I love writing. As the sole contributor of my blog, I realize this is probably not an unveiling of shocking, personal information. But, nonetheless, I indeed love to write. However, because I love to write so much, I hate being forced to write. It’s like that scene in Matilda in which the little boy says he loves chocolate cake and as punishment, Mrs. Trunchbull presents to him an enormous, delectable chocolate cake and forces him to eat it until he physically can no longer pick up the fork. This is the cinematic equivalent of my college education’s influence on my passion for writing.
Many times in my training for how to write as a public relations pro, I practiced being quick and concise, at times writing three different press releases in two hours. You can bet this did not leave much time/room to add an element of myself in my writing. In fact, after two years of this, I began to resent writing.
But then, in my last semester at the University, I took a creative writing class that proved to be one of the most profound classes in my college career. It was profound in the way it called me to incorporate myself in my work. First, to think about what stories have derived as byproducts of your life experiences, and then incorporate them in a way that calls a human connection amongst a reader, I assure you, brings your writing to a whole new level.
And just when I thought I had escaped the humdrum of college writing, I came to Mexico to study Spanish. If any of you have attempted another language through a course, you know that writing proficiently is often regarded as the principal benchmark. Thus, I have written more pages in Spanish about my daily activities and my beliefs than I can stomach. Eventually, to save my sanity, I decided to try my hand at writing poetry in Spanish. The discovery was grand.
It was like I had discovered a whole new world of words (okay, this is indeed what actually happened). But these words and the way they are arranged revealed all new imagery. Even the smallest words can provide an entire new way of thinking about something. Take the Spanish word, por favor for example. In English, this equals ‘please’, but literally translated from Spanish you get, ‘through your favor’. This conjures the thought of, ‘my actions are only possible through your favor’, which can also grow to, ‘It is through your good graces that I can achieve what I desire for myself.” A bit verbose? Absolutely, but that’s what makes it so beautiful.
Apply this to your average pop song with the crappy lyrics: “Baby, please love me.” In English, this proves to be cliché and lame, but in Spanish you can get: “It is only through your favor of loving me, that I can feel what I need to feel.”
So there you have it, in a place where the words initially made no sense to me, I have rediscovered my love for writing because I am no longer simply translating my world…I am discovering the meanings of a new one.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Sneeze That Blew Over A Cactus
There is a saying here that states, “when the United States catches a cold, Mexico catches pneumonia.” This statement implies that when a detrimental issue occurs in the U.S. it trickles South of the border, all the while gaining inertia and magnifying to something just short of catastrophe by the time it reaches Mexico City.
To further my point with some irony, take the swine flu for example. To go by the standards of the media, the swine flu was a pandemic to rival the bubonic plague. If I clung to the local news as my source for updates on the reality of the outside world, I would have taken out an extra student loan to pay for medical masks, bottles of water and the construction of my own, quarantined bomb shelter. To be less sarcastic, even just by talking to people on campus (especially those waiting in line for hours to receive their free vaccination), I was under the impression that getting the swine flu vaccine held the equivalent importance as gaining a college degree (we can’t force you to obtain it, but if you don’t, be prepared to live a much harder, less glamorous life).
However, looking at statistics, only 6% of households in the U.S. experienced a case of the swine flu, and only 10% of those cases were severe enough to cause death. And, of those deaths, majority were either over 65 years of age, or under 4 years old and had preexisting medical conditions. In short, the dreaded swine flu was not quite the bubonic plague we were expecting, and the countless gasps I heard from people when I told them I was going to Mexico without the swine flu vaccine were a bit unnecessary (but thank you for the concern).
Yet, as with any issues, the media and many U.S. citizens needed a foreign cause for this “National Emergency,” “Surging Pandemic,” or “Global Catastrophe” if you prefer. Enter - Mexico.
