all these little things...

My life these days is composed by many distractions, fragments that, when I piece them together, make some sort of semblance to an ordinary life. I am not simply living a life that is defined by societal and cultural norms, laws, and the expectations of others, but a life which I am composing with the materials that are available to me. It requires resourcefulness and a dedication to imperfection, as well as a good amount of faith.

Weeks move even more swiftly with a routine. A middle-aged academic type who frequents the restaurant told me my expressos are "excelentisimo," and I appreciated his compliment, all the more so because of his use of the word excelentisimo.

We recently obtained a ping-pong table. A tournament is in the works. I may also introduce beer pong to Mexico, just because I can.

I organized a screening of a documentary and not many people came but it was fun, in a nerdy sort of way, to organize something again.

the depth of perception

Last night my roommates and I were walking to a party at our friend Alex's house, an outdoor backyard full moon party. Just as we were passing la iglesia de la Merced, a large, fluffy, white dog rounded the corner and almost collided with us (or us with it). It was quite an impressive dog too, clean and groomed, a rarity around these parts. We didn't slow our walk but as we moved around the dog, we all made comments something along the lines of, "Wow! What a beautiful dog!" A split second later, at the other end of the leash, the owner came around the corner. I thought he would be proud of his fine animal companion and our obvious adoration so I glanced up to give him a quick smile. But when my eyes met his, I saw that his entire face was curled into a sneer. With a mix of matter-of-factness and disdain, he said, simply, "Hippies," almost spitting the word out at us. The unexpectedness of his comment made me laugh out loud, and especially because none of us were wearing anything that would identify us as "hippies." No colorful, loose Guatemalan pants, no long, swaying cotton skirts, no excessive amounts of beads or woven bracelets, not even any dreads or tye-dye. I even thought we looked more clean cut than usual, I mean I was wearing a black blazer after all. Though perhaps this fella (who, in my opinion, looked a bit like a yuppie himself) has the ability to see into our inner beings and thus see our deepest identities. And if so, apparently we are hippies, who knew?

I already knew that there is a considerable amount of hostility felt towards so-called "hippies" in San Cristobal. For example, a grafiti I've seen spray-painted on several walls shows a machine gun between the words, "Comando, mata hippies" Kill hippies. Still, I'd never been personally accosted, nor even accused, until last night. Strange, but certainly not the strangest thing to happen in this town, not even close.