Adios, reality...

Reassemble

2010-04-01T21:22:00.000-07:00

I'm a little sad to find out that it's been over a year since I've written anything. I've been wanting to, but to be honest I've kind of avoided this blog like the plague after all of a sudden it turned from a cry of joy into a broken mess of unpleasant memories.

I'm also a little sad to find out that after a whole year I'm really not okay with what happened. The dust has cleared and I'm not on the verge of throwing myself in front of a freight train anymore, of course, but instead of feeling like a wrought iron rod just impaled me through the stomach, now it feels like a bruise. You know, one of those bruises that doesn't hurt unless you touch it and then you can feel how sore it is. But here's where I'm at -- about 16 months ago I had everything I needed. I had a great home, a car, a cell phone, a job, and someone I loved so much it made my heart scream. Right now I have none of those things. I spiraled out of control and completely stopped caring. So I think it's time to implement some optimism before I spontaneously combust.

I have a job interview at a call center tomorrow. That's actually what made me want to write again. I couldn't bring myself to write before because all I could think to write about was something whiny. I guess now I just feel like keeping a sort of log of progress, something to keep me motivated in a positive way. You know, making improvements on my life so I have something to write about, and write so I'm inspired to make those improvements. I suppose it sounds like something a therapist would tell me to do, but I really don't care; I'm 26 and age is starting to terrify me. More than anything I'm scared of wasting one more second at rock bottom because I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself. I don't want to blink and be 30 with nothing to show for.

I was thinking about everything that happened and that old cliche about how things that don't kill you make you stronger. I don't want to sound like a buzz kill, but I really don't think it's made me stronger. If anything I feel tired, different, older. And then I thought, why look at tragedy as a catalyst for personal development? I've heard people say that every stumble is just another beautiful stroke of color on a painting, but maybe it's not. Maybe we're like mosaics. We're broken into pieces and then put back together again in some new and different way. Maybe it's a matter of metaphorical death and rebirth instead of hammer-and-nail improvements. And maybe that's just as beautiful.

2009-02-15T22:59:00.000-08:00

Thwarted attempts

2009-02-15T22:42:00.000-08:00

I think I might be a little better. I think. It's hard to tell, because I still have the occasional moment in which I crash and burn, but the good news is that I'm not ready to jump in traffic to escape the pain anymore. I'm somewhat cynical about depression; I don't have a whole lot of patience with it for the most part. Going through it was, and at times is, completely vomit-worthy.

I'm 100% positive that I will never fall out of love with them. It's something I'll take with me to my grave, and it's also something that makes me want to break things. It gets in the way of so much. For example, I just started seeing someone. Too soon? Almost certainly, but I refuse to wallow in self pity and mourning any longer and have decided that I'm quite simply a person who thrives the most in companionship. Unfortunately, after three dates, I find myself unable to attach in any way despite the fact that they're pretty awesome. My brain keeps repeating, "They're not the same. They don't have the same smile. One of their eyelids isn't bigger than the other. They can't measure up."

There's no reason for me to be thinking this way -- the person I'm seeing now is practically flawless, and they're so overwhelmed with me that after three dates I keep thinking they're going to tell me they love me. And yet I could care less. I'm so uninterested -- when they're telling a story or something I find myself blanking out. It's horribly unfair to them, but I keep talking to them and keep planning dates with them because I hope I'll cross some sort of threshold and the clouds will part. I do have common decency and a conscience though, so if I don't start to feel an organic growth soon, I'll cut it before it gets any more serious.

It just keeps getting better

2009-01-13T15:33:00.000-08:00

I went to bed on New Year's Eve feeling somewhat optimistic. I was still feeling pretty ruined, but I had an idea that I was going to be able to move forward in a way that before I didn't think I would be able. When I woke up on January 1st, I got a phone call from a correctional facility in Elk River. I couldn't take it because it was a collect call and apparently you need to have an account ahead of time. In any case, there they were, in jail.

After spending the next two days holding my head firmly between my hands to prevent it from bursting into flames, I got another call, this one not collect. As it turns out, they were trying to cross the border of Canada to take a plane from Mexico from there because it was cheaper that way. At the border, the police searched the suitcases and found pay stubs proving that they had worked illegally here in the U.S. I was smashed into pieces all over again. "I'm sorry, I made a mistake, I love you, please God, J.R., help me." I think the most awful part was having been so ready to make some sort of progress in reconstruction. Then in one fell swoop I was dragged right back in to it all.

I've spent the last couple of weeks busting my ass trying to find a suitable and affordable lawyer to help with the case. I went to visit them yesterday ( for the second time -- needless to say the first time was the equivalent of a knife plunging into my stomach and twisting to and fro ). When I got there, the sheriff at the desk informed me that they weren't there, that they were in court. Immigration sends planes out to Mexico every Wednesday after trials. I got another collect call later in the evening which, again, I couldn't take. Considering the fact that the call came from the correctional facility once again, I'm taking that as evidence that the public defender failed to persuade the judge into a pardon, and tomorrow they'll be on a plane back to Mexico, where, even if they wanted to, ten years will pass before they can ever come back.

During the first conversation I had with them, they said that they wanted to be with me and planned to return, but that they needed to get away for a few weeks. I'm a bit naive, I won't lie, but in this case I don't know if they appealed to my heart because they needed help or because it was the truth, but either way I feel like I'm falling. These past couple of days my stomach has relentlessly maintained that barbaric over-the-peak-of-the-roller-coaster feeling and I feel a mixture of wretched desperation and despair. I'm choosing words that sound cheesy, but it's the God's-honest truth; I feel like I'm dying.

I suppose I need to talk to them more. If the heart-wrenching begging and promising was just a bag of bullshit meant to sway me into helping out, then fuck-shit-fuck. But if not, if further conversation proves the validity of a promised continuance of a life together, I'm pretty sure I'm prepared to make the return trip to Mexico. The thought scares the daylights out of me, but I think the alternative, never seeing them again for the rest of my life, scares me more. I think that after careful soul-investigating consideration, this might make me a bit of a weakling -- that, even after being ripped to shreds by someone who would have no problem turning their back on me, I would still be willing to throw my life as I know it away for the second time might say I'm a masochist or an idiot or both. But really, my heart hurts and I'm lonely and I think I would do whatever it takes not to feel this way anymore.