Back home, as the swine flu generated hysteria and created new jobs in the medical industry, the effects of this perpetuated fear snowballed its way to Mexico where it melted into a big pool of mierda. For example, many aspects of Mexico’s foreign trade, especially that dealing with pork products, came to a screeching halt. Domestic business suffered. For example, Mexico City placed a five-day halt on all unessential activities and afterwards, life did not return to normal on Monday. It was estimated Mexico City’s Chamber of Commerce lost $58 million per day during this time. And in my understanding, the most devastating effect came in the form of a huge decrease in foreign travel and tourism to and within Mexico that provides roughly $14 billion dollars annually. I’m a living example of this as I was supposed to be in this program last year, but it was cancelled due to the “causes” of the swine flu.
And now, as other topics have taken over our current events and fear has subsided (due to sighs of relief after receiving a vaccine or the simple realization that diseases will always exist and it doesn’t mean the end of the world, I’m not sure), Mexico is still trying to re-cooperate. However, as this lesson in health has taught us, while a cold can go away with rest and warm tea, pneumonia often requires x-rays, MRI’s and mucus tests. And from my understanding gained from being immersed here for two months, I would diagnose Mexico as still infected, I mean, affected.
To further my point with some irony, take the swine flu for example. To go by the standards of the media, the swine flu was a pandemic to rival the bubonic plague. If I clung to the local news as my source for updates on the reality of the outside world, I would have taken out an extra student loan to pay for medical masks, bottles of water and the construction of my own, quarantined bomb shelter. To be less sarcastic, even just by talking to people on campus (especially those waiting in line for hours to receive their free vaccination), I was under the impression that getting the swine flu vaccine held the equivalent importance as gaining a college degree (we can’t force you to obtain it, but if you don’t, be prepared to live a much harder, less glamorous life).
However, looking at statistics, only 6% of households in the U.S. experienced a case of the swine flu, and only 10% of those cases were severe enough to cause death. And, of those deaths, majority were either over 65 years of age, or under 4 years old and had preexisting medical conditions. In short, the dreaded swine flu was not quite the bubonic plague we were expecting, and the countless gasps I heard from people when I told them I was going to Mexico without the swine flu vaccine were a bit unnecessary (but thank you for the concern).
Yet, as with any issues, the media and many U.S. citizens needed a foreign cause for this “National Emergency,” “Surging Pandemic,” or “Global Catastrophe” if you prefer. Enter - Mexico.
Back home, as the swine flu generated hysteria and created new jobs in the medical industry, the effects of this perpetuated fear snowballed its way to Mexico where it melted into a big pool of mierda. For example, many aspects of Mexico’s foreign trade, especially that dealing with pork products, came to a screeching halt. Domestic business suffered. For example, Mexico City placed a five-day halt on all unessential activities and afterwards, life did not return to normal on Monday. It was estimated Mexico City’s Chamber of Commerce lost $58 million per day during this time. And in my understanding, the most devastating effect came in the form of a huge decrease in foreign travel and tourism to and within Mexico that provides roughly $14 billion dollars annually. I’m a living example of this as I was supposed to be in this program last year, but it was cancelled due to the “causes” of the swine flu.
And now, as other topics have taken over our current events and fear has subsided (due to sighs of relief after receiving a vaccine or the simple realization that diseases will always exist and it doesn’t mean the end of the world, I’m not sure), Mexico is still trying to re-cooperate. However, as this lesson in health has taught us, while a cold can go away with rest and warm tea, pneumonia often requires x-rays, MRI’s and mucus tests. And from my understanding gained from being immersed here for two months, I would diagnose Mexico as still infected, I mean, affected.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Speak A Little, Give A Lot
I’m a communications major. No, correction, I’m a strategic communications major. For the last four years, I have studied the ways in which people exchange messages. However, when it comes to thinking about everything communication actually entails, nothing in my studies has been as revealing as my time here in Mexico. It takes me about three times longer to think about how to express a sentence in Spanish. Then, once I decide how I’m going to say it, I still have the challenge of being humble enough to sound like a five-year-old and self affirmed enough to surpass the developing smile that forms across a native speaker’s face (this smile could be due to me not conjugating a verb or simple a response to my Minnesotan accent…I’m not sure).
