April 29, 2026 by Cassandra Johnson
My Venezuelan friend gave me permission she did not realize she was giving me. She okayed my desire to get a lot of work in and feel thoroughly as if I had gotten my day’s work done before I went down the street from our co-living space in Bogota, Colombia to the nearby mall.
She had given me permission to do what I really wanted to do, while most everyone else was touring. She had given me the permission to get work done and relax and maybe tour later, or not tour at all, but rather just live the local moments. She had given me permission, not literally, but by being my friend, she had given me permission to do what I wanted authentically.
Heading to the mall or store (I would see), I was remembering the options they had in the food court and heck, maybe even stopping off earlier at the store that very much reminded me of Trader Joe’s back in my country. Should I cook something simple from the place we are sharing with other travelers today or should I get some ready-prepared casual food to go? I had a chance to do a mix of both.
I cannot adequately attribute the details of the entire moments to each day. Over the variety of times, I grabbed some snacks and easy options to cook in the shared kitchen. One of my favorite restaurants, Qbano (a cute play on Cubano) was a frequent stop in the mall. I recall getting the mixed veggie bowl and crispy thick fries. I added some churros to offer my friend once I returned.
I had booked my stay in the area for several days. yet was extending my days little by little at the end, considering whether I should go to Cartagena or an entirely different country. As we sat there in the evening, in my comfort of working across from her at the large, shared desk, she was asking me if I had decided to go the next day, disappointed when I said yes and visibly relieved when I said I was staying a little longer.
She gave me the permission, without her knowing, she gave me the permission to be myself, not only comfortable as a workaholic, ticking things down off my list, but also there for the exploring, wandering, and fun.
I sat there, peaceful in having this time and being in the not-so-familiar position of following up to see when she would be free to grab a coffee, not happy hour, in this instance. Coffee-shop mood was the matching backdrop for our dynamic. She had introduced me to Varietale, when she could not join and was still working from our temporary place and I was looking forward to going to Liberatario with her, not too far from our place. She had good taste. Liberatario was within walking distance and Varietale had been within exercise-walking distance for me.
One night she did not seem too entirely into working, although I assumed she was, but yet as she invited me to the other side of the table to see what captured her, I was pleased to see she was enjoying the Miss Universe 2024 Pageant. She was rooting for Miss Venezuela as we gathered around her computer, I rooted for several contestants. Miss Venezuela, Miss Mexico and Miss Nigeria. Miss Nigeria, was so gorgeous. We were impressed by many, interested in all the contestants’ performances, category by category. Miss Denmark had some inspiring answers.
Another guest, also her friend was rooting for Miss Nigeria only. (Nee- her-ia) he lingeringly enunciated, lingering especially in the middle (as if in those moments, he was within momentary dreams). I giggled to myself. He was from Venezuela too, waiting for a consulate appointment in Colombia. He was always so friendly, genuinely interested in all the people circulating around this bit of office space and in and out of the adjacent kitchen.
My friend. Glad to have her for the time, if not every time. I returned to the same place months later. She had gone. I thought of her often while I conversed with others in our old space. She and I had settled into safety in everything: food, giggles, chats over romantic prospects, geopolitics, Making easy work of work, It was a need for us both, I like to think.
I remembered the story she told me of dangerously crossing the Venezuelan-Colombian border. I was impressed by the business she had grown and how social media savvy she was. I watched one of her many video presentations. I was excited when she received another new client, while we were together. Her eyes filled with happy tears from the excitement I expressed.
We sat in Liberatario the last night, shortly before I would finally be leaving. We had mentioned discussing in detail, some romantic disappointment I had recently experienced, but then, I no longer had the desire to spend those moments lamenting a jilted relationship. We could just enjoy ourselves. There is a time for venting but it dissipated in the ambience.
I just wanted the space and the time that we always made. She told me of one downside to her business experience to which I relayed some comforting advice in Spanish, that felt more as if it was being delivered through me than by me. Mostly our laughter mixed, we appreciated the artwork around us and a simple break from working – a break from trying.