I miss...

I miss normalcy, which is strange for a girl who has always craved the strange, the new, the unseen. But Ecuador is no longer new, it's just an endless repetition of useless days and I find myself missing those moments, those early-20s-carefree moments that I'm supposed to be living right now, that I would be if I were not trapped here, in this place, alone.

I miss streets surrounded by tall buildings that aren't made of cement. I miss living in a country where there are not goats and pigs and chickens on buses and on every corner, where it is illegal to go to the bathroom in public, where I am not woken most mornings to the most horrible music my ears have ever had the displeasure of hearing. I miss highways, smooth stretches of road that aren't dirt and stone. I miss being able to walk a street at any point during the day and feel safe. I miss not feeling the need to carry a knife with me everywhere. I miss not assuming that everyone will rob or swindle me because I am different. I miss speaking English, my beautiful language, every day, the familiar words and syllables rolling off of my tongue with ease. I miss being articulate, and not a stumbling child, working her way through an unfamiliar language, slow and stupid.

I miss wanting to look pretty, doing all of those things I used to do: showering every day, blow drying my hair, putting in contacts, putting on makeup, picking out a nice outfit, feeling proud of how i look. Here I skulk in oversized clothes and glasses, my yellow hair tucked under a hat, trying to stem the tide of shouts and whistles that accompany any gringa any time she goes anywhere. I miss anonymity, being able to sit in the park on a sunny day and eat lunch, without some stranger sitting next to me and asking me the same 20 questions I always hear, or having gaggles of young people whisper and giggle and then whisper again. I miss walking down the street and not being a foot taller and ten million shades whiter than everyone else, the comfort of being surrounded by people who look like me. I miss knowing that, when a guy smiles in my direction, it's because he thinks I'm pretty, no matter my ethnicity or where I come from.

I miss being able to go to people's houses and refuse food; the force-feeding is what gave me amoebas in the first place. I miss living in a country where I won't get amoebas. I miss washing my dishes in a sink, not in a tub outside. I miss not having to boil my water and peel my tomatoes and soak my fruit in disinfectant. I miss always having electricity and hot water. I miss throwing toilet paper in the toilet and not in the wastebasket. I miss drying my clothes in a machine. I miss the gym, and taekwondo, the uniform and belt, the smooth movements, the strange korean words in my mouth.

I miss good restaurants, and Thai food, and sushi, and McDonalds, and Indian, and cheap Chinese that actually has flavor, and chain restaurants, and big breakfasts, and free refill drinks with ice. I miss large grocery stores where I can buy fresh ginger, and olive oil, and cheerios.

I miss my friends, the ones who really get me and don't proclaim "You're psychotic" when I nerd out to them. I miss my Char. I miss my family, my dog, my mom's hugs, shooting with my dad, cooking with my sister, laughing at Comedy Central with my brother.

I miss riding in cars. I miss American boys. I miss shy smiles across rooms. I miss taking my laptop to a coffee shop on a cold winter day when the snow is fat and heavy outside. I miss hot dance clubs where the bodies are packed so tightly and I am just one of many. I miss buying wine and getting giggly in restaurants. I miss sunny summer days when the air shines golden as the sun sets. I miss the crispness of fall, the first breath of spring, sitting on green campus lawns and glorying in the sun. I miss riding my bike everywhere.

I miss having a life outside of my house, the internet, a smattering of other volunteers, and the farmers I work with. I miss not being the creeper that Ecuador has made me. I miss having some shred of normalcy left inside of the tattered maze of my brain. I miss having friends that I can touch. I miss touch, human contact that isn't the brief dirt-encrusted handshake of a campesino. I miss hugs, so much that sometimes I enjoy massages just because someone is touching me in a kind and gentle way.

I miss feeling needed, wanted, in work, in life, in love. I miss having a purpose. I miss dates, and butterflies-in-the-stomach, and flirting, and hope. I miss inside jokes.

I miss being the girl I was before, that bright and witty girl with a strong group of friends, who cherished every day and felt indescribably blessed and lucky. I miss that girl. She is not here, and I don't think I will get her back again for a long time.

My, my, my, it's a beautiful world...

I had a lovely weekend. A friend of mine just COSed (Close of Service), meaning her time in the Peace Corps is done and she's heading home. She swung by my area for a few days and we went to a nearby tourist-town, where on Friday we went bike riding next to a beautiful river (and saw the inappropriately-dressed 'Native American' from my previous post). We walked behind waterfalls and got our picture snapped with a boa constrictor wrapped around our shoulders. Saturday was spent shopping in the rain, eating chocolate and Italian food, getting massages, drinking way too much wine, dancing, and just generally being silly and girly and wonderful.

