a few weeks ago....

i went to the caracol of Oventic, a Zapatista autonomous community, with a few musicians from Puebla...

gigantic...

Today a group of students came into the restaurant to look at the roof garden. One gal was wearing a dark-blue t-shirt with the familiar words "Western Michigan University" on it, so I immediately exclaimed, "Hey! I went to Western!" "Oh," she said, "actually this is from my ex-boyfriend, we're from the University of Michigan." Well, well, I thought. Of course if I'd waited a few more minutes I would have noticed that these kids were not from WMU, in the way that they quickly ascended the stairs, eager to see the garden, despite the fact that their guide hadn't even arrived yet. Ambitious. And I'd already blown my cover.

I can see them now, sitting around a table in their hotel, studiously going over their notes and scribbling ideas furiously or reading Zapatista comuniques outloud to one another, and as they take a small break, to lighten the mood, someone comments, "Yeah, well thank God we aren't going to Western, or all that we would end up doing is working in some coffee shop in Mexico." Maybe the years of hearing the disdain and condescension in the voices of U of M kids in regards to WMU kids has led me to believe one of those students would make that comment. Either way, I would reply, "Yeah and if I would have gone to U of M, I'd have ended up a lonely and cynical academic bound to desperate attempts at being at the vanguard and making incredibly vain gesticulations in order to impress people that other people assume are important."

Anyway, this past weekend I went out of town to a small community about an hour and a half from San Cristobal. We stayed in a cabin, swam in a river that was about 2 meters from our cabin, ate delicious homemade vegetarian food with handmade tortillas, and walked around in the forest until we found the source of the the fresh spring water that flows from all the taps on the land. It was a refreshing break from the city and so close that we could even leave early on Monday morning and I made it back (only slightly late) for work. The people were all amazing as well and each of them in their own way reinforced the same idea, "Live well and happy and simply."

perspective

If there's anything that has affected me by living in Mexico, maybe something that has had the biggest impact on me has been the realization of the beauty and value in the small things that life holds. Or, maybe it's the realization that the so-called "small things" in life, like human connection and expression or natural beauty or divinity, are really not so small after all. I see in the U.S. a society where humanity is denied and repressed and thus, ideas such as faith and spontaneity must be marginalized. Ah, the small things in life, if only we had more time, more money, more of them, wouldn't that be nice? People say this to themselves and continue on, wanting more, being afraid of losing what they already have, and never really questioning: Why do we choose to deny ourselves the things that are truly fulfilling to us in exchange for pursuing a course of life that we perceive is "acceptable?" Where does this idea of what is acceptable come from? Why are people rigidly defined early in life and reprimanded or isolated if they deviate from the expectations of others? Do I really need a resumé to be happy? I've met so many folks these past couple of years who would simply laugh at the latter question.

And just because you know that opportunities exist, does that mean you should take them? or even consider them? Does the privelege of knowing equal an obligation of accepting?

Sorry folks, I won't be working at a big-name corporation or NGO soon. I'd like to keep my life simple for now....and enjoy moments like when one of the Casa del Pan regulars, a young French lady, says, "Can you make the orange-papaya juice the way you always make it? Siempre queda riquisimo." Or days that revolve around hunting down a certain ingredient, or nights that revolve around finding the right onda, or relationships that revolve around something more than just geography and responsibility.

Ok, I have a resume. Will I use it soon? Can't say. But I'm happy. Nothing like descending on one of San Cristobal's city hills, seeing the sun drop zig zags of gold on the stones in the streets, the red-roofed homes and flowers and relative stillness of a still-small city, all surrounded by green hills and clouds, breathing in air that is always cool and fresh, sometimes moist and sometimes not, thinking "I could live here forever, couldn't I?," feeling very alive and then laughing at yourself when you slip on the steep sloping sidewalk. I'm not sure I could ask for more, or if I even should.

word of the day

tergiversar: to distort

spinning...

I learned it in college, enjoyed it for several years, and was reminded of it last night: Activists know how to party. We almost didn't go, wore out by ping-pong and Josue's incredible chard, corn, potatoe, calabacita, onion, tomato soup, but we pumped some coffee into our veins and the walk woke us up a bit. When we show up to the party, memories from WMU come flooding back: low-lit dance floor, loud echoing conversation, good music that doesn't stop, dancing, young folks dressed up and down. Salsa dancers occupy the middle of the room, observers the edges and smokers on the roof. The party is well set-up, packed, and only growing. Soon it's hard to make it from one side of the room to the other. Some friends of ours show up, "So these are all the NGO folks?" and I remember how hard we worked as activists in Kalamazoo, thus the necessity for such extravagant parties and mad dancing.

Well, I haven't been doing much activism lately. Didn't stop me from staying until 6am, oof.

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.

rain rain

I'm getting used to this routine. Wake up at 7am, breakfast while waiting for the water to heat up, shower, ride bike (quickly) down early and almost empty streets to la casa del pan..get out piña, papaya, and zanahoria and usually limones and manzanas too...turn on music...spend the day making coffee, tea and juice, and answering questions and translating..3:30 always comes much sooner than I expect. And considering that I am at the restaurant 6 days a week, you would think I would be in a hurry to leap back onto my bicycle (well, it's borrowed) and fly home, down and up and past the strange lighthouse-looking building that is so far from any sea. Instead I like to linger in the shop and smell and touch all the neat organic products. Today I am waiting for the rain to making bike-riding home appealing.

I met a gal from Michigan, which was nice in a sort of unidentifiable way. Sure I've got some roots and attachments there, but is finding someone from your land of birth in a farther-away land really a cause for celebration? Either way I got her phone number because she works at Promedios and I would like to learn about film editing if I can. I want to learn just about all I can, in fact, while I have what for now I will call a "brief separation from reality." Meaning, I am living how I want without others telling me how to use my time (i.e. bosses, professors, the president) and I am not-so-quietly pleased about it.

In fact, maybe on my day off tomorrow I will stroll downtown and shout about my absolute pleasure with life. Probably not (gringos draw enough attention eh?) but I'm happy, something that is seemingly criminal when one doesn't succumb to the confines of a capitalistic, elitist, hierarchical power structure. So, call me a criminal.