Only after taking a short nap on the rock did I notice the beehive. It hung a fair distance from where I rested, so I didn’t budge as I recognized its presence. I saw the bees, buzzing and flying in and out the hive, seemingly endless work to be done. It repeated a pattern that had no end; leave the hive, collect as much nectar as your fluffy bodies can hold, come back to the hive and dump it all, restart. My mind, for some reason, say this as a high score challenge all bees compete in in a endless game mode. I shut my eyes and thought to myself, “Dude, you’re kidding me right? Just take a break from videogames for once, jeez. Can’t you think of anything else when you’re outside?” I rolled of the stone and flopped onto the grass-filled floor. The cool cordillera winds flew through the leaves and slightly lifted my dark hair, spreading specks of dust and coal. The Bolivian weather was usually like this, and I began to appreciate the beehive my mind had managed to create before me. Of course, no bees would live here, less in my backyard. This looks like it came straight out of my cousin’s coloring book, with its messy mustard yellow and simple design. The bees were no different, and I tried to make the vision go away. At last, the hive slowly faded and I awoke from my daydream; back in the mountainous city of La Paz, Bolivia. Home.
I got up and went back inside, believing that enough fresh air was taken and it was time to leave. The small apartment-house where I lived with my parents was small, but seemed nice. Flopping again on my bed, I began my homework once more. The Spanish words on the page that had once baffled me now seemed common. School seemed easy, mainly since I was a good student with good habits and had a good family and possibly a good future, something that other Bolivians could only dream of. I felt like a master of two worlds as I breezed through the English assignment; having been born in the U.S. and having Bolivian family was a true benefit that would serve me for the rest of my life. Most of these things passed over my head and my blissful innocence blocked all these advantages. My parents worked hard, I went to a respected, expensive and exclusive school, and I had lots of family. I never knew why we had moved in the first place, what happened with my brother, my parents’ struggles to constantly give me and my brother what we needed, the protests in the streets, the anger in the country; all I knew is that I went to this cool school and lived a nice life with video games. Only when I became more mature did I see all these things and it left me dumbfounded. Was this indifference of my surroundings or innocence of the situations? So many things were revolving around me, but my mind and soul had been sold to Pokemon, Nintendo, and schoolwork.
Homework having been finished, I went to my 3DS, pressed the power button, and played away at Pokemon. Besides reaching out for some popcorn, I spent the rest of the day playing until my dad arrived home. We had dinner, and I went to sleep. That was my usual day, uneventful, yet somewhat enjoyable. Even though I wasn’t born here, I felt that Bolivia was my home, place of birth. Partially because I felt that that was where my life began and where my oldest memories lay. The mountain breeze blew once more through the windows, beginning the chilly night. Spot, my half-wolf, half-something-else dog, barked once, and fell asleep. I too fell into slumber as I wondered how the next day would be, ignorant of the turmoil happening elsewhere and the possible throwing of dynamite onto the streets or into a building.
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