Pamplona. My dad and I got directions from him, and then continued on. We came to a place with Bien Estar written across the front of the building, so we knocked and went in. Unfortunately, we didn't think this was the right place. Why? Because there were children running around, and colorfully decorated walls. Turns out, this was the DAYCARE, Bien Estar.