Asia

As I sit here in this office basement with hardly any light shining through, I'm reading too much on the internet, and thinking of doing something, anything, to escape this place.

So, I'm thinking again of going to teach somewhere in Asia. Korea, China, Japan, Vietnam?? Should I? Hmmm....

The next blog could be Jessicawendttovietnam.

This American Mexican Life

My blog has documented many parts of my life, but left others curiously unwritten. It's sort of like Jesus (Christ), whose life was only documented once or twice until he was 30 years old, then written about by hundreds of people for the last 3 years of his life. What in the world was Jesus doing when he was 20? Did he go to parties, or was he a Young Life leader? Did he drink wine, go to prom, etc? Did Jesus ever get in a fistfight, or was he part of clique of friends? Could he ride or horse, and dance and sing with rythym? I am only thinking of these things because I am reading a book called, the Gospel According to Jesus Christ, a fiction book imagining the human side of Jesus and Mary and Joseph and the whole gang.

If anyone was offended by my comparing myself to Jesus Christ, hey, sorry!

I started this blog when I went to Mexico, and as I became accustomed to Mexican Life, I lost interest. But leaving Mexico does not mean that Mexico has left me, and I sometimes feel like everything I see is filtered through Mexi-glasses.

My friend Kayce is a second grade teacher, and she has a halarious anger management strategy that she employs in her classroom. She cut a pattern out of paper of masquerade style 'glasses', laminated them, and glued a popsicle stick to one side, while naming them "the glasses of positive intent". Whenever a child is angry or acting up, they are sent to the 'chill zone', and they must hold these rediculous glasses up to their eyes and gaze around the classroom, "looking on others with love".

I feel sometimes like I've got on a pair of glasses, too. I am at a restaurant, looking at the salt and pepper and remembering how there is no pepper on the tables in Mexico, but there is hot sauce. I am looking at the window in my house and wondering why it does not have small glass panels that open and let the wind in. I'm looking at the street, waiting 30 minutes for a bus, wishing I could hail one of the million taxis rushing down the street all day in Tuxtla. I do all my banking online, and the line at the bank is just 2 people, not like in Mexico where I have to wait at least 30 minutes. I have to drive 15 minutes to find a place that can make copies, not like in Mexico where every little corner shop can do it. Neither the US nor Mexico is necessarily better; there are pros and cons of each. The differences seem small, but leave me feeling like I am suspended in a fantasy world where everything is just slightly off, especially me.

So, in case you didn't know, Edwin and I are 'engaged', which, in English is a big deal, a huge commitment! He is now my "fiance"!!!! But in Spanish nothing is really different, except for that people get to look forward to a big free party. There no difference between the word for girlfriend "novia" and bride "novia", and an engagement doesn't really count until the wedding. Family ties are not so much defined by laws as by words; Edwin's family in Mexico already refers to me as his "spouse" and his brother calls me his "sister-in-law". When I tell people in English that we are engaged, they say "wow, congratulations!!!" When I tell people in Spanish, they say "Yeah, we knew you would get married, you drank the pozol!! But WHEN???? Where? Can I be godmother/godfather?" (Pozol is a drink made of cornmeal and cacao that dates back to the early Mayans, and if you drink it in Chiapas, legend says that you must return there.)

So, the next adventure I'll be embarking on is planning a wedding in Mexico, and all the ramifications that come with marrying myself into another culture. It seems to me that there are a few traditions that are going to be different, but the biggest is this "godfather/godmother" thing. When a person gets married in Mexico, there is a strong tradition to name your friends as "godmother" of a certain part of the wedding, which they will be responsible for paying for. For example, I'd make my friend Mckinley the "godmother of the bouquet", and Mckinley would have to pay out of her pocket for the bouquet I throw over my shoulder. Likewise, if I were popular enough, and people thought I could do them favors in the future, I could get my entire wedding financed this way. Bree would be "godmother of the spiked punch", Tiffany "godmother of the DJ", Carrie "godmother of napkins", Jacob "godfather of bridesmaid dresses", Tori "godmother of the cake", Kayce "godmother of 2nd grade children's choir to sing while I'm walking down the aisle"...the list goes on, I could think of something for everyone!

The idea, actually, is kind of fun.

However, to me it seems a little bit like begging, although my Mexican friends assure me that it is not rude, it's considered an honor, it's considered that you have such a close relationship with that person that you can ask them for money.