I can't wait for the day when I have something else to write about.

I hope.

2008-12-31T17:11:00.000-08:00

2008 was the best and worst year of my life. When I moved back in January I was happier than I've ever been. And now at the very end I'm a miserable train wreck. My hope for 2009 is that I can find, in some nook or cranny, solace and redefine some measure of happiness in my life. I want to never make these mistakes again. I want to wipe this shitty-ass year from my memory entirely. I want to pull some serious phoenix shit. I don't know how it's going to happen, but it's what I hope for myself for this new year.

By the way, I feel like I should say -- I love you so much. I'm not entirely sure I'll ever be able to love someone the same way I loved you. I would have died in an instant without second thought for you. When I think of you my whole heart swells and I swear to God it will burst. I'm scared out of my fucking mind of the day when you start to fade and I can't remember your face anymore. Please don't go away entirely, I swear I'll do anything if you just stay in my heart a little bit so I can breathe. I hate you for doing this to me but I promise I'll love you forever.

That was the hardest thing I've ever written.

What now?

2008-12-29T15:01:00.000-08:00

I demand that the pain stop, effective immediately. To my chagrin however my son-of-a-bitch of a heart doesn't take commands well and I think my head is nearing the point where it's going to spin off of my shoulders and throw itself in traffic.

How the hell do people get over this sort of thing? I had no idea it was so completely torturous. I think it's a mixture of several things in one bowl of shitty dysphoria. There's the solitude, which I swear is almost tangible. Every day so far when I walk back to my apartment I wait outside the door and spend a second praying to Christ on his Holy Chariot that it's not real and that when I walk in I won't be alone. Then I walk in and I am. There's the memories. Even if I were to set fire to everything was left behind, there are still things that I own that remind me. Then there's the future. What now? Where do I go? What do I do? What goals should I have or maintain? What kind of person am I going to be now? I had no future before; I went to Mexico because my life here was so ridiculously empty that I went to find something else. I found something and it changed my life and gave me a future and now I'm right back where I started. So.. what next?

I've been thinking a lot about what kind of changes I'm going to have to make to escape all this. A friend of mine suggested I go stay with her in Chicago. That would be a nice change. Though I don't know if merely a change of location is going to solve everything. I've thought about going back to Mexico too. I'm sure I could get the job back that I had before, and the culture and all that really did wonders for my mental state. But I think this time it would be pretty permanent -- that is, I wouldn't come back, so I would really need to think it over before I left the U.S. behind for good. I could stay here, too, and try picking up the pieces. But it's so goddamn depressing here. I've got a small handful of friends who truly and honestly care about me. The others could care less -- I've had the shittiest couple of weeks ever ( being left isn't the only woe I've endured, there are others almost equally horrific into which I'm going to skip delving ), and what? No phone calls? No company? Oh, I'm sorry that I'm at the bottom rung of the Ladder of Shit and that it's not all about you. No family of which to speak. Part time job that, now that I'm half the income I was, is NOT going to cover my bills. But the question I need to ask myself when thinking about staying or going is whether going is really going to make any permanent improvements.

So.. what now?

Shit.

2008-12-28T10:46:00.000-08:00

The last time I posted I was planning on resuming a narrative on my continued life here in the U.S. Then I stepped on my laptop and crushed the screen and lost ambition entirely.

I moved back to Minnesota because the love of my life had dreams of living in the U.S. and I had the connection and life here to offer them. On Christmas, just a few days ago, they left me. I was unaware entirely of the damage of which a broken heart is capable. It's completely paralyzing, completely debilitating. I feel empty and desperate and 100% woe-betide. Actually, I don't even think I'm an adept enough writer to adequately describe the feeling without quoting Shakespeare or some other such cliche. It might even be something one would have to experience to even approach the vicinity of understanding. I've been told plenty of times since that it's going to hurt like hell but that it'll eventually go away, but at the moment I seriously doubt that. It hurts so badly; I barely even have the ambition to care about living any longer because a life without them seems like a life at only 50%. I'm still waking up, I'm still going to work, I'm still breathing, but I'm feeling like if I can't share it all with the person who has my heart in their pocket then there's nothing special about doing it.

God, I wish there was just one word I could type that would explain everything. I hope like hell I can get over it because if my stomach doesn't untwist soon it's going to kill me.

So much longer.

2008-07-14T21:55:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time. I recently decided that it might be a good idea for me to continue blogging. I thought to leave this blog as just a testament to my time spent in Mexico, but as it turns out I'm still somewhat separated from reality, so I suppose it still applies.

It's been about six months since I came back. A little more. A whole lot has happened, but at the same time nothing has happened. Honestly it's kind of a blur of time. To tell the truth I don't plan on going into any of it at the moment. The point of this post is basically to reestablish this blog and jump-start my ambition to begin writing in it again.

I'll divulge next post.

Where the stars are

2008-01-13T18:07:00.000-08:00

This is it. It's Sunday, 5:00 in the afternoon. I need to finish getting my things together, and at about 7:00 I'm going to stay with the person I'm bringing with me to Minnesota so we can get up early to catch the bus to El Paso at 5:00 in the morning. I took a bus to pick up some my mother sent me to get some food for the travel tomorrow, which was nice because it was another opportunity to take in the place that's become my home. I know I'm going to be coming back for vacation eventually, but it's still really tough. Almost inexplicable because it's such a strange mixture of bitter and sweet. I always find it hard not to be sad when a chapter ends, in mostly a nostalgic way. I guess I expected to be here forever. I didn't see this next transition coming.

I need to say a few things, give thanks in writing to some people and things that changed my life.

Thank you to...

The family that brought me here. May karma give you what you deserve for turning out to be such assholes, but it doesn't change the fact that without you I wouldn't have had this incredible opportunity. May karma also give you what you deserve for that.

