Priority Use

There is so much about being here that makes me into something that I am not--or at least something that I have never before been. I pretend to tell myself that I am just myself, good ol' me. But that just can't be true. I mean, I guess that goes along with how we're always ourselves--I mean, seriously, how could you be someone else. It's just that different people bring our different sides of who we are. And here, most people bring out a me that is distinctly me but a me that I have never known, nonetheless.

Anyway, I often feel as though the me here is a side of me that I have never experienced getting to know. I write in all sincerity, now. Don't interpret this as any sort of conceit (or lack of).

I have always been one of those "nice" people. The sort of nice person that people enjoy getting to know because, well, I'm nice. But people don't usually get to know me because I'm particularly attractive. Here, in, where I am, the tables have definitely turned. Being as I am the new girl everyone wants to get to know me and all of the men salivate whenever I walk in the door. Clearly, I realize that this is only a figment of: their boredom with small town living, their pushy wives/girlfriends, their horniness, and my newness. And has very little to do with me being a supermodel.

On Sunday, I was walking home and ran into a creepy man who I generally try to avoid. I kept walking until he said something to me, so I turned around to hear him out. "I really like you," he stated. "Is that all you wanted to tell me?" I asked, annoyed. "Well, and I wanted to know if you wanted to get some lunch together next time you're going to town." "Uh, I don't think so." "Oh, okay," he took it, like a man "well, so What's your name?" I resisted the temptation to make one up. Okay, people. If you don't know my name, don't ask me out. He doesn't know if I'm nice. He just thinks I'm hot and for that wants to have lunch with me. Gag me with a spoon.

So, yes. It's strange. Sometimes I really like it. Other times (re: creepy man vs me conversation) I want to hide in a hole. I always thought I would maybe like to experience being attractive. Sometimes, though, it's really annoying. I am constantly skeptical of anyone's interest in me--wondering if it's because they really think that I am interesting or if it is because I have a latin butt and am their ticket to a nice mcmansion in the US of A.

Ultimately, though, I don't really care. I'm taking what I can and enjoying something I'll probably never enjoy again. And, admittedly, milking it for all it's got. It is weird though. And, I have come to the conclusion that I would actually rather be nice than attractive any day. Not that I am not enjoying this novel make believe very, very much.

This letter was just too ridiculous to be true. As I was re-reading what I’d written before packaging it in it’s little red, white and blue international, par avion, air mail envelope I realized that it was surely a keeper and somehow needed to be documented. I wonder if it’s humor will be lost on those who, well, aren’t me. I’m willing to find out.

Dear friend,

What a process sitting down to write you a letter. I first decided that I wanted some m&ms to accompany my letter-writing, which meant getting out my keys to unlock my suitcase which all seems a little ridiculous considering they’re, well, m&m’s, but given that someone has been taking my stuff from hidden places inside my own paid for room, I have been keeping everything under lock and key. Then, as I pulled out my suitcase, I found several termites—with wings and without—attached to the bottom wheels and fabric, so I had to smoosh them with toilet paper, dispose of their carcasses and sweep the floor to be rid of all evidence for good measure. I was finally ready to curl up on my bed and write when I found another termite—on my bed, this time—in it’s little termite house wiggling around. So, I had to flush him down the toilet. Now I feel as though little bugs are crawling all over my skin and I can only hope that it’s not actually heroine withdrawal and that this letter distracts me enough so that I forget that anything every happened and I don’t spend an endless night itching off imaginary bugs.

I’m going into town tomorrow to go to a café with K to help her grade English exams that her students took yesterday. She has to get them done tomorrow because on Friday she’s going home for 17 days. I’m actually pretty jealous. It’s strange. On one hand, I’m totally content here and over the past several weeks, I’ve finally begun to feel as though I’m making progress—though this feeling is far from constant—and I really wouldn’t especially rather be anywhere else. On the other hand, I’m just ready to be done. 15 months sounds like more that I can handle. It’s such a weird emotional ride. I think I may just need a break.