It was the best weekend I've had in a long time, and it's sad to think I may never see her again. But that's what Peace Corps does-- puts people from all walks of life together, then tears them apart. At least now I'll have friends all over the US if I ever do that cross-country trip I've been scheming.

I wonder if I will miss this place when I'm gone. She said I will, that everyone does to some degree. I hope so. I'd hate for these two years to go by and to feel nothing but bitterness when I leave. I'm not that kind of person.

At the very least, I'll have some beautiful memories. And that's enough.

I'm just a sweet transvestite...

There are a few times in life that I think NEVER CHANGE, ECUADOR, NEVER CHANGE. Very few. This is one of them.

Every once in a while, during the obligatory "What state are you from" question, I get a response like the one I had today:

Him: "So what state are you from?"

Me: "Pennsylvania." *blank stare* "It's near New York."

Him: "Ohhh, okay." *pause* "Wow, Pennsyvlania. I've only ever seen that in movies."

Me: "Ummm... yeah I guess there are movies that feature Pennsylvania...?"

Him: "WHERE ALL THE VAMPIRES ARE."

Me: "OHHHH, no, you're thinking of TRANSYLVANIA. That's a country. That doesn't even exist anymore. We don't have vampires. Just cows."

This happens ALL THE TIME. People constantly think I live in a deep dark forest infested with the blood-sucking undead. It's always a shame to tell them the truth. One of these days I should just lie. "Oh yeah, and there's this spooky castle on a hill, and village wenches who go up there NEVER RETURN."

Cultural differences

I don't care that it's a cultural thing, I don't care that things are viewed differently and that here this is not viewed as an insult. DON'T CARE.

It's not okay (NOT OKAY!!!) to have this conversation with the older lady you're friends with:

"Oh yeah, I've started going to this dance class every night so I can get in shape before my sister's wedding."

"Oh really?" (looks at me up and down) "Because you're fatter than the last time I saw you."

"Oh...." (looks at self) "I didn't think i looked any different..."

"Nope. You're fatter."

"...."

NOT OKAY, ECUADOR. NOT OKAY.

:-(

Edit: Clearly she wasn't insulting me. It's not an insult here, and I know that as a culturally sensitive person I'm supposed to accept and understand that. But I can't. American cultural norms are ingrained in my head, and no matter what I tell myself, my inner bitch is yelling THAT'S NOT OKAY, DUDE. NOT OKAY.

Edit #2: This is also coming after a long period of build-up. Gaining weight = happy, to Ecuadorians. So everywhere I go, I am greeted with : "Sarita! You've gained weight!" and after about a year of this, in which my weight hasn't fluctuated that much, I'm just kind of getting sick of it. It's tough, when you eat right and exercise, to walk around and hear every day from ten different sources that you're fat. It just wears you down. I liked it better when I came here and got sick, and everyone was bemoaning that I was too thin. It's like a ten pound difference between now and then, but I guess they can tell. It's frustrating. I'm not even someone who usually obsesses over weight, I don't diet and I'm pretty happy the way I am, thank-you-very-much. But comments day in and day out take a tole, no matter what the cultural meaning is.

Strangely shining moments

...and as I sit in the grass and watch the horses parade in circles, their thrilled and sometimes bewildered riders clinging like velcro to their backs, I play with the dirty clovers and searched for four-leaved ones, like when I was a child and would spend hours combing through a field for good luck. The fat golden retriever with its waving fan of a tail makes me six again, in the summer grass with my best friend and his briar-covered fur. In the distance, beyond the hyacinth and hibiscus, the volcano is topped with ice. The wind is so very clean.

Later, I hold a baby with Down's syndrome in my lap and croon songs to him in English. I haven't held a baby in many years, but it feels good, wide eyes looking into mine, small body cradled against my hip. He is beautiful, pudgy-cheeked, and there is a strange sadness knowing already at seven months that he will never grow up to be what we humans so arbitrarily classify as normal.

One tiny girl is fierce and bright, a shining star; she is here because her toddler sister has Down's. She likes me, I don't know why, and holds my hand whenever we walk. She likes to sit on my lap, and I stroke her long dark hair, and I think, I would like to have a daughter someday.

Here, in this place, I find unexpected moments of beauty.

MY FIRST MARRIAGE PROPOSAL...or mistress proposal, not sure which

OKAY. I'm walking down the street today, on my way to the fundacion, when this guy stops me in the street. He knows me; I don't remember him. This happens often, mainly because I work in a bunch of different communities and while I stick out here, they don't. He's got to be in his mid-40s. And the exchange goes something like this.

