(Tell me, tell me, tell me.)
The house is filled with the aroma of beans cooking on the stove top, a rich smell of onions and garlic and something unidentifiable to my American nose. This Friday morning is grey and weepy, and my state of mind reflects those grey clouds that roll on past my window and down the mountains of Xalapa. There are so many things I should be doing in this moment, so many things I should have done when I woke up. I should be working on my final project for my least favorite class and reading books about Zapatistas. I should have gone to my 9 am yoga class, but in my lazy and sleepy mind I told myself that I would do a good, sweaty 90 minute yogaglo session in the afternoon.
It’s now afternoon. I have yet to do more than just stretch my toes around a bit. Plus, there’s the Thanksgiving celebration at Rob’s house at 3:30-ish. -Ish is the important word here. Yesterday I had a wonderful afternoon in where I made pasta frolla by hand for the first time; it felt so good to use my hands once more and turn flour and butter and sugar into something delicious. I then made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for the kids, which they eagerly ate up and took away with them. That was followed by preparing the pasta frolla to make a pear and apple crostata for today’s Thanksgiving party. And finally, I made a huge batch of chocolate pumpkin bread for the party as well, followed by mini-tartlets with plum jam from the left over frolla.
Afterword, I ran the Hill for 40 minutes in the dark, blasting Florence and the Machine’s new album on my iPod and trying to ignore the stern and responsible voice in my head, that reminds me constantly that I have a lot of work to do. To do NOW.
After the run and a shower, I managed to flip through my first Zapatista book for a look-see and decided that I should read it. So I went to bed, deciding to read it tomorrow morning.
Obviously that didn’t happen.
What has happened though, is that I have less than two weeks in this country, and already I feel the change is depressing me a bit. For while at once I do wish to go back to Texas, a large part of me feels almost disappointed to leave. Living in a foreign language and culture reminds you every day that there is an infinite amount of things to learn and experience in this world. So many questions to ask and to seek answers to, and yet for the most part I go about my day living in my tiny,tiny world, encompassed in my tiny,tiny knowledge of only a few things. My mind is always a hungry one, but sometimes I feel rather useless and so small in my attempt to enrich my life. As if, what is the point if I will never be what I see in my mind’s eye, in my dreams? I feel my time in Mexico hasn’t brought the changes I had wished to see in July, when my time felt limitless here. Now at the end, I see the only thing that has changed is my increased knowledge of Spanish, a few more life-experiences, a few more books read, but the person who stares back at the mirror each morning is the same from July.
I am not enlightened, nor stronger or skinner, nor wiser, nor able to meditate for long stretches of time. I sometimes still have strange dreams with the Smoked Boy where suddenly I am woefully inadequate and ugly on the outside, while my insides scream at him to be what I want him to be. Thank goodness those dreams only have occurred a few times, because I wake up wanting to punch my Frida Khalo poster next to my bed. Punch her, because Frida would probably laugh at my weakness for that dumb boy and the shame I feel for ever having feelings for someone so…empty.
On the phone the other night, Yvette was telling me how she felt sad and lonely and asked me how I handled being single. I laughed and said something about “focusing on other things and being patient.” When I was 17, and felt pitiful for being 17 and still without a proper boyfriend or guy in general in my life, Yvette told me to “just be patient.” My patience has only made my life more solitary, with occasional brief encounters with boys passing through, as if to say hello in different ways and then be on their way. I am no longer 17, far from it, but I feel the same sense of quiet, soft agony of not being able to find a heart that shares your beat.
I failed to mention to her that a large part of my sour attitude towards her in the past was due to exactly the fact that I was single and she, per usual, had some guy in her life. There was always someone for her to bring home for Christmas and all I did was make rugelash. And I hated it. I failed to mention that for the most part, I handle the solitary by going somewhere else in my head, to one of my endless stories. I turn to paper and ink word and suddenly I’m not alone.
But above all, the world calls more than the need to “find a good guy.” Every time the realization of how much I have left to learn and experience in this world hits me, suddenly and often out of nowhere, a joy and excitement fills me. And so it is with a bittersweet joy that I look forward to Texas and home and the Christmas season with the family, because beyond that there is Spain and then Bolivia.
But first, there is a the here and the now, and a house that smells of beans and a Thanksgiving party in 20 minutes and a MOUNTAIN of work to accomplish, and my worlds to put to paper (all in due time), and tonight at midnight, a Skype date with Alicia!
To sum, while I might be all grey and moody today, soon I will return to my usual state of believing that “La macchina va dove vanno gli occhi.” And slowly, day by day and practice by practice, now I will become myself.
“The vision that you glorify in your mind, the ideal that you enthrone in your heart – this you will build your life by, and this you will become.” -James Allen
Off for a delicious celebration of my favorite holiday!
Maktub,
Areteana
CLB Collins 