Basically, this is just to say that I have never focused so hard on speaking. I scrutinize every word to check my tenses and meanings. Then, I think about if my words are even expressing what I mean. It seems my vocabulary bank is also suffering from the economy.
However, just when I want to fall into the defense of, “Is it really that important for me to learn Spanish, I can always find people who speak English anyways,” I hear an American having a fluent conversation with a Mexican in Spanish and my heart flutters. It flutters because I think, ‘My God, that person can communicate with millions more people simply because he/she stayed focused and worked on conjugating their gosh darn verbs.’
So, my point is, Spanish is still a huge challenge for me. Yet, I have a lot of wonderful, supportive people in my life who tell me, “Yes, but think of the job opportunities.” or “Think of the personal things you can accomplish with a second language.” But to be quite honest, my motivation does not come from future prospects.
I have made a friends here in Mexico who kindly oblige me by speaking English every time we meet and my motivation comes from the ideal day in which I can honor their language and their efforts to communicate (at least for more than two hours) .
Basically, this is just to say that I have never focused so hard on speaking. I scrutinize every word to check my tenses and meanings. Then, I think about if my words are even expressing what I mean. It seems my vocabulary bank is also suffering from the economy.
However, just when I want to fall into the defense of, “Is it really that important for me to learn Spanish, I can always find people who speak English anyways,” I hear an American having a fluent conversation with a Mexican in Spanish and my heart flutters. It flutters because I think, ‘My God, that person can communicate with millions more people simply because he/she stayed focused and worked on conjugating their gosh darn verbs.’
So, my point is, Spanish is still a huge challenge for me. Yet, I have a lot of wonderful, supportive people in my life who tell me, “Yes, but think of the job opportunities.” or “Think of the personal things you can accomplish with a second language.” But to be quite honest, my motivation does not come from future prospects.
I have made a friends here in Mexico who kindly oblige me by speaking English every time we meet and my motivation comes from the ideal day in which I can honor their language and their efforts to communicate (at least for more than two hours) .
Monday, March 15, 2010
Money Talks, Especially When You Can't
Earlier today I was at a café. I was sitting at a small table, listening to a wonderful jazz band practice while sipping on a café americano. Admittedly, everything was pretty blissful. As I sat there, I journaled about how I felt everything was becoming more comfortable and the little details that make Cuernavaca so great. Time was running short and as an American, I was the only one who felt this way (here, a check never comes before you ask for it). SO, I flagged down the waitress, told her I was in a bit of a hurry and asked if I could just pay her without the whole painfully, time-consuming process of her registering what I had to drink, printing a check, and finding a small tray to place the check on to put it on the table. Okay, sure, no problem…or so I thought.
I decided to use the bathroom before I left the café and as I was waiting in line, the manager approached me and said I didn’t leave enough pesos. What? I was sure I left enough, plus a good tip. The manager showed me the receipt and it displayed that I had ordered the most expensive coffee drink on the menu, a “double espresso, illy style”. Nope.
Now, in any other situation, I would have kindly explained the situation, kept my pocket book shut and the world would have kept turning. However, that’s not what happened. For some reason, even though I knew this was wrong, the pressure of having to explain the situation in Spanish, combined with the fact I was in line for the bathroom in front of two other people, caused me to quickly say, “Oh, lo siento,” whip out my wallet and pay an extra $1.60.
The entire way home I played the scene over in my head. Why the heck did I cough that up? Yes, tangibly it was only $1.60, but to me, it was much more than that. It was the fact that here, I feel humbled to the point that often times I’m scared to stick up for myself. I’ve been flirting with the line between wanting to be an impressive representative and being a wimpy, white-girl who’d rather throw money at a situation than actually sort it out. If you can’t tell by my tone, this isn’t the first incident of its kind.