So, friends, what do you think? Haha, just kidding. Kind of.

Besides that, right now I am working at two jobs: one is a charity where I help racetrack workers go see the doctor and the dentist...I pay their bills, and I speak to them in spanish. The other job I teach English as a Second Language part time to spanish (or portuguese) speaking adults. My students are from El Salvador, Mexico, Guatemala, and Brazil.

So, I plan to keep my blog updated more recently. The goal for now is to write about cross-cultural differences, as well as working at a charity and working as a teacher. Hope it's interesting! Check back soon.

Leaving Mexico, Coming 'Home"

For so much time I have fantasized what it would be like to go 'home', to go to Kentucky with my mom and my friends and my climate and my language and everything else that formed who I am for the first 22 years of my life. I have remembered myself riding my bicycle, carving pumpkins, singing Christmas carols... snapshots of memories come trickling back on a daily basis, memories that I repeat to myself so as not to forget....being in another culture I am reminded of these memories but it is a battle to feel like they actually happened...How can I possibly remember what it felt like to sleep under my down comforter and drink peppermint hot chocolate when I am looking out the window at palm trees in 90 degree weather?

I have been living so much time in my mind, thinking of all the sweet recollections I have and I've decided that the good in my life has weighed out all the bad, and I thank God for all these memories and feelings, weather they are cultural pride, moments of love, nationalism, or religious comfort....or a mixture of these and many other feelings.

Last night, as I waved goodbye to Edwin and realized that I have left the life I was making in Tuxtla, I realized that this time I have spent in Mexico has also become part of the tapestry of my life, has changed my personality and left a mark on me, and its much more difficult to leave than I'd ever imagined.

So, I'm happy to come home, but I feel certain I will come back here. I feel very much like I will always have my heart torn in two places, but I don't think I would rather have it any other way.

children

Yesterday in my little kids class, one of the children discovered a binder that did not belong to any of the children present. Not only was it black instead of white, but it did not have any colored drawings inside, nor any alphabet practice worksheets, but rather long reading assignments and paragraphs of notes. Wide eyed, they asked me, "what is this, teacher??"

After exhausting my english trying to explain the situation, finally in spanish i told them that there were now adult classes in the same classroom later in the night, and it was no longer a room only for kids.

Jose Pablo, the sassiest of them, made an expression to let me know that what I had just revealed was totally rediculous and unable to be believed.

"Adults??????!!!!" He exclaimed. "But adults already KNOW english!!"

Oh, children.

I am constantly surprised as to the things children know and don't know, and a lot of my lesson plans are total garbage when I realize they have no idea what I am talking about.

After teaching them the basic times (one o'clock, two o'clock, etc...) and the days of the week (Monday, tuesday...etc) I asked them some questions, which, for me were very basic, and here were the answers:

What time do you wake up?
20.
20?
yes, teacher.

What time do you eat lunch?
8 o clock.
You eat lunch at 8 o'clock?
I don't know, teacher, I don't remember.

Do you go to school on Saturday?
Yes!
No!!!!!

Which day do you go to church?
Blank stare.

Which day do you go to school?
Blank stare. Monday???

These children are wandering around in a happy existence with little to do with time, days, months, or stress. They think little more than in the moment.

There are other strange things that just make me think they have no concept of time or what they have done during the day at all.

Did you eat today?
Yes, teacher.
What did you eat?
Chicken. Candy.
That's all? Anything else?
No, teacher.
You only ate chicken and candy today?
Yes.

Alright.

Actual Conversation with an idiota (me in italics)

So, where are you from?
Kentucky.
Ah, that´s near Japan, right?
Um...no. (What?) Its in the united states.
Kentucky?
Yes.
Like the chicken?
Yes.
Is that where the chicken comes from?
Well, not the chicken, but the idea of cooking the chicken.
Yes, because chicken comes from all around the world.
Ummm...
So you only eat chicken in your house?
No.
Hamburgers? French Fries?
No....
Well, what do you eat, then?
Well, my mom makes a lot of italian kinds of food, pasta with vegetables, lasagna....
Pasta????? So why arent you fat?
I dont know.

Mango Nino

So, I know I've expressed my enthusiasm more times than y'all are interested in. But recently I discovered a new mango, that is, the same as other mangoes, but MINIATURE. It's shorter than my finger, smaller than my cell phone and better because you can pop in right in your mouth!!! Everytime I see one I am tickled with joy, thanking God for making such a silly fruit.