Wait, I can't even transcribe it. It's too weird and filled with me just going "...." or "uh...gracias?" or laughing nervously. But, in a nutshell, he monologued:

"I haven't seen you in so long! Where have you been? You're just enchanting, so beautiful." (He touches my hair in a too-familiar way). "Oh, that blonde hair, blue eyes." (My eyes are green, so...?) "You know, you should stay in Ecuador forever. You've just enchanted me. I have a hacienda (big house with land), and you could come live there are be treated like a lady and never have to leave Ecuador."

This went on for a while, but that was the gist. Plus, I was wearing a black sweater that I had shed on a bit, so at one point he started PICKING THE HAIRS OFF OF MY SWEATER LIKE HE WAS GOING TO KEEP THEM WTF.

Seriously. Ecuador. I'm know I'm gringa. I'm super gringa. I'm like the gringiest gringa who ever gringa-d. But really. YOU CAN'T JUST WALK UP TO PEOPLE ON THE STREET AND DO THESE THINGS. It's creepy. And no, I'm not going to move to your hacienda and be your wife/mistress. Really, I'm not.

Acts of kindness; or, I hope I didn't get fleas

(x-posted at my livejournal, which from now on everything will be, due to the fact that I've rediscovered how awesome livejournal is.)

Yesterday was the first full, exhausting, useful, fulfilling day I've had in a long, long time. It's a good feeling, this particular type of exhaustion. I had almost forgotten what it felt like (and I'm so tired today that it amazes me to think I used to have school full time + 20 hour internship a week + homework + a strong network of friends and a great roommate to hang out with. I don't know how I managed it. It was the best year of my life, so far.)

I volunteered with a medical brigade that was doing free health checkups and doctor's visits in the indigenous town of Salasaca. They were a group of young doctors and docs-in-training from the States, and most didn't speak Spanish, so I was there with a few other Peace Corps people to work as translators. The turnout was huge-- we were working ALL DAY.

It was awesome! I've found that I love translating. It makes me feel so gosh-darn smart. I played soccer in the morning with the group before the clinic (aka local two-room elementary school) doors opened, and most of the rest of the day was spent with the physical therapists, translating their every question and instruction to the patients.

It was tough, though, because Salasaca is a super-duper indigenous community, meaning...many of them DON'T SPEAK SPANISH. They speak Quichua, a strange, mumbly language that has no connection whatsoever to Spanish. And I don't speak a word of it. (Well, technically I can say brother, sister, child, it's cold, it's hot, and hungover.) Plus, most of the physical therapy people were ancient (I'm talking 80-90 years old), without shoes or teeth, or hearing, or eyesight. AND they were so old/confused/not speaking the language that they would nod and say Si Si to whatever I said, but didn't actually get a word of it.

So most of the day there was a line of translation: the doctor would speak English, I would repeat in Spanish, and some helpful villager would speak Quicha to the patient. But even then, they just wouldn't understand how to do the simplest of things, like sitting up straight or lifting their arms above their head. It would go like this:

"Lift your arms above your head, like this." *Doc and I lift our arms*

*patient lifts them to the side*

"No, up, up, like this." *lifts them up*

*patients holds them out*

"NO, UP, DO EXACTLY WHAT WE ARE DOING."

*patient lifts one arm*

"Okay, but both arms. Look at us!" *waves arms in the air*

*patient holds them out to sides again*

It was like that ALL DAY.

It was also heartbreaking at times, because we didn't have the tools or equipment to really help people who needed help. One man had torn a hugely important tendon in his knee, and couldn't walk, but we didn't have a knee brace, or shoes that fit him, so all we could do was give him some exercises to strengthen the other muscles and send him on his way. One young woman had adolescent arthritis, making her hands curl up like claws, and her feet were severely deformed, making it difficult for her to walk. She needed special shoes and braces for her hands to stop the progression of the deformity, but we didn't have them. The worst thing is, if these people are in pain they can't work, can't feed their families. And the ones we could help, who only needed some physical therapy and to do simple stretches and movements in their home, probably didn't quite understand what to do or will just forget and won't do them in their houses. The people here are notoriously...forgetful, resistant to change.

Salasacaneos (is that how you spell it), are a really cool people, though. They are originally from Bolivia and always wear the traditional outfits: black skirts, white flowy shirts and brightly-colored ponchos for the women, black pants and black ponchos for the men. They are also cleaner than most indigenous communities, which I guess isn't saying a lot, because they are still pretty...well, let's just say that I really, really hope that I didn't get fleas. And one doctor hugged this adorable crying old woman, which was a really sweet gesture, but probably not the smartest idea in the world.

Here, have some google images, because I forgot to bring my camera yesterday:



It was long day of hard work, in which I got to feel super smart with my awesome Spanish, hang out with some really cool people, and help those that really needed/appreciated our help. In short, it was exactly what Peace Corps should be like all the time. I guess that for some lucky people, it is. I'm just glad to have one good day every once in a while, to keep me sane.