What is it exactly that makes me feel so vulnerable? Sure, I don’t speak the language perfectly, but I still have a sense of self and what I deserve. So, what is so damn intimidating? The first part of this trip, I was constantly reminding myself that I was out of my element and that to learn anything would require constant correcting, reminding and adjusting from the people around me. But there’s a point in which you also need to remind yourself that you’re not ALWAYS wrong. Despite having the speaking skills of somebody half my age, I still have the same brain content as I did before I arrived here (now, even more). Yes, to learn a language does indeed require a grand amount of humility, but to use a language requires confidence, instincts, and enough pride to keep your pocket book closed.
I decided to use the bathroom before I left the café and as I was waiting in line, the manager approached me and said I didn’t leave enough pesos. What? I was sure I left enough, plus a good tip. The manager showed me the receipt and it displayed that I had ordered the most expensive coffee drink on the menu, a “double espresso, illy style”. Nope.
Now, in any other situation, I would have kindly explained the situation, kept my pocket book shut and the world would have kept turning. However, that’s not what happened. For some reason, even though I knew this was wrong, the pressure of having to explain the situation in Spanish, combined with the fact I was in line for the bathroom in front of two other people, caused me to quickly say, “Oh, lo siento,” whip out my wallet and pay an extra $1.60.
The entire way home I played the scene over in my head. Why the heck did I cough that up? Yes, tangibly it was only $1.60, but to me, it was much more than that. It was the fact that here, I feel humbled to the point that often times I’m scared to stick up for myself. I’ve been flirting with the line between wanting to be an impressive representative and being a wimpy, white-girl who’d rather throw money at a situation than actually sort it out. If you can’t tell by my tone, this isn’t the first incident of its kind.
What is it exactly that makes me feel so vulnerable? Sure, I don’t speak the language perfectly, but I still have a sense of self and what I deserve. So, what is so damn intimidating? The first part of this trip, I was constantly reminding myself that I was out of my element and that to learn anything would require constant correcting, reminding and adjusting from the people around me. But there’s a point in which you also need to remind yourself that you’re not ALWAYS wrong. Despite having the speaking skills of somebody half my age, I still have the same brain content as I did before I arrived here (now, even more). Yes, to learn a language does indeed require a grand amount of humility, but to use a language requires confidence, instincts, and enough pride to keep your pocket book closed.
Monday, March 8, 2010
I'm Ready
This morning, my bags are packed and sitting next to me. My bed is made and I have created the illusion for my host family that I’m actually a neat person. I’m hydrated with orange juice and water, and my 4inch burn from a motorcycle exhaust pipe is cleaned and bandaged. I have the numbers of three of my teachers, my host family, and the US Embassy. I have a play list donning the best beach/road trip music I know. I have a pocket full of pesos appropriately hidden away in my $15 designer rip off I got from the underground market. I have sunscreen, even though I’ve never been sun burnt in my life, I think it’s best not to challenge the Mexican Sun. I have my journal so I can write down all of my revelations (I’ve been having quite a few these days). AND I have three partners-in-crime who basically guarantee a great time no matter what happens.
I am ready for Acapulco.
Hasta luego, compadres!
I am ready for Acapulco.
Hasta luego, compadres!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Great Heights
I’m tall. I’ve been aware of this since 7th grade, when a basketball coach recruited me for the team despite my apparent lack of hand-eye coordination at tryouts. Even after I could only put two points on the board…the entire season, my coach still encouraged me to stay on the team because apparently my height inspired in him some uncanny faith in my potential (never to be realized on the court, mind you). And if that wasn’t enough, I never experienced a middle school slow dance in which my partner’s eyes were paired above my chest. Even today, I have witnessed my share of male expressions go from “tall and proud” to “nervous and emasculated” after I come down the stairs in my high heels. Alas, this is all just to describe my first point that I’m tall, and here in Mexico, I’m really tall.
However, it wasn’t until recently that I realized how blessed I am to be tall and how my height actually serves as a testimony to how fortunate I am. I’m currently reading a book titled, “Mexican Lives” by Judith Adler Hellman. In this particular excerpt, Hellman is speaking with a Mexican woman who sells lingerie and claims she sells it in all colors and sizes. When Hellman asks if she has any in her size, the vendora looks her over and laughs replying,
“You’re not ‘big,’ you’re tall. That’s different from being big. You’re tall because you’re well-nourished. That’s the difference between women here and norteamericanas or canadienses. We get to be fat because we go our whole life without eating proper food.”