Barin. I communicated with him mostly online because he was living in a city right outside of mine, but we hung out several times as well. He was the absolute first friend I made here. He's from Detroit, so English is his first language, but he's Mexican and thus speaks Spanish as well and moved here about six years ago with his mother. He understood everything I was dealing with at the beginning, and never failed to be there for me when I needed him for anything. I could complain and bitch and moan about whatever was on my mind and he always managed to make me feel better. My God, Barin, thank you so much for being my friend when I really, really needed one.

Israel, who took me out on the town for the first time ever. To this bar that's high up on a tall building where you can see the city and the air is fresh. He spoke English like you wouldn't believe, and helped me with some faults in my Spanish. He moved away shortly after, but not before making a meaningful impression in my life. He told me, "If you ever need a friend for anything, I'm going to be here for you." Thank you for that.

Orlando who can can make you laugh just by laughing. He's the person I mentioned in yesterday's post who left for Sweden this morning. He took me out too and made me feel comfortable. He'd check on me every so often to see how I was and to see if I needed anything. People like him are one in a million.

Raul, who went out of his way on dozens of occasions to hang out with me. There were times here when I was so incredibly lonely, and he would swoop me up and take me out with his friends and make me feel completely comfortable and accepted. He's the most optimistic person I've ever met, who truly believes in the most convincing, non-corny way that love is seriously the cure-all for everything dark in the world. He always struck me with his hammer of optimism every time I wanted to be cynical. Thank you for keeping my chin up.

The guy behind the mini mercardo behind my house in Cafetales. He would actually order cigarettes just for me, even though I was the only one of his customers who bought them. He kept them behind the counter with bags of these corn tortilla chips that I liked to have them ready when I came in. That little bit of comfort and hospitality meant a lot.

My taco guy, who left far too soon. He worked in this little stand right across the street from the school I worked at. It took him two of my visits to know exactly what I wanted to order. I would sit down, he'd shake my hand and ask me about my day, open up a can of Diet Coke for me and make my shrimp tacos. He was so friendly that I think I went back for the tacos time and again just because of him. He disappeared one day and the stand was shut down and covered in graffiti, but I refuse to ever forget that little bit of kindness he showed me.

The girl with the lip ring at the OXXO by my house in Cafetales. It seemed like she was ALWAYS working. Lord she was friendly, always smiling. I like jalepenos on my nachos, which I tended to get in the morning after my morning class on the way home, and if I came in and there were none left, she'd whip out a bunch of jalepenos and slice them up for me and talk to me about her day. Small? Perhaps, but I can't help but feel utterly grateful for every tiny bit of comfort I've been afforded here.

The woman who works behind the desk at the restaurant in Plaza Del Sol. I went there one day because I was desperate for cigarettes. It's a mall, and the person who dropped me off just said I could buy them from a store on the left. Well, little did I know that the 'store' was tucked into the corner of a department store in the form of a restaurant. I was terribly stressed by the time I found it after having tried to ask for directions a million times with my ridiculously poor Spanish. I couldn't really explain to her exactly what I wanted, but she helped by using her hands. She was so nice, and when she gave me my change, I tried to give her a look with as much gratefulness as I could possibly muster up. When she said thank you, I saw so much compassion and understanding in her eyes and smile that I thought I was going to cry.

The people at the OXXO by my house here in San Felipe. The older woman with the gentle smile, the little guy with the goatee who loves to talk to me about his favorite things about the U.S., the kid with the strange green eyes who jumped for joy every time I walked in because he had an opportunity to practice his English, and the mentally handicapped guy who bagged the items with gusto like you've never seen, so happy to do it.

The people at Lingua Franca. I walked in one day with a resume and Gilberto hired me on the spot. I met Sylvia, the principal, the next day and she opened all of her doors to me. One day, when all of the shit was going down about the family from whom I was renting a house, I unloaded on Gilberto and he comforted and advised me. The next day Sylvia called me into her office and showed me a newspaper she'd bought, in which she'd circled dozens of different places to live. That week she drove me around the city to look at places and talk to landlords for me. She got me into the place I'm living in now, 15 minutes walk from my work and with everything I need. Alma, the administration lady, who always looks tired for some reason but who has the sweetest smile in the world, drove me to get my internet initiated and paid for. Martha, the woman at the desk who doesn't speak a lick of English but is so beautifully patient with my Spanish, found me a technician to hook it up. These people came together for me, a near stranger, and showed me kindness like you could hardly imagine. They took such amazing care of me. I think their help was probably the single nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, if anything because of how little they knew me. I really hope one day I can pay them back somehow, because 'thank you' won't ever be enough.

My students. All of you. It was an honest-to-God pleasure teaching you. The rewards I was given by watching you learn what I taught you is absolutely immeasurable. Whatever it is you want English for, whether it be your job, obligation or hobby, I hope you get everything you want from it. I hope as well that in every aspect of your lives you are 100% happy. I'm so lucky to have met all of you.

My mother, who helped me when I was on the outs both financially and emotionally. I'd get the occasional IM up on my computer screen from her, just asking me how I was and telling me about how things were going in Minnesota. She supported my decision to leave and gave me every ounce of help she could. She's also accepted the person I love, reaching out to do everything possible to open her doors to us. No one has a mother like mine, I know it.

And finally, to the person who fell in love with me and made me love them in return. It is so unbelievably priceless what you've done for me. I am so, so happy to have met you. You've managed singlehandedly to save my life completely in every single way. I could gush on forever about how much I owe you and how much I love you, but suffice it to say that there's nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy in return. Thank you, thank you.

Wrapping it up, I also need to thank Mexico. I'm not sure who or what to thank. The ground? The mountains? The air? Thank you Mexico, for everything. The Dalai Lama recently noted that while televisions and newspapers are stock full of horrifying news of destruction and hate, the overwhelming majority of the human race is good and peaceful. There will be horrible things no matter where you go, but more than anything there will be people who will come into your life and show you amazing things. Thank you Mexico for showing me so many of those people. Thank you for Spanish, this beautiful language. Thank you for your incredible culture that oozes from every pore of your ground, from every building and from every person. Thank you for showing me more stars than I've ever seen in my life.