I’ve been really sensitive lately which is likely not a good sign. About an hour ago, G asked if I could change the time of my aerobics class from 5:30 to 5 to accommodate the baile folklórico group that has reserved the space from 7pm on, but “would like” to be able to arrive at 6:45 and I wanted to cry. The feeling still hasn’t exactly left. To make matters worse, I asked her to buy me an avocado yesterday. This morning she brought it to me and it was very obviously a bad one, with a huge black spot on the skin and soft like rubber balloon filled with flour and a seed that moved around when the fruit was shaken, though she denied it’s apparent badness. I just opened it to add to my salad and was able to salvage about 25% of it, as expected. The rest was deeply spotted with brown and black and had a very, very unappealing flavor of soft, tasteless fat. It actually really offended me. I would never have bought that sort of thing for anyone, especially given the fact that I’d paid her for it before hand. Perhaps she honestly thought it was a good one (I just showed it to her and she still claims it’s fine and even that she “likes” them like that. Whatever.), but I just generally feel taken advantage of. That no one really cares that I’m here or values the “work” that I’m doing. That it wouldn’t really matter if I left—aside from the fact that G wouldn’t have anyone one take care of KF when she has something to do in town, or that people would miss making fun of the stupid mistakes that I make in Spanish. Llevar or Traer...I don't really give a crap. Sometimes I just want to be absolutely rude, ridiculous and conceited and yell “do you have any idea what I’m giving up to be here?? Do you have any idea what kind of education/experience/knowledge I came down here to share??” The problem/reality of it is, though, is that I’m not exactly sure how to respond to these questions myself. It’s just generally a frustrating experience.

To make matters worse, I may have broken my toe. Probably, not though. I wouldn’t be as lucky. Today when I was washing the dishes after the milk distribution while feeling slightly sorry for myself, I banged my foot really hard on a cinder block sticking out from underneath the stove. In case it wasn’t broken to begin with, everyone keeps stepping on the same exact toe—three people to be exact, in only 5 hours time. Talk about literally feeling walked all over. Now it’s sore and black and blue. I sort of hope it’s broken. Maybe that would mean I’d get med-evacked to the US long enough to recharge my batteries and get some Indian food. Although that would be a problem for my aerobics class with finally started yesterday.

The aerobics class was a big hit and appears to be the most successful project yet, which only adds to my frustrations. Everyone is asking me in their really practiced guilt tripping sort of Tican way which I can’t hold the class more than twice a week. I should be flattered, but it’s just another source of “ahhh.” “You ·%&!!? think I joined the PC, live in a termite infested bedroom, have a bazillion itchy bug bites—turned scars—all over my body, eat nasty hot dog bread and have to throw my used toilet paper in the TRASH CAN so that I could teach aerobics 5 days a week!!!!” “Go take a freakin’ walk!!!!!” Ha. I truly believe all that I am writing to you, but don’t worry, I have a sense of humor about it all. It really is comical when you think about it. I’ve also come to the conclusion that I am still learning a lot of valuable information about development first-hand. Mainly that there are a whole lot of social factors that matter just as much as infrastructure, economics, government, etc in making “development” actually work. And that termite -infested houses that are only 20 years old really don't help the matter one bit.

Dammit. I just found another termite. I’ve been on and off staring at it for the last 30 minutes writing this letter trying to decide exactly what it was. It didn’t appear to be moving, pegged to the wall in front of my face. I kept trying to decide if it had gotten anywhere every few words when I’d look up for verification. Well, I just looked up and it was gone. Meaning it was exactly what I thought it was. Sigh.

Well, enough is enough. I think I might just call it a night. Alls well that ends well, right? And, perhaps that the termite fell off the side of my wall and is likely dead upon my floor is a good sign and a good way to end the day.

