Worlds growing apart

As I held my phone uncomfortably in front of my face, I looked at my grandmother sitting on her porch on the other side of the planet. She was wearing a hat and the colors of her flowered blouse seemed pale under the sun. Her sumptuous sunglasses covered her eyes. And the smile I have memorized during the million times we have skyped felt fake. It was Mother’s Day, and my mother was spending hers in Bonn with my stepfather, far away from my grandmother, who lives in Quito (Ecuador).

My grandmother asked me how I was doing. And I must have looked awful because an hour after our conversation, she was writing with my mother full of worry about my mental health. She remembered a more cheerful person behind her phone screen, but instead of voicing her concerns during our conversation, she complimented my new haircut. It has been hard keeping the communication open these days. Even harder to keep it honest. The technologies that were supposed to keep our relationships alive are failing us. As I caught a glimpse of my grandfather, aunt, uncle, and cousin who joined our skype session on that sunny day, I yearned for their presence and the closeness we used to share.