I think this whole deal might seem a little sappy, but I don't feel sappy at all. I feel grateful. These five months have changed everything and given me so much. A complete life changing experience. I'm going to leave and continue my life elsewhere, but I can never forget this. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING!! For the rest of my life I'll have the memory of having lived in the country where the stars are.

Racing closer

2008-01-12T23:09:00.000-08:00

I spent last night in a bar with another friend I have here, one of the first friends I made. He speaks English amazingly well, so his support here when I was trapped under the weight of Spanish meant a great deal to me. He's leaving tomorrow in the morning for Sweden to work, and I'm leaving the following morning, so we got together to have some drinks and say our goodbyes. When he dropped me off at my house, I was sad, but most of all I was grateful. I realized that this person made an appearance in my life almost as brief as the blink of an eye, but he left his signature in my guest book and I can always make a trip down memory lane to remind myself how good it was to meet him. Mostly I look at him as an example of how once in a while someone will just show up in your life and show you how to get around those big boulders in the road. Then they'll go their separate way but you're lucky enough to never forget.

This afternoon I took a walk around the neighborhood. It's a nice neighborhood for that, with nice houses and clean streets, but more importantly I wanted to tread the ground, breathe the air, listen to people converse in Spanish. The end is racing towards me so fast, I feel like there's nowhere near enough time to soak in everything before I go.

I realized today that my Spanish isn't so horrendous. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's pretty damned bad in the larger picture, but I can handle it. My friend called me and we talked for just a minute or two. When I hung up the phone, it struck me in an odd way that I had just had that conversation in Spanish, and yet I comprehended everything. Later in the afternoon I went to the convenience store to get some nachos and the guy who works there talked to me for a while about how my winter break was and about his plans to move to the U.S. to work. Again as I left I realized with more conviction that I speak Spanish. Five months and I speak another language. One that, four months ago, made me want to jump off a bridge. Japanese and German took me eleven and eight years, and Japanese is about a million times easier than Spanish. Again I'd like to reiterate that my Spanish really sucks, but having it comfortably tucked into my belt makes me feel a whole lot better.

The evening concluded at a bar downtown with my best friend here. Good music, amazing beer ( Lord am I going to miss Indio. The greatest beer ever brewed ), some regulars at this particular bar I had the opportunity to bid farewell, and a chance to take in the city at night for the last time. The utter foreign veil draped over the country does well enough to make it magical for me, but the truth is that the city isn't really all that impressive during the day. It's something you have to see at night.

Oh my God I'm going to miss it here so much.

The beginning of the end

2008-01-11T21:55:00.000-08:00

I went from writing between 1 - 3 posts a week to falling off of the face of the Blogosphere entirely. The truth is, I met someone about four months ago. I avoided divulging details because typically I'm somewhat cynical in that area, but now the curtains are open. Essentially, things intensified gradually to the point where I completely lost interest in writing. They also intensified to the point where I'm moving to live with this person back in Minnesota.

When I really stop the world from spinning for a moment and think about it, I have no clue how I ended up here. I don't mean here as in Mexico, I mean here as in my situation. Call me sappy, but failure upon failure in the factory of love had eventually convinced me that it was a glorified concept designed for the silver screen. That relationships and marriage were nothing more than an escape from solitude into comforting companionship. Then I met them. And they fell in love with me. And I swear I avoided it for as long as possible before I accepted it.

Sometimes I find it tough to identify positive qualities in myself ( and I say that in the least emo manner possible ), but suddenly, out of nowhere and in the most unlikely of ways, someone came along who loves me so strongly that I find it impossible to believe that I'm not worth it. And there aren't words in any language I know that could adequately describe how much that means to me. I feel like I owe them so much, and I know I can provide a life for them in the U.S. that would be out of my reach here in Mexico. Really, giving up the life I'm living in this beautiful country is the absolute smallest sacrifice I could make, and it will bring me nowhere near compensation for what I've been given.

There's a feeling, close to euphoria but closer to contentedness, sitting deep in my stomach that makes it easy to brush off the small stuff. This person can touch my arm for just a moment and I swear that if I were to die tomorrow, I wouldn't regret a thing because I know that this is happiness in its most illustrious form and I've been gifted enough to experience it.

The truth is that my gut twists just a little when I think about leaving Mexico. I love it here for about a million different reasons. I spent the afternoon with my best friend here in Mexico running errands with him, just to spend time around the city. There were moments when I thought my heart would break as slivers of realization set in, ones that told me that this is it. Five months isn't very long, but just the air alone, or the mountain-lined horizon, was enough to steal my heart. I'm confident that I'm doing the right thing, making another change in my life for someone I love, but saying goodbye to this other world is going to be difficult.

Where They Never Met

2007-11-22T16:02:00.000-08:00

I'm all settled into my new place, and it's awesome. It's where I was living in Cafetales, only multiplied by a thousand. I haven't taken a bus since I moved here, and that tickles the hell out of me. I'm about a 15 minute walk from my work, which is great, because it forces me into the off-of-my-ass activity I might normally avoid. With the exception of a laundry mat, I have everything I need. I'm sure there's one somewhere, but I have no idea where it is.

I do have a couple of grievances. One being that the water pressure in my shower leaves something to be desired. I'm only offered a pitiful drizzle of water that comes out in a straight line. Needless to say my shower time has doubled. And there's some crazy leak behind my toilet that makes me have to use my towel to soak up the water on my floor every day, then hang it up outside to dry and repeat daily. I've gotta talk to the lady about it, but one, she's old as hell and that means I'm going to need to speak in formal tongue which I haven't quite gotten the hang of. And two, I can't really understand her when she speaks. I'm not scared though -- I'll deal with this water issue yet. Besides, it's nothing compared to the positives. I'd wade through an ocean to get to my toilet on a daily basis to eliminate having to take the bus.

