I
never thought of myself as an impatient person until I arrived in Mexico and
started reciting the mantra “have patience – everything will work out” on a semi-regular basis. Patience is all you can ask for a few days after you've paid your rent and still don't have a house key. Or when the sound on your 6-month-old
computer stops working which means you now have no means of international
communication or in-home entertainment (dude, I NEED to listen to Beyonce's Lemonade everyday). Or when that same computer starts flashing a white screen all the time and then your external DVD drive stops working. Or when you really need plain old tortilla
chips for your guacamole but somehow can't seem to find those anywhere in Mexico (i.e., the serious problem). Obviously, these are minor inconveniences that will eventually be worked
out (or disappear) but having patience takes a lot of work.
Your standard field of corn and beautiful view in town.
Storm rolling in - I'm learning all the spots water enters my house.
Common view in my pueblo.
There’s
a group of volunteers who participate in the Peer Support Network (PSN) in
Peace Corps and they call to check in on their fellow volunteers every 3 months
or so. Last week I got a call from my
PSN contact Jess and it was eerily good timing as I was starting to crack from working on being patient. I wasn’t chomping at the bit to leave my cozy,
comfy host family home but I was eager to get moved into my house and to get started on the next phase of life
here. That's the “cook and clean for
yourself” life that signals you are permanent and can go barefoot in the house
if you want to.
When I first arrived in Mexico I was so not down
with wearing
shoes inside all the time, as is the custom here. I’ve asked several people why this is a thing
and I’ve heard that it was a custom in the past when floors were made of dirt
and that people think it’s cleaner to wear your shoes inside vs. going
barefoot. I’ve been a lifelong barefoot-in-the-house club member, but I’ve
gotten used to changing into my flip flops every day and even wearing them when
I get up in the middle of the night. All it takes is running into one unidentified creature on the floor in bare feet to learn a new custom.
All houses should be painted lovely colors like this.
Local scenes.
There's an artistry to floor tiles here. I have 4 different varieties in my house.
This is the last week in the office with my buddy Pierre before he
heads back to France. A lot of people here assume that he is either my
son or my husband because we look “just alike.” He’s 15 years younger
than me and from a different country, so the real similarity is that we’re both
white. There’s definitely a tendency in the US to group people who look
alike – usually based on the color of their skin – into one group and to make
assumptions about that group based on your experience with individuals.
It’s a little confusing when you’re on the other end of that assumption because
the differences seem so stark and obvious to you. But then you remember
that it’s easier to distinguish what is different in things that are familiar,
and that everything different is alike in being different.
With my buddy Pierre.
Time - it goes so fast. And looks so pretty inside a church tower clock.
I’m going to miss my French son and all the times he made us coffee and called cheerleaders "pom pom girls" (he swears that's a thing in France), but c'est la vie. I’ll
have to be patient waiting for coffee to brew that I had to make myself and search for some new friends and activities as I settle into my real life
here. Patience....you're a tiring virtue but I'll do my best.
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