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Postcards from MexicoA Canadian Ex-Pat Blog June 02 The ProposalThe week that I arrived to Mexico, we met at a chic luncheon to welcome myself, Caity and Lea Ellen to our new job. He was very attentive, charming, highly educated, wealthy, and had a quirky sense of humor. I'll call him Don Juan.
Don Juan started to come by my office, checking in on how my friends and I were doing. He made arrangements to help us when our electricity went out, and taught us funny workds in Spanish. He even took us out for dinners and dancing. He was in a position of power over us, but it was perfectly acceptable to be friends outside of work. I'll admit he was a bit flirtatious, but many men in Mexico are. It was all in good fun. I soon got caught up in work and didn't really talk to him as much.
One night, several months later, Caity, Don Juan and I went to the movies together. First he dropped off Caity, and then headed towards my house. When we pulled up to the driveway, Don Juan turned off the engine and turned to face me. He had a sombre expression on his face, and wide eyes. He faltered and said,
"Sami, I have an important question to ask you.
Will you marry me?"
I choked on my saliva. Coughing, sputtering, and wheezing, I responded,
"That will never happen". I immediately felt contrite. I didn't want to give him the wrong impression, but that was harsh. Really, I was stunned.
I tried again. "What I want to say, Don Juan, is sorry, but I really wasn't expecting that. Why would you ask me that question? You don't even love me."
He responded in ernest, "Yes Sami., I love you. I have a list, you know? I have a list of the qualities that I look for in the woman. She should have a good education, talk nicely, dress nicely, and love the family. You would make a good mother you know. I want a woman who want to support me." Ah, he wanted intelligent eye candy. I was almost laughing now, thinking that this poor man really bungled his proposal to a feminist. Besides, where was the diamond for this great potential wife?
"Don Juan", I sighed, "we aren't looking for the same things. I'm going to go inside now, and we'll continue being friends, ok?" I gave him an air kiss on he cheek.
"Ah Sami", he replied, "you break my heart. Why you break my heart?".
I laughed again and told him he would be fine. He was fine, but didn't hesitate to remind me during my last week in Mexico that his offer was still on the table.
May 27 HotdogsI have some stories that I've kept to myself, as they seemed a bit too colourful to recount at the time. Now that we've all moved on to different jobs, I thought I'd finally tell them. I'll change people's names, just in case.
Last April, the school I was working at decided to host a special evening for a special group of students. Myself, along with some other teachers, were invited to participate. We all enjoyed the live music and ate some delicious tamales.
The next day, one of the teachers came into my office to talk about the event.
"Lupi", she said, "it was a nice time, but... I really have a problem with the tamales". From the lilt in her voice I had an idea of where this was going, but I asked her to explain.
"Well, the girls, they didn't want to eat them! They want to stay on their diets. And the guys, they don't want the tamales either, they want something better."
Mexico is a world were words float on the surface of deeper, hidden meanings. This teacher was young and born into privledge, as were the students. She saw the tamales of a symbol of poverty, of being backwards.
I opened my mouth to respond, to say that I was educated and fresa and loved the tamales, but I didn't even get the words out of my mouth before she continued.
"I just wish they had something classy and nice."
"Like, hotdogs". May 23 One Year LaterIt's now one year later since I moved back to Canada from Mexico, and I'm sure you've waited with baited breath to see what I kind of shananagins I'd get into. I've waited myself to see what would unfold, and this is what happened.
I got a job as an art teacher.
I moved to a town of 4000 people, and 10 000 animals.
I bought furniture.
I bought a new sporty red car.
I'm not particularily happier. I have thought about Mexico every single day since I returned, and love my job but still feel a bit uncomfortable in the country. Every night, the news talks about the rising cost of food, but our stores are packed with produce. People worry about funny things, like mowing their lawns with diagonal lines, and scooping up after their pet. White middle class women are apparently having a crisis over spots left on their glasses from the dishwasher. I'd love to see a band of stray dogs run by, crushing these bubble worlds as they pass. Sometimes I call people "the Canadians", and I realize that the after-shock is much stronger than the initial shock of moving to a new place. I'll have to read back to see if I was always this cynical.
On the bright side, I've been back to my own art, and I'm getting some great recognition for it. As I said, I love my job and the people in the tiny town are really nice. I do a lot of volunteering and plan on travelling again soon. I've been able to visit my family often, and I never want to leave them when I'm there. I've also been able to save for laser eye surgery, to take place in one month. I'm counting down the hours for that.
Thirty days until I literally see my country with new eyes.
The Canadian media is roasting Mexico for its safety record, but it still fills my dreams with colour and taste.
May 22 Last PostcardI smell like I've walked through the perfume section of a department store, from all of the hugs and kisses today. The goodbyes have been tempered by promises of visits to Canada and Mexico. I'm almost packed, but can't say that I'm ready to let go.
I have lived the most beautiful, authentic, and unique life that I could choose for my self up to this point. I have embrased being an artist, a language learner, a happy spirit, a wanderer, a thinker, and a leader. I grew the most by being a follower though. I would do all of it a million times over, without changing a thing- I always wondered if I would feel that way at the end of my journey.
I've proved that I'm not afraid of change and I'm not afraid of me. I only added, never lost.
VIVA MEXICO! Thank you. I love you.
May 20 Adios AmigosThe word adios doesn't come up often in my conversations in Spanish, because it signifies saying goodbye to somebody for a long time. Normally, we say hasta luego, or, see you later. Sadly, the time has come to start saying adios.
I've said adios over lunches, parties, coffee, and walks. Over jazz, reggaeton, and mariachi music. I've been talking and laughing and crying so much that I've lost my voice as a result. The voice is overrated though, when one can have a bear hug with another.
In general, the surrealness of my life has multiplied the past two weeks. An on-again off-again flame decided that he loved me, and another man reminded me that his marriage proposal was still open. Three of my friends hooked up with three of my other friends in one night. I've seen who will just be passing through my life, and who will be there to stay.
Last night we went to party at my favourite club, Gendarmeria, in Polanco. It was the perfect venue, the place where everything began, where I met my favourite people and sang at the top of my lungs with the band. This last time I was arm in arm with all of my friends on the dance floor. There was a song about saying goodbye, and everybody was pointing at me, smiling and singing along. I was a wreck! It seemed the only thing to do was dance as much as possible, until the crowd thinned out, until my feet blistered and until my mouth was dry. My Mexican sister Monsey brought me home and stayed over. Both of us fell asleep until we heard the explosion of fireworks being set off down my street.
Despite waking up bone tired, I remind myself that this isn't really the time to sleep, I can do that in Canada.
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