It's Thanksgiving today, and that just breaks my heart into a million pieces. It's always been a routine thing at my house. It never involves extended family, so mostly it's just a dinner with the usual people with a lot of extra food. But still. I totally look forward to that particular food, and it's a holiday in any case. A heavily celebrated one in the U.S. Here, it doesn't exist. Here in Mexico there were no pilgrims to strike a truce with the Native Americans and thus spark the most glorious day of feast... ever. They never met here. There's not an inkling of the holiday anywhere in sight. It's to be expected of course, I'm in a foreign country. All the same it's a strange sensation to be in the complete absence of a holiday that's thriving 400 miles from me across the border.

I hope everyone has/had a great Thanksgiving. I miss everyone back home. I'll see you guys in 28 days!

Adios, Cafetales

2007-11-15T11:51:00.000-08:00

I got a new place this morning. It's reasonably affordable, with the additional benefits of being much closer to downtown, a 10 minute walk from my job ( Yes. That means that the Bus from Hell has finally been eliminated from my life ), and surrounded by everything I could possibly want. It's an unattached living quarter separated from the house of this little old lady who's my landlord. She's terribly cute, and very sweet.

I'm ready to get out of here and finally put that God-forsaken family behind me, but at the same time it's a little sad to leave where I'm at. I'm very fond of my neighborhood and the house in which I'm living. It's a total pain-in-the-ass living so far away from everything and having to take the bus, and I swear if I eat another hamburger I'm going to spontaneously implode, but this place was the first hub of comfort I found in this country. It's not a big deal or anything, and I know I'll move a few more times before all is said and done, but it still sucks, just a little.

I'm gonna miss my roommate, too. He's been out of town for almost a week, and he doesn't know I'm leaving. I won't be able to say goodbye or anything, and that's no fun because he's really a cool guy who helped me a lot. I'll probably leave a little note of thanks with my phone number or something. But still. I'd like to thank him in person for all the kindness he's shown me.

Anyway. I'm officially going to San Felipe. Gracias a Dios. It's tranquil, safe, vegetated, and street-garbage free. And bus-free, let's not forget. Well, I have to take a bus back to this other job that's close to Cafetales in the morning, but at least it's an easy bus, not the BFH. I'm definitely looking forward to experiencing the improvements in my situation. We'll see how they go.

34 days until vacation in Minnesota!!!

Those Who Walk Alone

2007-11-12T08:43:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago I started a new job that begins very early in the morning, before the sun comes up. I was walking to the bus stop when I heard something following closely behind me. I've yet to experience any crime first hand here in Mexico, but needless to say I was shitting bricks. When I finally mustered up the courage to look back over my shoulder, it turned out to be a dog.

Strays are EVERYWHERE here. You can hardly walk a full minute before seeing another one; most mangy, severely malnourished, and terrified of coming anywhere near your space bubble. In any case, I was a little nervous having a stray following me, since Heaven only knows what some animals will do when spiraled too far down into feralization. Not to mention the potential diseases. You can imagine my surprise, then, when the dog immediately started wagging its tail and jumping up and down excitedly. I was touched. Normally I feel so bad for the dogs here, but none will come anywhere near me even if I want to offer something to eat. So I leaned down and put my hand out, and it launched at me and licked my hands to shreds while whimpering. I thought it was going to explode with happiness. It followed me to the bus and waited with me until I had to leave, and I looked from my window as it sat and watched me leave. Whatever the case, it was very cute. Very After School Special.

I returned to the same stop a few hours later, and on the walk back to my house, I found that dog dead on the side of the street. It had been hit by a car. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a dead stray here, but it was the first time it struck me so hard. I admit I got a little teary-eyed.

What I can't understand is how it's possible to take an animal into your home and destroy every ounce of its natural instinct and then one day decide to leave it to fend for itself. Imagine any of us, growing up in our homes with our microwaves and our cell phones and our televisions. Then imagine the people we love taking us into the jungle and leaving us there. Maybe we'd learn how to cope eventually if we didn't die right away, but try to picture yourself learning how to scrap for food, seek shelter, live in fear of predators.

The thought is so depressing. It's making a creature love you and then leaving it out in the cold. That dog clearly knew what human affection was like. It loved people, and obviously someone loved it at one point. And now it's dead because of someone's clear ignorance and disregard for its well-being. If you can't take care of a pet, don't adopt one. It's that easy. If you're not going to be committed to nourishing a living creature, then keep your hands off of it and at the very least don't contribute to its suffering. That's how I feel anyway. I think this is the first thing about Mexico I've found that I really can't handle.

The Shit and the Fan

2007-11-07T07:54:00.000-08:00

I had a little hiatus there in dropping a new post, because as luck would have it, the fan is on and the shit is hitting it.

About two weeks ago, my landlord sent his son over to collect the rent. Two months worth. Fine, no problem. It nearly wiped me out, but whatever. Plus I had no problem giving it to the son because it's the fellow who lived with my family over the last year.

What do you know, the miserable little animal ( it took everything I had to withhold vulgarity there ) told his father I never gave him my portion of the rent. Now I'm totally getting harassed and I'm ready to set him on fire. I mean, I didn't make him count it in front of me and I didn't get a receipt. Which makes me the grand idiot of the world, but I thought I knew the kid pretty well. This is absolutely nothing that I saw coming. Even better is that everyone I've told about this here in Mexico has said "Whelp, welcome to Mexico." Hm.

So now I'm house hunting, and that makes me one sad gringo. It involves so much. Most importantly having to integrate a new bus system into my life. As if the one I'm dealing with now isn't wretched enough. Followed by facing setting up utilities in my house entirely on my own with the Spanish language. I'm at the point where a soft and simple conversation is tucked neatly into my belt, but discussing contracts and legal terms is way over my head. Oh, and followed by just dealing with packing and moving in itself.

I will say that the light at the bottom of the box is that I'll no longer have to deal with this ass-devouring family. I kept my distaste for their pestilent souls to myself through my early posts in order to smother my cynicism, but now that it's out there, I have no problem saying that their behaviors and attitudes warrant the immediate descent of a meteor upon their home.