Last week in the newspaper there was an incident recorded about a man who got in a drunken fistfight in the local park and was later found unconscious and beat (literally). The police curiously described him something like this:

An inebriated man was found in Parque Joyyo Mayyu last night at 2 AM, after being beaten and left for dead. He still has not been identified. He is 1.72 meters tall and weighs 80 kilos. He was found wearing blue jeans and a red shirt. He had a mango nino in his right pocket.

Telenovelas

Probably my favorite thing about my daily life in mexico is watching Telenovelas (soap operas) at night. Honestly, I've never been home to watch the soap opera genre in the states (the states sounds way 'hipper' than the US, doesn't it), so I can't say if they're good or bad. I can assure you that the mexican ones are muy muy muy bad; in fact, its probably some of the most disgusting melodramatic writing accompanied by terrible acting that you will ever experience. But I love every minute of it, especially Vivir Sin Ti, which I accidently watch at least 3 times a week with the excuse that I just want to turn on the TV for some 'background noise'.

Vivir Sin Ti currently has a story line that involves a blonde uptown girl who is in love and pregnant with a goldilocked, blue-collar hunk (i've never seen a light skinned blondy in the working class). Yes, she's pregnant, yes, her dad is uncomfortable with their relationship, but get this: HE IS A GIGOLO. The boy is a male prostitute!!! What a crazy twist!! How often does a bread a butter rich girl get pregnant with a poor male prostitute??? It's fantastic!

Now, about prostitutes, this week I had a student ask me if it is common in the US to see men dressed as transvetites offering their services on regular neighborhood corners as it is here in Mexico. I thought and thought, and realized, that hey, that's illegal in the US, isn't it? I'd never seen a prostitute in my life in the US, and here I see one at least once a week, and they are usually transvestites. Also in the newspapers here there are 2 pictures pages in the classifieds of prostitutes with their phone numbers. That would totally never happen in the US. err, the states.

Orlando

Orlando came to class today, announcing his arrival with his squeaky voice at a frequency only dogs and people who loathe him can hear. He stomped into my class disinterestedly with an ice cold water bottle, topless. The water, not the boy, though that could happen any day now. "Where is the top to your water bottle?" I ask him. "There wasn't one." Of course there wasn't. I wouldn't be angry except for the fact that if history really does repeat itself all that water will be on the floor, in the binders and on the pants of the kid next to him within 50 minutes.

I shouldn't be this mean about a little boy, as its probably not his fault he is completely out of control. In fact, its his mom's, as we have recently found out she has a 'few bats in her belfry' (what is a belfry?). Yesterday when I told her that Orlando went to the bathroom and made farting noises for all the kids to hear, then punched a kid, called another 'faggot' and another 'fatty', her only comments were 'well, fatty is not so bad, really. And are you sure the other kids are hitting him first?"

Because of two days of behavior that caused me lose my voice and sweat like a...hmmm...athlete (bad similie! and so?), we decided to make a behavior contract. If he gets sent out of class again he s suspended for a week.

Orlando's head is shaped like a heart, but that does not make me love him more. His chin comes to a acute point, his eyes are oversized and his teeth are separated by little spaces in which one can glimpse his tongue stained a variety of colors of the rainbow from overeating of my markers. All of these characteristics can not help but to lead me to believe that his is related to the devil.

Speaking of the devil, I had a nightmare that makes me never want to go to sleep again. I was walking around an unfamiliar city with Maritza, the receptionist and my friend from the school. It began to rain a monsoon and before I knew it, I was desperately swimming back to my apartment. When I arrive'd to my apartment the bathroom was an eerie light blue and filled with steam as if someone had taken a shower right before. On the mirror was written in spanish 'FUERA' (GET OUT) I ran out screaming to the bedroom only to find a dead body under a giant pillow hidden so I couldn't see the face. The killer was there, a goat-man with blue eyes and bloody lips who always reoccurs in my dreams and is my personal representation of evil. I saw him, I saw the body, and I said these words to end the dream in the most rediculous of ways:

"It's the kung fu teacher!!!!"

What does this dream even mean? If anyone can interpret this dream using one of those '100 common symbols in your dreams' books, I would really be interested to know.