A declaration of affection in the face of opposition
This post might seem redundant after the last one, written one long month ago, but the reality is that the last one was a giddy cover-up born of absolutely not an ounce of personal clarity despite its assurances of strength and decision-making.
I have been doing a lot of soul-searching, trying to figure out what it is exactly I'm doing here and with my life in general. In the bleak days of May, fleeing from a bad roommate situation and the end of a pseudo-relationship that maybe never should have happened, I got a little confused and lost. I thought about leaving because I afraid to stay; I thought about staying because I was afraid to leave.
It's made me think: so what exactly *am* I doing here?
Monday was the first anniversary of the national election, in which conservative candidate Felipe Calderon won the presidency over socialist candidate Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador by a less than one percent margin. To honour an allegedly fraudulent victory, Obrador's supporters took to the streets on Sunday by the hundreds of thousands to once again shake their signs and wave their flags and show support for a man of questionable ability to lead the government but who nonetheless puts on a truly excellent show.
As Pavel and I, hell-bent on museum hopping in the city centre, wound our way through the cheering chaos, a woman sang something huskily patriotic, her voice bellowing out with varying time lapses through speakers hung in the neighbouring streets. When she paused, the crowd roared their agreement.
I love this city. God, I love this city.
Being in the middle of that protest was like stepping into Peronist Argentina, or at least the version of Peronist Argentina made famous by Andrew Lloyd Webber. That hundreds of thousands of people would deem it worth their time to don their yellow shirts and throw their little "yop"s into the air - not one time, but time and time again, protesting something that won't change but is still worth fighting for anyway - is breathtaking, amazing, inspiring.
Yes, Mexico City is polluted, and I lament the mountains that I know are there, behind the blueish smog, and I marvel on clearer days at how beautiful this valley must have been when the Spanish first stumbled upon Tenochtitlan. And, yes, this city is dangerous, and I have become far too accustomed to the daily photos of bloody bodies splayed on the front page of the newspapers, to the point that I no longer flinch to see a decapitated head.
But there is beauty and life here that leaves me in blissful, wondrous awe. I love this city, and I love being a part of this city. I love walking home and seeing the castle in Chapultepec and thinking "I live here!". I love discovering a new gordita place with Pavel. I love waking up to the mournful lowing of the gas vendors.
And, okay, so I'm not altogether happy in my job for a variety of personal and First world expectations clashing with third world realities reasons, but it is at least a step up from teaching English (a noble profession if that's what you want to do with your life, don't get me wrong) and will serve as an excellent step on the road to the kind of job I will enjoy and find rewarding. If I keep my mind focused on what I need from this position - a positive reference, a notch on my resume, some new skills - then what small sacrifice is the monotony and the short term underpayment if it means I get to have this vibrant, wonderful, challenging city outside my door every morning?
My mentor, the lovely Lee, once remarked to me that I have a tendency to live in the future, planning for the time when life will begin at last. "Life is now, Erika," she told me.
So what *am* I doing here? I'm living here. It might be finite, my time here, but that in no way detracts from the immediacy and relevancy of the now.
What a cheesy, cheesy post. I do apologize.
I have been doing a lot of soul-searching, trying to figure out what it is exactly I'm doing here and with my life in general. In the bleak days of May, fleeing from a bad roommate situation and the end of a pseudo-relationship that maybe never should have happened, I got a little confused and lost. I thought about leaving because I afraid to stay; I thought about staying because I was afraid to leave.
It's made me think: so what exactly *am* I doing here?
Monday was the first anniversary of the national election, in which conservative candidate Felipe Calderon won the presidency over socialist candidate Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador by a less than one percent margin. To honour an allegedly fraudulent victory, Obrador's supporters took to the streets on Sunday by the hundreds of thousands to once again shake their signs and wave their flags and show support for a man of questionable ability to lead the government but who nonetheless puts on a truly excellent show.
As Pavel and I, hell-bent on museum hopping in the city centre, wound our way through the cheering chaos, a woman sang something huskily patriotic, her voice bellowing out with varying time lapses through speakers hung in the neighbouring streets. When she paused, the crowd roared their agreement.
I love this city. God, I love this city.
Being in the middle of that protest was like stepping into Peronist Argentina, or at least the version of Peronist Argentina made famous by Andrew Lloyd Webber. That hundreds of thousands of people would deem it worth their time to don their yellow shirts and throw their little "yop"s into the air - not one time, but time and time again, protesting something that won't change but is still worth fighting for anyway - is breathtaking, amazing, inspiring.
Yes, Mexico City is polluted, and I lament the mountains that I know are there, behind the blueish smog, and I marvel on clearer days at how beautiful this valley must have been when the Spanish first stumbled upon Tenochtitlan. And, yes, this city is dangerous, and I have become far too accustomed to the daily photos of bloody bodies splayed on the front page of the newspapers, to the point that I no longer flinch to see a decapitated head.
But there is beauty and life here that leaves me in blissful, wondrous awe. I love this city, and I love being a part of this city. I love walking home and seeing the castle in Chapultepec and thinking "I live here!". I love discovering a new gordita place with Pavel. I love waking up to the mournful lowing of the gas vendors.
And, okay, so I'm not altogether happy in my job for a variety of personal and First world expectations clashing with third world realities reasons, but it is at least a step up from teaching English (a noble profession if that's what you want to do with your life, don't get me wrong) and will serve as an excellent step on the road to the kind of job I will enjoy and find rewarding. If I keep my mind focused on what I need from this position - a positive reference, a notch on my resume, some new skills - then what small sacrifice is the monotony and the short term underpayment if it means I get to have this vibrant, wonderful, challenging city outside my door every morning?
My mentor, the lovely Lee, once remarked to me that I have a tendency to live in the future, planning for the time when life will begin at last. "Life is now, Erika," she told me.
So what *am* I doing here? I'm living here. It might be finite, my time here, but that in no way detracts from the immediacy and relevancy of the now.
What a cheesy, cheesy post. I do apologize.
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