The Dead Bride of Chihuahua

2007-10-27T14:47:00.000-07:00

I recently had a couple of friends take me downtown for a little informational tour. We drove by things I'd seen before, but this time I saw them with a complimentary history lesson as a bonus. One thing that caught my interest in particular was Chihuahua City's legendary corpse bride, La Pascualita.

Urban legend has it that La Pascualita ( the little Pascuala ( the name of the oringal store owner ) ) was going to get married about 75 years ago. The evening before her wedding day she was bitten by a black widow and died before ever having tied the knot. Overcome with grief, her mother decided to forever preserve her daughter's corpse and adorn it with the loveliest of her wedding dresses at her bridal shop. On full display still today stands La Pascualita, forever begging the question of her authenticity.

Me? I don't buy it, really. Granted the corpse/mannequin looks incredibly realistic, with pores, cracked skin, varicose veins and the works, I'm not sure how much stock I can put into the idea that a corpse has remained in such unbelievably perfect condition for over 75 years. Fortunately for the legend, the locals buy it completely. Every year on the Day of the Dead ( which I believe is November 2nd ), the local school children set out candles and flowers in front of her display window. There's also some deal-i-o about a couple bursting into argument in front of the store. When the girlfriend turned to leave him, the man shot her. As she bled on the sidewalk she asked La Pascualita to save her and, ironically, she lived. This leads some to believe La Pascualita has supernatural powers. ( In case you're wondering, I didn't get this information from just a select few, I did some research on the matter after the fact )

In any case, I really don't care if it's a preserved corpse or a kick-ass wax dummy. The point is that the whole legend says something fascinating about the culture. I'm sure somehow it's tied to Mexico's extreme spiritual roots ( from which the flag's seal being based on a vision by an Aztec leader is also stemmed, I'm sure ), and I terribly impressed. It actually reminds me a bit of the Mothman shenanigans over in (West Virginia?). How awesome to have something like that around.

Something beautiful

2007-10-17T00:50:00.001-07:00

I went out with a couple of ladies from my school about a week ago, one of whom was Mexican. We got to talking about some of the differences between the U.S. and Mexico. Eventually, prompted by a large Mexican flag hanging from the ceiling behind her, I asked what the seal in the center signified. This is what I got.

Disclaimer: This is what I was told. I'm writing what I know, without any additional research past what the young lady from here in Mexico told me. If for any reason any of my knowledge is incorrect, I'm really sorry. Please feel absolutely free to correct me.

It apparently began with the Aztecs. The leader of a tribe of Aztecs had a vision -- the place where an eagle feasts on a snake on a cactus would mark the Promised Land. He rounded up his crew and they embarked on a pilgrimage in search of this land that would grant them happiness.

They eventually happened upon an enormous lake, near the middle of which was an eagle perched on a cactus feasting on a snake. They stopped there based on the leader's vision and created their land out of the lake. They farmed from the edge of the lake, slowly filling in what was water with soil until eventually the lake was replaced with farmed land. This would eventually become Mexico City.

The girl I was talking to was convinced that the vision and its discovery is a legend, but it's apparently true that Mexico City is built on top of a lake. From what I understand, shortly after Mexico's Independence Day in 1821, its current official flag was chosen based on this legend. The green on the flag stands for the independence movement and peace and hope. The white stands for purity. And the red stands for the Spaniards who joined in the quest for independence as well as for the blood of the national heroes.

Personally, I'm rather fascinated by the whole deal. It screams culture and national pride. Yet at the same time, I've yet to encounter any insane, right-wing patriots. Only people who carry their own blood with a humble pride. There's a beautiful story painted in three blocks of color and a seal. I understand it's likely to be the same with every flag, but I'm here now and immersed in it all and I'm hooked on the gentle fire of it all.

Flag - "la bandera"

THIS, is a "banderita", a "little flag". Called so because of the green ( lime juice ), white ( tequila ) and red ( Sangria ), taken in that order. And it's also delicious.

Breathing

2007-10-15T01:00:00.000-07:00

On Friday evening I went with a friend to a ranch. His grandparents own a house there in which they no longer live save for Sundays, so we bought some beers and went there to spend the night.

Anyone who knows me knows I get a little cranky when I leave civilization. My heart is rather locked to heavily populated areas. In going there, knowing I'd be spending the night, I was a bit skeptical. But I can say without a doubt that if, on my death bed, I knew what it would have been like yet never had gone, I would be pretty disappointed in myself.

I've never experienced air so perfect. It was like the mountains were breathing and I could taste their breath, sweet and crisp. Not a single cloud was anywhere in sight, and the temperature went from comfortably warm during the day to long-sleeve cool at night. Rancheros herded their cattle on horses, and women in native clothing peddled their wares out of enormous burlap sacks slung over their shoulders. Most of all it was silent. Nothing but the occasional cricket.

The evening was what got me. I have never in my life seen so many stars. Never. I thought I had, during the occasional cabin trip in northern Minnesota, but it was nothing compared to what I saw on Friday night. The Milky Way was bright and streaked across the whole sky, and from what I could tell, there was nearly no black, only stars. I saw at least a half a dozen shooting stars. I swear I never wanted to look away. My camera wouldn't be able to catch the starlight, so I just stared for as long as I could, almost petrified of the idea of ever forgetting what I saw and how I felt.

For a few moments I caught myself understanding how important it is to be alive. It's worth it just for moments like that, I think.

Farewells come too soon.

2007-10-11T20:46:00.001-07:00

I left my classes today realizing that I have one week left with my students. For as much as I was bitching about my first hour class in the beginning, I've grown unbearably fond of every one of them. I'm going to miss the shit out of them when they're gone. They are all unbelievably intelligent people, and 100% unique from one another. I watch them absorb what I teach them and use it in conversation and I am so proud of them. Sometimes I'll teach a lesson and then have them do exercises on their own. When they read them aloud, everyone will be flawless, and I feel like squeezing all of their faces off.

It's likely I'll end up teaching them again over their further courses, but I'm sure a few I won't see again and that's just plain depressing. I find it hard to believe that I'm going to have to deal with this feeling every 7 weeks. I'm sure I'll become numb to it eventually, but right now it's horrific.

