Mea culpa

I just finished reading an article on how they still don’t know why the swine flu is killing people in Mexico City, while victims in the US and Canada are taking two aspirin and going to work in the morning. There are theories, but no one knows for sure.

Except me. I know EXACTLY why this virus is centered in Mexico City.

And it has nothing to do with the city’s alleged lack of sanitation (other than not being able to drink the tap water and wishing recycling was a bit more common, I have no complaints) or lack of health care (private hospitals in Mexico have world class health care, and the Universidad Nacional Autonomo de Mexico is one of the few hospitals globally recognized by the World Health Organization).

No, the problem is me.

It’s my fault.

See, my family has this history of leaving trouble in our wake. The most recent wave of the Middle East conflict exploded mere weeks after my dad and stepmother visited Israel. They also forewarned the shooting of tourists in Egypt – to the extent that they had brunched into the hotel the day before militants burst in and killed everyone – and my father had a leisurely walk through Tiananmen Square in weeks prior. It’s also possible that the tsunami in Indonesia was their fault, although I’m not completely sure of the dates of their visit.

I’ve had better luck, in that disasters seem to happen to cities I love once I’m long gone. I fell in love with New York in 2000, New Orleans in 2002, and was contemplating returning to a life in London in 2005. (Edinburgh, luckily, has remained untouched. So far...)

But (and I am loath to admit this but it’s necessary to admit this for the story arc), I’ve always been mildly peeved that I never actually got to be involved in anything noteworthy. I didn’t want to be in the World Trade Centers by any means, but I listened to the stories of my friends in New York City, about how they had been affected and changed by the events of that sunny Tuesday, and I felt a pang of jealousy that my life was so darn boring.

(That sounds even worse now that I’ve written it down.)

Now, preparing to leave yet another city I’ve grown immensely, I cautioned my friends. Things happen when I leave, I said. I’ve been keeping you safe as long as I’ve been here, I warned. This city is due for a major earthquake or something, and it’ll happen after I leave. I am a precursor to doom!, I bellowed.

But, silly Erika, how long will it take you to learn not to taunt the universe? You wished out loud that you weren't stuck with your homicidal cat for another 15+ years; mere weeks later he died from eating string. You wished you had an ulcer like your friend's to excuse you from class for a few weeks; a couple months later you were in the hospital having abdominal surgery for an angry gall bladder. You wished for something exciting happen to the city you were in; now you're weeks away from starting your awesome new dream job in London and the British Embassy is holding your passport hostage and they're talking about shutting down the airports and refusing people coming from Mexico.

See, it's my fault. It was bound to happen anyway, given my family's curse, but I challenged the universe to do it sooner! now! make life interesting already!

And it did.

Sorry about that, everyone. When the food runs out and the zombies are at the door, feel free to throw me to them first.