An almost final farewell?

I'm not in Mexico anymore. So it seems silly to continue with this blog. In the upcoming weeks, I might have a post or two of reflections or whinging about the things I miss (and don't miss), but for the most part, I think it's time to move on.

So here's my new blog, Peep Show, because I am entirely unoriginal, as I state in the URL. Change your links or add to your follow list; whatever suits your fancy. I'll catch y'all on the flip side.

The more I see, the less I know

It's cold and raining here in Los Angeles.

Let's go back, south of the border, where it's 85˚ F and the avocados and strawberries are a dime a dozen.

Between the idea and the reality

Taking off over Oaxaca

This is the way the world my trip to México ends: not with a bang but a whimper. I was just sitting there in the airport, listening to my iPod. No melodramatic crying. Maybe there was a little tearing up when I said goodbye to my host mum, but relatively uneventful. Even last night, which was incredibly fun, still sort of let me down (mostly because I have an overactive imagination and I was to come to pass does not ever come to pass).

And now, back in Los Angeles, sitting in my room, everything feels so familiar. But I don't want it to.

I want to go back to México.

Landing in Mexico City

Baggage

I'm all packed, but it was a painful process. I'm pretty sure I'm over the weight limit, and I'm leaving a ton of shit behind.

Last night was our last night out, and while we did not stay up to watch the sun rise, we did manage not to all start sobbing. The sobbing happened this morning, just befor 7 a.m., when we saw Melissa and Catherine off the airport. I'm leaving at a quarter to three. I don't even want to think if there will be some sort of floodgate opening at that point.

It just feels like I'm losing a little part of me. Which sounds stupid, but it's the truth.

One thing I won't miss

I was waiting for Sara in the deportivo yesterday when, as usual, some guy thinks he can make my day by trying to chat me up. This time it was a fat, middle-aged postman.

I saw him come in on his bike and stop about fifty feet from me, starring. I could just see the gears turning in his head, deciding how to approach me. He bikes over and stops dead in front of me and asks for the time. I tell him it’s ten past four. He stays right where he is, unsure as to what to do next. Apparently my friendly but detached tone and eyes looking everywhere but at him aren’t enough of a hint, and he puts his bicycle off to the side and sits down next to me and proceeds to ask me fifteen minutes worth of awkward questions, punctuated by even more awkward silences, but even my obvious disinterest doesn't deter him. Even after Sara arrives and we start to walk to Chedraui, he actually follows us on his bike. Talk about really not getting the hint.

Look, I understand that he was just trying to be nice. I'm sure his intentions weren't exactly pure, but I know he didn't mean anything offensive by trying to chat with una güera bonita. But that doesn't mean I have to talk back if I don't want to, and when someone can't take a hint, that's annoying. Estoy esperando para una amiga means I came here with a purpose that did not include talking to you, and since I am clearly not engrossed in our conversation, you should be able to infer that I'm just not interested and leave with some dignity.

But I guess that's just not what they do here. I should be used to it by now, shouldn't I? I certainly won't miss it though.



In other more positive deportivo news, I went to watch the Northern Englishman play football today. Not only did no one hit on me (yay!), but we chatted for about an hour after the game, and then he walked me home. I'm just so in love with his the way his pronounces his Os and Us. Oh, Leeds' accents. Le sigh.

I made a pie

Chocolate peanut butter cream cheese pie. For desert tomorrow.

Yum!

Double standards come doubly standard

Obviously, Mexico is a very different place from the United States. And even after three months, the amount of double standards imposed on relationships is still jarring.

Mexican guys are incredibly jealous.* Once a girl has a boyfriend, she better not even think about looking at another guy, because her boyfriend will get jealous. Guys here have that macho sense of pride, and they simply can’t (or are conditioned to not be able to) take any indication that their girlfriends might be noticing something other than them.

But Mexican guys are also two-timing assholes.*

Seriously, while a girl in a relationship can’t step a toe out of line, Mexican boys will flirt with anyone (especially white girls) even if they’re already engaged (something I experienced on Saturday). But if you tell them you’re not interested because they have a girlfriend (which I have done**), they still think there’s nothing wrong with their behavior. A guy who was trying to convince me to… well, probably just fuck him (who had a girlfriend in Puebla**) said, “We’re young. We should be living in the moment!” Yeah, that is not sound moral reasoning for cheating on your girlfriend. I’m still not interested.

But guys here in Mexico can get away with this, and they do get away with it.

Probably the best example of this was this girl Monica that started talking to Melissa and me one night while we were walking around near Santo Domingo. When Melissa told her she had a boyfriend back in the states, the girl asked, “And he doesn’t cheat on you, even though you’re in Mexico?”

No, he doesn’t, Melissa responded, and not just because I would kill him. Because being in a relationship, theoretically, means a tacit agreement to respect your partner, and that means not cheating on them.

But maybe that's just my silly, American perspective.


*Obviously there are exceptions. There always are. So for every generalization I make here, just take that as a given, because stating it every time I write something is stupid.
**His first hint should've been when I saw him again and asked pointedly, "How's your girlfriend doing?", but he kept trying nonetheless.