As if things weren't rotten enough, my roommate informed me yesterday that he might be moving to Ciudad Juarez in November for work. This creates a few different scenarios:

I stay where I'm at where it's furnished and I'm comfortable with the routine, but I'll have to seek more work to make up for my roommate's financial contributions.

I move in with this girl who was severely in love with me, because she has a place and I would be paying less there. Problem is I rejected her as she made an advance, and I know she's going to hold that over my head if I take it up. Plus, it'll just be strange.

I move into an unfurnished place near downtown where the rent is dirt cheap but there's no furniture and Heaven only knows what kind of neighborhood it will be.

It's not a for sure thing, I guess, but he seemed pretty tickled by the idea of moving closer to the United States in order to facilitate his English learning. I can only hope he changes his mind so I don't have to deal with the whole fiasco. I rather like my dingy little neighborhood, and I can hardly wrap my brain around trying to figure out a new bus route. For now I'm going to stick my head in the sand away from reality and pray it just goes away and he decides Chihuahua is where his heart is. We'll see.

Update

2007-10-10T01:30:00.001-07:00

Three shots of tequila later and I still feel like total crap. Only now I'm buzzed and expecting a headache in the morning. Here's a warm shout-out to the cretins who suggested this miracle solution.

I sneeze on buses that have juggling sunglasses.

2007-10-09T19:42:00.000-07:00

I officially have a cold, and I feel like death warmed over. And that breaks my little heart because I cannot stand being sick. I'm one of those people who, when they're experiencing any sort of physical discomfort, just whines a lot. Plus, it's been a while since I've been sick, so as I felt it coming on, I welcomed it with a smoldering dread. However, I've decided that I refuse to be ill. It just won't do. I can't call in to work, and I will not deal with being miserable. It turns out that the local remedy is two shots of tequila with a wedge of lime. One person informed me of this miracle cure, and I interviewed several others as to its authenticity. It turns out it's real. And thus, in about 15 minutes I shall be going to a bar with a friend to take care of business.

The Bus from Hell has become the Bus from Not-Quite-All-the-Way-Into-Hell-Maybe-Like-Purgatory-Or-Something. The beginning of October was the harbinger of a new route for the month. Apparently they switch every other month. This month, I get right on the bus, and it takes me right to my job. So for the month of October, I don't need to switch buses 10 minutes into the commute, and I don't need to be screwed over by the shit-head bus drivers who either like to ignore my ringing of the bell and drop me off a mile from where I need to get off, or just don't ever come to the stop until I'm forced to take a taxi. October is the month of glory. The month of singing angels and rays of light. The month of peaceful commuting. Until November.

You know what I love about Mexico? The cool shit like the street entertainers. Sometimes people will hop on the bus with their guitars and tamborines and play a little tune in hopes of a few pesos. Other times entertainers will stand in front of the line of cars at a stop light and do something sweet, like contortionism or juggling. The other day, some guy came out with flaming batons and and a little acrobatic dance while spinning those firey devils all over the place. It might seem annoying to the natives, since they're basically doing it for cash. But at least they're not the assholes in Minneapolis who come up to you with a sob story like "My father lives in New Hampshire and he's got 2 days to live and I need $100 dollars to ( get me some bizooze ) get there on a bus." These people have guts to get out there in front of an audience in traffic and pull of some seriously talented shit. If you're ever here and you see one, drop 'em like 5 pesos -- they really deserve it.

Finally, I got peddled on the street for sunglasses today. Now, I live and breathe for sunglasses -- the more ridiculous the better -- so I was hooked immediately. What was awesome is that he wanted to sell them to me for 30 bucks, because they're Gucci knock-offs. Please. Like I'm going to spend 30 dollars on cheap imitations when I could buy my own cheap imitation at the stand at the mall. I told him I didn't have any cash on me. Well, he wouldn't give up, and eventually I pulled 30 pesos ( 3 dollars ) out of my back pocket and told him it was all I have. And now I have sexy sunglasses. I'm assuming he just wasn't having luck getting rid of them so he took what he could get, because he walked away looking pretty sad about his failure to make bank, but, whatever. I'm wearing these mothers at night.

This is what's up.

2007-10-01T00:04:00.000-07:00

In a mere 4 days I'll have been in Mexico for 2 months. Crazy, or what? I can't decide whether it's gone by in a flash, or if it feels like forever. On one hand, everything is entirely familiar now. It feels like home. I've established a routine and the newness has subsided into a settled comfort. And arriving here seems like an eternity ago. On the other hand, where the hell did the time go?

Last week was midterms for my classes. It sounds a little more haughty than it really is, since the courses are only 6 weeks long. In any case, they all whizzed through them with flying colors. I can't say how proud I am of my little students, learning present perfect and present perfect continuous and all that. In several cases, the sentences they put together were flawless. I don't think I could have been happier. It almost breaks my heart that the courses are so short; I've grown very fond of all of them. Even the first class.

The Spanish is moving right along. Slow but steady, and that's just fine with me. I have a couple of friends here who speak no English at all, so it forces me to utilize all of the Spanish I've got. And they're very decent about it. Patient, understanding, politely correcting my mistakes. It makes it easier, and I'm pretty darned grateful.

I wish I had something to really write about, like an event, but I've been kind of exhausted this last week and haven't written when I should, so most things seem like a blur now. A few bars, a couple of movies ( Stardust and Knocked Up ( for my second time -- I saw it in the U.S., too ), classes. That pretty much covers it. They were all interesting events, but I let them sink too far into the past and now the details have dulled.

Queso, please

2007-09-18T00:03:00.000-07:00

I had my first experience in a Mexican mercado today. I decided it was time to lay off the taco stand and put some food in my house.

There's this little mercardo ( market ) right behind my house, literally on the next block. It's really tiny, and filled with all of the absolute necessities. Eggs, milk, butter, cheese, chorizo, tortillas, your standard vegetables for Mexican cooking ( avocado, onion, cucumber, potato, etc. ), bread, beans, cereal, laundry soap, cigarettes, refreshments, that sort of thing.