I miss physical intimacy. Touching. Feeling somebody else´s skin and having mine felt by someone else. The one night encounters are fine and well, for sure and I'm even really starting to crave (in a purely rational sort of way) the surprise hugs that my little six year old brother and four year old cousin come running in to give me. But it's just not the same as being with someone I know--whose body I know and want in an intimate way. It's interesting--and yes, I have given this a lot of thought given some recent events and revelations--how most girls, I would venture to say, fall in love with the emotional side of relationships. I concur, that yes, I too, am an emotional creature. At the same time, it's emotional strength that I already have. I don't generally need anyone to assure me of my capabilities or fullness. Physical needs, though, one just can't satisfy on one's own in the same way that somebody else can. The pat of a back, rub of an arm, hold of a hand just feel so much better when done by someone else. I recently read in a magazine article written about supermax prisons that prisoners go mentally insane in as little as 48 hours being in a dark cell alone with gloves on their hands--keeping them from being able to even feel their own skin. I found this interesting and extremely enlightening. So I don't know...thoughts for the day, perhaps.

It's been a long time since I've written. I always think about writing, but writing just is no longer as accessible as it used to be and I lose my thoughts too quickly to ever really get them down. I have, though, been thinking a lot about judgements and just making decisions before you ever really have a chance to be tested and how it´s just not always so simple as it seems. There are plenty of things that I've always said I'd never do and slowly but surely many of them are being crossed off the list without much thought. It just gets me thinking that maybe it's not so good to say what you would or would not EVER do because no one really ever knows. Situations all turn out to be different and how can we really know how we may or may not feel down the road. I sort of thought that I was over saying that I would never do things as of a few years ago thanks to several happenings, but I guess I wasn't over it, because now it's just happened again. On that same note, now I'm finding it hard to decide if I should think "no regrets" no matter what. No matter who I might hurt--be it myself or someone else. It's also becoming easier to give in and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or bad. Perhaps that's the point. It's never inherently "good" or "bad" it's what the people decide that makes it what it is. Philosophically, I'm not sure that it matters. We live in a society, so to some extent there have to be defined good and bad. Perhaps it just might be important to really analyze what I've already decided to judge.

So I was on the phone with a friend the other night and told her that I thought I was falling in love (long story, don't ask...not all has a happy ending...at least not yet). She was really excited because she said that (not in these exact words, but to the point) she was really proud of me for letting myself get to that point. I know that in her heart of hearts she didn't mean to say anything offensive, but I sort of took it that way. More than anything, it worried me that that was how she percieved me. I tend to be an extremely emotional person. I think, more than many people, I let myself get too carried away by my emotions, often. Maybe because I am aware of the power that my emotions have on my life, I overcompensate too much. But then, that worries me. Does that mean that to the rest of the world I appear to be an emotionless, cold person? I certainly hope not.

Last summer when I was in Spain, I called a friend after a particularly liberating experience and she told me that she thought I was one of the (well, I actually don't remember what she said...)...but something along the lines of me being emotional, sensual, etc...and I agreed with her. I guess she wasn't surprised by the situation, but then this friend was. Okay, I know I'm not making any sense. I wonder that it's just when people know me I become a different person. I don't know.

Anyway, that's all.

I'm always amazed at my inability to keep things inside. I don't really talk when I'm unhappy and I hate for people to think that I ever am, so I just try and be positive. Well, I guess I didn't hide it all very well in my last email because I got about 5 responses trying to cheer me up. The thing is, I'm doing okay. I have my moments, but I'm hanging in there. It's be a slow and rough week--for work and non work related reasons--but it's just another challenge to face, and I'm okay with that.

It's great to read J's blog, but it also makes things, because I don't really feel like I'm doing all that much that is meaningful for anyone. PC stresses that we should never compare ourselves to other PCVs because everyone has their own experiences and everyone's situations are different, but I still can't help but think about it. I guess I'm just at the point where I'm questioning a lot of things.

On a positive note, I met with a group of women yesterday and I think we're going to start something interesting, so we'll see.

I'm really tired and my eyes feel hot and my back aches. I don't think I'm getting sick, but sickness is slowly moving through everyone in my house. I hope I'm not next. I try to keep my window open as much as possible, but it's either be sick or be eaten alive, and I haven't decided which is worse. I hope I'm staying healthy because I'm not looking forward to being sick in a tiny house with one bathroom and 7 people. Sigh! Think healthy thoughts. Think healthy thoughts!