Peli-Q-La

The other day I was just thinking of whether or not I would rather go home or try to stick it out here for another couple of years. My poor ear is not cooperating with the training it has received in the past 4 months and I still find myself zoning out and saying "¿como?" a few times a day... Sebas has been wonderful and I feel like I can talk like a fool in front of him, and when he gently corrects the stupidest mistakes I make I don't feel I'm being made fun of or that he thinks I'm dumb for slipping and saying "patriota" instead of "compatriota". In any other situation I either keep my mouth shut terrified of failing to remember that an article is feminine or that an indirect object comes before the direct object...

Yesterday, watching the game for example, I wanted to say "Probate el valor" meaning to say "prove your worth" ... to this moment it sounds right to me, but I would never say it outloud for fear it was just a silly (wrong) guess. Then I don't have to worry about being in a situation similar to that of who I will call "Pili-Q-la". While this person is the sweetest thing on earth, there was no avoiding a few jabs behind her back about her horrendous pronunciation and grammar.

I had Ogi and Seb over for lunch at our house the other day, Pili-Q-la, Mom, and my sister and her boyfriend were all there. Pili-Q-la and I were the only ones not native to the language (along with Ogi)... and everyone believed poor Pili-Q-la was speaking spanish, but she may as well have been speaking Chinese or Arabic judging from the looks on the faces of everyone there - you know the one: squinted eyes, head cocked to the side a little with an ear turned slightly towards the speaker... as if you must not be hearing the person right because it was so ridiculous.

This is my fear. I live with this fear, and I wish to overcome it.

The NorthEastWestSouth of Buenos Aires

First, election day has come and gone thank God. The plazas are safe again... whew! I felt a bit nervous saying "If I could vote for Ibarra...." when someone gave me this side-glance that said I'd be a tonta if I did. Well, he was the only one with a respectable looking side-kick and nice hair, so I couldn't pass up mentioning my triumph to those who would listen (2 people and only one a porteño - such a coward!). And now the city is back to normal: dog poo on the sidewalk, construction always half-finished, hiccupping public transportation, beggars with children in the street, vendors of sweet sent-from-heaven peanuts, and jugglers at every intersection.


Drink in the city and its delights for they will last... forever.

But there is no denying the true beauty of Buenos Aires: the wine. Even the imported wines from Uruguay and Chile taste better in Buenos Aires. Maybe its because the scent and taste of the wine drives away the smell and grit in your teeth from the pollution... Ok ok, I will admit reluctantly that I have not been one-hundred percent happy with this city in the past few weeks. I said once that Buenos Aires is the great kid I want to be friends with more than anything but for some reason he's just not interested in getting to know me. I was hoping it was just election-week blues, but it seems to be going beyond that. I heard that sometimes culture shock and homesickness can take months to kick in and months to go away again once they do... It is quite possible that there are only 2 cures for my blues: 1) stay for another few years in Buenos Aires or until the feeling is overcome or 2) go home, which is not something I've been too excited to do lately. Mucho quilombo en esa casa ahora, pero bueno... así es mi vida.

Una de las cosas que me da animo ahora es el maestro de JewJitSue. El tiene buena onda y creo que piensa lo mismo de mi así que "colgamos afuera" muchisimo. Eso fue para vos, Flaco!

Disculpenme, please...

Ok picky readers, I understand that my blogs have been fewer and farther between and it seems that my efforts to impress have slackened a bit. Please, excuse the sloppiness. I hope to write something worth your proverbial while in the next bout of blogging frenzy, so keep your sock suspenders fastened and as gramma always says, "hang on to your britches."

Finding myself in an Art Bath

I went to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes today. Before I did I ran into my host mom, Irene, whom I have to say again is one of the most beautiful people inside and out that I've ever met. She stopped me in the hall today and simply asked if I was ok. The funny thing is, everyone and their dog will ask, "Que tal?" but Irene, when she asks with this serious tone and a sincere glimmer of concern in her eye I tore down my tough-girl facade and talked. It felt good, first to have someone in my near physical vicinity actually care enough to say, "lately you've been a little different, anything up?"

There's been a lot for me to think about this past week. I started fasting and doing devotions, Mel and Sebas are in Brazil, my girlfriends (who are still way cool) simply don't find a good friend in me, so I haven't seen them outside of school much. That was a crisis I was going through two days ago and I was going to blog about how horrible a person I can be to my friends, but really... I don't see my bluntness, frankness, honesty and saying what I think as entirely brutal. My only message to all my friends at this juncture is:

If I'm your friend it's because I think you're great, if I say something you don't like just say so and I will be happy to apologize and continue living, and if my personality comes on a bit strong, blunt, too honest or a bit offensive - "friend, MEET EMILY." Take it or leave it. I get it from my Grandma Rosie and I think she's gravy!

I shared my concerns about losing friends with Irene and bless her, she is always willing to offer a word of counsel. The outcome of our conversation is reflected in the above message to my friends :) Being on my own this past week has really been a blessing wrapped in melancholy and I'm starting to realize that although my own skin sometimes feels like a too-tight shirt or a scratchy wool sweater, I'm still me at the end of the day and I happen to like the Emily of late. She's the chick who doesn't try too hard for anyone, who likes to go to museums, musicals and salsa venues, who writes incessantly, who thinks she's Mexican, who has a few real true friends and is happier that way, the one who thinks too much, the one who finds beauty in the grotesque and takes too many photos of it... She's the one that took me a whole 23 years to define and redefinition is by this time out of the question.

In any case, I've moved on and I'm anxious to start anew. My ritual for this new beginning was going to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. It's hard to know how I spent three hours in a place where the collection there is relatively small. I took my time today with a real eye out for "gusto", I studied the unique brush strokes of Monet, the mythical nymphs of Manet, the delicately carved curves of the innumerous sculptures of the human body, the whimsy and spirit of Degas' ballet dancers, the rebellious crudeness of Picasso during his vanguardía phase, and the incredible landscapes of Corot.... It was nearly endless for being such a short stroll through the museum.

It was the most refreshing art bath I've had in a long time.