When you have gotten yourself into a rut in the surreal City of Hope, you know that there are some changes that need to be made in your life.  It’s been more than a rut though, it’s been questioning, confusion, and, most terrifying for an optimist like me, cynicism.  

Some of it is feeling the pull of my two worlds.  Recently I was waiting and daydreaming in a line, and I had this thought that almost hit my physically.  I didn’t belong.  I looked at the faces, the families, and I just knew at that moment that I didn’t seem to have a damned thing in common with them, and that I was like a beleaguered alien waiting amongst the mortals.  I’ve also discovered at get-togethers and parties, however, that I don’t seem to have a lot in common with foreigners either.  I’ve hit this place where I’m stuck in the middle.  I can’t be Mexican.  I’ve tried so hard to create this balance for myself here, latching on to customs and ways of doing things or dealing with things, but in the end, I’m still this pasty Canadian who may have no clue of what’s going on around her.  What the heck do I know here, have I learned anything?  I’m floating in this bubble, almost willing myself to run into a wall to feel something different.    

What is reality in Mexico?  What is my reality, what is real for me and what isn’t? Can one split themselves in two like I have tried to do, for years of their life?  Could I stay in this country for the long term?  I ask myself this question on a daily basis. 

I’ve told myself for years that the best thing for me to do is have education, order and security, and friendship in my life.  I moved to Mexico and I found different things- colour, taste, adventure, warmness, chaos, and thankfully still, friendship.  How do I begin to weigh these values against each other?  

I promised myself that I would have all of this solved by February, and it doesn’t look like I will meet this goal, but anything is possible.  In the mean time, I’m trying to drag myself out of all of this.  I’ve started swimming and doing pilates instead of using the cursed cross trainer, doing more professional development courses, looking for a new job and new area to live, cooking different food and trying to do volunteer work (although my schedule is a little brutal).  In the end, I’m really going to try and follow the wise advice of my mom, and let things unfold as they come. 

I woke up in a bit of a daze on Sunday morning, but headed out early to pick a couple of things up at the store.  When I got there, I noticed a couple of thngs that were out of the ordinary.  First, the bread area had nothing but baguettes, hundreds of them stacked on top of each other, and more coming from the ovens.  The second thing was the abundance of underwear, either red (for love) or yellow (for luck).  Both irregularities made me wake up a bit and realize that it was New Year’s Eve.  

That night I went to a dinner party with a small group of friends, and while I was there I started to think about my first experiences with Mexican parties, and how I almost had to train for them like marathons.  I’m a trouper though, and I can handle these events like a star now.  

Lesson #1, Don’t Diss the Food.  We assembled at the table and the first dish to be served was clam shells in mystery broth.  I’ve only recently started to like fish, I’m not a seafood girl at all, but I dipped my spoon into the bowl and started to eat.  The host (who is proud of her gourmet cooking skills) asked how I liked it and I told her, “it’s great!”  So one lesson I’ve learned here is that you have to suck it up and try what you’re served.  This isn’t just to be polite, but to expand your horizons.  I’m still undecided on clam. 

Lesson #2, Get on Your Dancing Shoes.  In between courses, my friends put on some loud music and started dancing.  This brings a few things to mind.  First, I love that even at parties with eight people, there will be dancing; Mexicans who claim they can’t dance can clear the floor with me.  To live here as a 10, 20, 30, 40, or 90 something, you have to either learn how to dance, loose all your inhibitions if you’re bad, or pretend that you’re having the time of your life even if you’re humiliated.  I find people here are sensitive to the “serious” look on one’s face, and there is just no excuse for sitting, so dance we did. 

Lesson # 3, Pick Your Poison.  After dinner we were served drinks, which are pretty par for New Years, but also standard for every event here.  Sometimes I find it difficult to explain to people if I don’t feel like drinking, because they will bother me the whole night about my choice.  So I’ve learned to become a much, ahem, better social drinker, and to just deal with the exasperation when I don’t want to. 

Lesson # 4, It’s Gonna be a Late Night.  I’ve learned to stay up later.  A lot later.  Parties and clubs don’t start until about 11-11:30 here, and everything will last until at least five in the morning, no matter what the occasion.  On New Years Leila and I started to fade a bit at 5:30am, but the host of the party insisted that we stay to watch the sunrise.  It seems there is always someone wanting you to stay up all night, every weekend.  7:00am came with clouds, so no sunrise for us.  We smiled wanly, tiredly thanked everybody for a great night, and went to bed until late that afternoon. 

Changing these habits was hard for me at first, but I realized that if I was going to constantly offend people and go home early, I would have no friends.  Little by little I got used to this way of living, and now they seem like the most normal things in the world.  I don’t have to force the smile, it comes naturally.