alone at the pool

May 1st, 2022

April fooled me. What a tormentous month. I was alone at that flamboyant pool under the scalding sun; once again, after many years. My boyfriend was across the globe and my few friends were hungover from the night before. I usually don’t mind being alone, but the nostalgia was drowning me. Perhaps if someone else had been there, I wouldn’t have been afraid of diving in, of refreshing. Perhaps I’d still feel lonely.

Calling the past three weeks eventful would be an understatement. I'm writing this entry from my usual, childhood poolside at a fancy country club, where rich people play golf and sip on glasses by the palm trees.

My grandparents were enamored with this place and everything it represented. The luxury, the exclusivity, the beauty and power of the tropics. My family immigrated from Scandinavia to a poor developing country back in the 1960’s - so needless to say, they lived like royalty in their new home. Mansions, beaches, maids, cars, restaurants, clothes, trips, you name it. Fancy schools with unbelievable campuses. The luxury of what seemed to be a lawless city where foreign money talks very loud, had them poisoned.

I grew up rich. I used to be embarrassed of saying that. But the family money quickly vanished as my grandparents enjoyed the heat and the white sanded beaches; and by the time my parents had me, the only reminisce of the old money could be seen in how we carried ourselves, with class.

My father worked his ass off to keep up the lifestyle my grandparents upheld, and the financial benefits of being a white European in the so-called third world had long perished. The money my family made was not coming from Europe anymore, meaning that conversion rates no longer benefited us. But he made it nonetheless, and young. He managed to provide good schools, trips, and so on - but he failed in other aspects. I felt like I was being molded to be a version of what would fulfill their idea of a good child.

My childhood was set in a prosperous era of South American populism, where the poor finally seemed to be looked at and we all benefited with their growth. And by the crash of 2009, I was already a teenager. The bank my dad used to work at got bankrupt due to a corruption scandal somewhere higher up the hierarchy. At the time, I didn’t fully grasp what the consequences of that would be. Now, over a decade, I can clearly see that moment as a tipping point in my life.

I was sent to live abroad at an early age, while my family was enjoying the last moments with good, more than comfortable money. Not realising that soon enough, the debts would come.

I needed to return to my grandparents' land in the old continent, mostly for bureaucratic reasons but also by will. Ten years passed and I became an adult. I made my own money and lived life by my rules. I had grown out of that molded, prosperous child and my idea of luxury was now entirely different from that in the south.

My dad went into a heavy depression with the loss of his job and money. Some sort of guilt for not being able to hold up the glamour. So my mom had to take hold of the emotional reins. And this matter could be an entire entry on its own. And as for me, I had completely grown out of this world.

This pool represents the old me, with my old ideas of what a good life is. With a poisoned mind that still curses my parents and sister. I ended up treating them so bad after such a long time of not seeing them because I was frustrated. That they couldn’t see the fog of fake luxury blinding them. A culture shock, I guess.

By this same pool under the scalding sun, once again after many years, I finally understood that loneliness has much to do with feeling misunderstood.

- Ms. Rodwell