I've made it to Mexico City and the first few days have been really lonely, but more or less okay. I think I will love living here.
This fellow, Mister, my ferocious doberman, on the other hand is completely freaked out and afraid.
He has never lived in a city or traveled long distances or been on a plane. On Sunday for some reason the buildings resonated with loud explosions (festive fireworks), which terrified the poor puppy so much he squeezed under a futon. And he misses his old chew toy, Roxie:
Roxie stayed behind with friends in the states. I'm sure she's happy. But Mister and I really miss her. We comfort each other. Hopefully in time, Mister will adapt to his new place. For now I'm camping in the living room with him cause he's too afraid to climb the ladder/ stairs to our room/ balcony on the roof. Poor thing.
I'm excited and terrified to start school. I guess Mister and I aren't that different. I tremble less, but drink more whiskey.
I live a couple of blocks from two very homey parks. They are filled with families and joggers and dogs and pony rides. Mister saw ponies for the first time ever. He seemed confused.
Like Mister, I too feel like everything here is unfamiliar. It is. Nothing is the same. And accomplishing the smallest details are chores. I don't how to _______ . That is the nature of traveling to a new place. I know that. But it is still uprooting and destabilizing. In that sense it is a lot like falling in love. For me, here, it is even more like love. I feel totally at home here. I feel reflected in the place. And yet it is absolutely not like me.
Have you ever lived in foreign country? Or lived in another language where you are not you?
Yesterday while I walked Mister to the park, a stunningly beautiful, curvy, elegant, too well dressed and fancy young woman slowed, did a ¾ turn, and waited for me to catch up with her. I managed a hello and a smile. She told me Mister was beautiful. But she was clearly interested in me. Unfortunately, the words that would lead to a conversation just wouldn't materialize. She complimented Mister again, looked longingly at me, and the only words that found purchase on my tongue were, “It was nice to meet you. See you around.” Life in a foreign tongue is weird.
Desire for me here is very different too. It's nice to desire someone when it doesn't come with an abiding sense of loss and pain. I see a cute girl on the subway. She's adorable. Looking. Half smiling. I want her and I want. But it doesn't (yet?) come with violence. It doesn't come with hurt or lack. I don't have a complete explanation yet. I think part of it is that while I still carry the same histories I have always carried, the ground is different. I feel connected here. I feel at home here. I feel none of the constant alienation I have felt everywhere I have lived in the United States. I don't think that this is the result of some mystical continuity with this place, some wispy idea of roots and family and nation. I think it's probably more precise to say that I only feel at home in places where I am lost, adrift. Mister though seems to do best with stability. I hope the little giant feels more at home soon.