(Hellman. Mexican Lives. Pg 84).
After reading this, you can bet I had an “elevated” point of view. Sincerely, as a person who basically grew up in the Natural Food Coop in Litchfield, I have always been surrounded by nutritious food. Every single day of my life I have had the option to include fresh fruits and vegetables in my diet. The same is true for my parents, and their parents as well. Thus, my family has had the opportunity to be tall. Up until this point, I have simply attributed my height to my genetic makeup. However, now, I see my height as more than a physical expresion. To me, my height is now a living example of how people can grow only when given the opportunity.
However, it wasn’t until recently that I realized how blessed I am to be tall and how my height actually serves as a testimony to how fortunate I am. I’m currently reading a book titled, “Mexican Lives” by Judith Adler Hellman. In this particular excerpt, Hellman is speaking with a Mexican woman who sells lingerie and claims she sells it in all colors and sizes. When Hellman asks if she has any in her size, the vendora looks her over and laughs replying,
“You’re not ‘big,’ you’re tall. That’s different from being big. You’re tall because you’re well-nourished. That’s the difference between women here and norteamericanas or canadienses. We get to be fat because we go our whole life without eating proper food.”
(Hellman. Mexican Lives. Pg 84).
After reading this, you can bet I had an “elevated” point of view. Sincerely, as a person who basically grew up in the Natural Food Coop in Litchfield, I have always been surrounded by nutritious food. Every single day of my life I have had the option to include fresh fruits and vegetables in my diet. The same is true for my parents, and their parents as well. Thus, my family has had the opportunity to be tall. Up until this point, I have simply attributed my height to my genetic makeup. However, now, I see my height as more than a physical expresion. To me, my height is now a living example of how people can grow only when given the opportunity.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Presently Redefining
Lately, when people have asked me about how my trip is going, I’ve found myself finding it difficult to really describe it. The thing is, to say it’s “going well” doesn’t suffice, and to say it’s “completely wonderful” puts a lace doily on something that is much more complex. So, how is my trip going you ask? Well, in one word, it’s profound; and it’s profound by the definition that it’s requiring great perception.
And I think this is what makes travel so essential. The awareness required when you are thrown (or volunteer yourself, or heck, even pay tuition for the experience rather) into a completely new surrounding is greatly increased. Yesterday I went to the city of Tepotzlan, a beautiful city nestled in the mountains about an hour from Cuernavaca. While I was there, I realized that I was completely in the present. I was feeling the cool breeze on my face, listening to the foreign language around me, smelling the different foods and looking at all the crafts and goods around me. Because everything was so new, I was so aware with my senses. Then, as I rode the bus home with the sun setting behind the mountains, I didn’t sink into a newspaper or listen to my iPod, but rather I opened the window and took in the scene. It was in that moment I realized the amazing things that can surface when you’re in the present, and in contrast, all the things you can miss when you’re sucked into a routine. And I couldn’t help but wonder: when you remove yourself from everything that defines you, what definition remains?
And I think this is what makes travel so essential. The awareness required when you are thrown (or volunteer yourself, or heck, even pay tuition for the experience rather) into a completely new surrounding is greatly increased. Yesterday I went to the city of Tepotzlan, a beautiful city nestled in the mountains about an hour from Cuernavaca. While I was there, I realized that I was completely in the present. I was feeling the cool breeze on my face, listening to the foreign language around me, smelling the different foods and looking at all the crafts and goods around me. Because everything was so new, I was so aware with my senses. Then, as I rode the bus home with the sun setting behind the mountains, I didn’t sink into a newspaper or listen to my iPod, but rather I opened the window and took in the scene. It was in that moment I realized the amazing things that can surface when you’re in the present, and in contrast, all the things you can miss when you’re sucked into a routine. And I couldn’t help but wonder: when you remove yourself from everything that defines you, what definition remains?
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