What makes it interesting is that it's completely packed with people, and several of the food items are stocked behind the counter. It's like Wall Street, people gathered around shouting orders out and a bunch of clerks behind the counter scrambling around to get it. I needed cheese and was absolutely terrified to try and ask for it, lest I make a mistake and single myself out as the stumbling American amidst the huge crowd of natives. Fortunately someone else needed cheese. She raised her hand and screamed "QUESO!". When the clerk looked at me, I did the same, and he got me my cheese.

I won. Yes.

Viva Mexico

2007-09-17T22:35:00.000-07:00

Well on Friday I discovered that the 16th was going to be Mexico's Independence Day, and the evening of Saturday the 15th was going to be the Grito Fiesta downtown Chihuahua. So I decided that it was time to peel my ass off of the leather chair and get downtown to witness the festivities. I hopped a taxi and went to the inner city.

It was pretty neat, I'm not gonna lie. The streets were lined with peddlers and their wares, very bazaar-like. Food was everywhere. Apparently corn is a huge deal here, because I saw about 20 corn stands. It's corn on the cob, grilled, on a stick, with various Mexican seasonings applied. I didn't try one myself because I'm not the biggest fan of corn on the cob, with its stick-between-your-teeth properties, but it looked good. I went with the tacos. 25 pesos for 5 tacos; I couldn't pass it up. I was at first enticed by the gigantic ball of meat sitting on a rotating pole. A butcher stood below it with two enormous cleavers and a bloody apron slicing shreds from the ball which fell down onto the stove to be cooked.

The amount of people was just plain stifling. Thousands upon thousands of people everywhere. At one point I ducked into a bar to wait it out until the fireworks ceremony. Unfortunately they began an hour early and I missed them while trying to flag down the bartender to pay my 2-beer frickin' tab. There was a television in there with a live broadcast and I could hear the detonations, so I suppose I was as close as you could get without seeing it in person.

I got a few pictures, but none are really all that impressive. Truthfully, I stand out in a crowd and I felt like a dip-shit snapping pictures like a tourist. But.. here's what's what.

Time to take a breather...

2007-09-14T01:14:00.000-07:00

The first week is over, and it's bittersweet.

On one hand, I have next to no life outside of work right now. After work, I take the dreaded bus back to my house and I generally tend to latch myself onto my computer and seek solace with anyone I can find who owns an instant messenger and speaks English. I'm facing an awful barrier when it comes to developing a social life: my Spanish isn't adequate enough to hold a conversation with someone in hopes of creating friendship. At the same time, it's tough to put myself in situations where I might be forced to at least try, because that would require me to enter a place where social situations thrive, such as a bar, alone. I would have to sit in a bar, alone. Feel free to let me know if that wouldn't look or seem awkward to you. So, without the necessary language skills, I'm forced to be a hermit.

On the other hand, this week was terrifying. I have three classes right now, okay? My first one hates me. It's hard enough being a grammar teacher. No one likes grammar. It's boring, and there's pretty much no way to make it fun. Students at this school attend for two hours -- two one hour classes. My first class is followed by a class on idioms, and my last class follows that class. What would you rather learn? Interesting idiomatic expressions like "Let's make like a banana and split"? Or how to incorporate "already" and "yet" into sentences using the present perfect tense? Right. So I've already got one strike against me, and unfortunately they've failed to let go the humiliating stumbles of my first day with the text book mix-up. Sometimes I'll be explaining something, and then I'll stop and say "Okay, wait.. let me explain this a different way to make it easier." Then they give each other the looks and the snickers, the "God, what an idiot" motions. No, I'm not just paranoid -- it's glaringly obvious.

I can't believe I'm stuck with these little shits for the next 5 weeks. I mean, give me a break for the love of God. I'm trying.

Class number two is great. Until today there was only one girl, and she's the sweetest person alive. It was easy to feel comfortable because the first day we just spent conversing and such, and now it's like teaching a friend. She was absent today, but two more guys registered who are phenomenal and simply the easiest people to get along with. Plus they're American football fans, which made it simple to break the ice. Personally, I look at my second class as just teaching a few cool people -- nothing more or less. In addition, their English, since it's a level 4 ( the highest ) class, is unbelievable, so I don't have to deal with the dumbfounded looks. Looks that are understandable, of course, but looks that put me on the spot nonetheless.

My last class is my favorite. It's up to 12 people now, and they rock my socks off. No complaints from them, ever. If they don't understand something, they say so and give me the chance to rephrase or take a different approach. One woman in particular is my favorite student. It's not because she's someone I would want to hang out with or anything, she just makes me laugh ( inside ). She's 44 I believe, but doesn't look anywhere near it. She must spend HOURS trying to look like a super model, but while her efforts are commendable, she doesn't come close. The greatest thing is that she clings to every word that comes out of my mouth like it is the word of God, pencil and notebook at the ready. When she speaks, she tries to pull of the whole Marilyn Monroe whisper/moan conglomeration, emphasizing certain words with a seductive undertone -- "Teacher, how do you pronounce.. 'incorrect'?" Most of the time I lecture briefly on the new structures in grammar, have them do the exercises on their own, and then let them each speak their own answers out loud. When it's her turn, she's so serious and certain about it that I'm almost scared to correct her mistakes lest I cause her world to crumble to pieces. Really, I thank the heavens for this lady. She totally makes my day.

The other students in that class are just as great, in their own different ways. After the grotesque stress of my first class, I really end up looking forward to the last one.

So, it's over. I have three days to breathe, and for that I'm extremely thankful. While class number one is the constipation in my ass, working at this school is really not so horrendous. I enjoy going there very much. Right now I'm just glad it's over because I know how shit goes, and now I have the weekend to develop a new plan of attack. Even if it costs me my sanity, I'm going to figure out a way to make grammar interesting. To do more than lecture, practice, say aloud, repeat. I refuse to let class one turn me completely cynical -- those little fuckers are going to recognize even if it's the last thing I do. I'm sad to be going forth into a weekend of potential extreme boredom, but thank heavens for the chance to breathe and reboot.