"The future is such a foreign country"

I arrived at work, blissfully sleepy; I do not drink coffee but had a freshly made cappuccino in hand when a co-worker asked me the question that everyone seems to ask these days.

“So, Mary. How is that whole grad-school stuff coming along?”

Too tired and happy to pretend, I told him I had no clue.

Throughout undergrad, I wanted to be an academic. Really give myself to water-issues or deforestation or climate policy. So what changed? I witnessed academics up-close, saw their working habits and personal relationships. The work never stops, does it? Such a heavy career path that more-regularly-than-not requires an all or nothing commitment.



“Things have changed,” I said. “I have so many choices, not a bad one in the lot, that I do not think there is a wrong decision. And I do not have to make that decision today.”

Musicophiliadosmildiez

What I listened to (in no particular order) in the year of our lord, 2010:


Rubblebucket - Came Out of a Lady
Javiera Mena - Al Siguiente Nivel
Hello Seahorse - Un Año Quebrado
James Blake - Footnotes
Kendal Johansson - Blue Moon
Twin Shadow - At My Heels
Dënver - Lo que quieras
Panda Bear - Tomboy
El Guincho - Bombay
Delorean - Stay Close
Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Bright Lit Blue Skies
Duck Sauce - Barbra Streisand
Summer Camp - Ghost Train
Grimes - Rosa
Y La Bamba - Juniper
Neon Walrus - Mil Memorias
Toro y Moi - Talamak
Caribou - Odessa
The Drums - Book of Stories
Twin Sister - All Around and Away We Go
LCD Soundsystem - All I Want
Beach House - Silver Soul
Broken Social Scene - Sweetest Kill
Frikstailers - Remix of Bomba Estereo's Fuego
Darkstar - Deadness
Sparklehorse/Wayne Coyne - Revenge
Yeasayer - Madder Red
Deerhunter - Helicopter
Girls - Thee Oh So Protective One
La Ola Que Quería Ser Chau - Rocío Pelea Contra los Robotitos
Hot Chip - One Life Stand
Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me
The Roots - How I Got Over
Josh Ritter - The Curse
Gorillaz - Empire Ants
Goldfrapp - Rocket
Kayne West - Monster
Sam Quinn - Fanboy
The National - Conversation 16
The War On Drugs - Baby Missiles
Love Is All - Kungen
Lower Dens - Tea Lights
Of Montreal - Famine Affair
She & Him - Thieves
Sufjan Stevens - I Walked
Tame Impala - Solitude is Bliss
Big Boi - Backup Plan
Admiral Radley - I Heart California
The Apples In Stereo - Hey Elevator
Girl Talk - Let it Out
Arcade Fire - Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)
Best Coast - Boyfriend
The Black Keys - The Only One
Dylan LeBlanc - If Time Was For Wasting
Blonde Redhead - Spain

Tea

Lukewarm chamomile will remind me of you.
The mug lived underneath a fragile lamp sprouting from the night-table.
It waited for me to capitulate,
to gulp down the contents
and fall asleep with the soft, clean flavor on my lips.
I woke and closed the door.

Ojalá

My Spanish is shameful after 2+ years in Mexico. Some conversations, of course, flow, videlicet, common talking-points shared with strangers (mainly taxi drivers): what I am doing in Mexico, where I am from, what I like about Mexico, why I do not speak Spanish super bien, tacos al pastor or spicy food, etc...

I tried lessons but found my teachers ripped me off, meaning started from square-bloody-one when I have the basics from high school and college teachers cramming vocabulary and present/preterit tenses down my throat for 5 years, or hoped for more than a student-teacher relationship outside of the classroom.

Surrounded by gringos and loads of other nationalities that speak English with ease and enchanting accents, I recognize the exigent need to practice and continue learning outside of my Spanish-lacking (but lovely) social life.

So I turn to music. I copied a Silvio Rodriguez CD ages ago and had listened to the disc's melodies, ignoring the lyrics. Last week the song "Ojalá" played on random; I was struck by the emotion that ripens in the last minute of the composition as I leaned my head on my commuter bus's window, watching the lesser known and unpolished parts of Mexico City, forever imprinted on the luggage of my memory, rush by. Knowing the word ojalá, which one can translate as "hopefully" or "I hope," signifies doubt and, thus, necessitates the use of the subjunctive, I thought the song a clever way to brush up on the tense that induces so many headaches for English-speakers, who struggle with correct usage because there is nothing comparable in our language.



I found an internet discussion (What is that "Ojalá" song all about anyway?) and sent the lyrics and accompanying English translation to a co-worker, as I have no access to a printer, with the intention to start lesson one of my song studies. I snatched the paper and a cookie to go and began to read the lyrics perfunctorily as my boots clicked against freshly buffed marble. Before I reached my office, I found myself totally engrossed and moved to surreptitious tears as I ingested the dark, raw and yet sweet significance of the words. Quickly, however, I felt the need to justify why I wanted to listen, study and memorize such a depressing song and called my colleague to explain that I had not the faintest clue of the lyrics prior to that moment. "Ya, I was kind of wondering," she said, "but send me the audio. I need to hear this."

Since then, I have spoken about the song with Mexican friends, who know the artist from "hippie days" and specifically this song, apparently his most famous. They laugh at me mostly but last night we sang the heartbreaking lyrics from the top of our lungs around a plastic dinner table with mugs filled of red wine and later on the streets of D.F. as we rode by bike through the dark.

For better or for worse the song is as ingrained in my memory as the city seen from my seat on a bus that will not let me rest until the day I leave this place. As if given to me by an understanding friend, the song could not be more relevant or meaningful than at this exact point on the timeline of my life, not because it holds a mirror to my emotions but because I understand what was lost.

Silvio Rodríguez - Ojalá

Ojalá que las hojas no te toquen el cuerpo cuando caigan--
Hopefully the leaves won't touch your body as they fall
Para que no las puedas convertir en cristal.-- so you won't be able to turn them into crystal (glass)
Ojalá que la lluvia deje de ser milagro que baja por tu cuerpo.--
hopefully the rain will cease to be a miracle that slides down your body
Ojalá que la luna pueda salir sin ti.-- hopefully the moon will be able to come out without you
Ojalá que la tierra no te bese los pasos.-- hopefully the earth won't kiss your footsteps

Ojalá se te acabe la mirada constante,-- hopefully your constant gaze will end
La palabra precisa, la sonrisa perfecta.-- the precise word, the perfect smile
Ojalá pase algo que te borre de pronto:-- hopefully something will happen that will erase you soon
Una luz cegadora, un disparo de nieve.-- a blinding light, a shot of snow
Ojalá por lo menos que me lleve la muerte,-- hopefully, at least, death will take me
Para no verte tanto, para no verte siempre-- so I won't see you so much, so I won't see you forever
En todos los segundos, en todas las visiones:-- in every second, in every vision
Ojalá que no pueda tocarte ni en canciones-- hopefully I won't even be able to touch you in songs

Ojalá que la aurora no de gritos que caigan en mi espalda.-- hopefully the dawn won't scream to my back
Ojalá que tu nombre se le olvide a esa voz.-- hopefully that voice will forget your name
Ojalá las paredes no retengan tu ruido de camino cansado.--
hopefully the walls won't hold the sound of your tired footsteps
Ojalá que el deseo se vaya tras de ti,-- hopefully desire will follow you
A tu viejo gobierno de difuntos y flores.-- to your old rule of the dead and flowers

Ojalá se te acabe la mirada constante,-- Rep.
La palabra precisa, la sonrisa perfecta.
Ojalá pase algo que te borre de pronto:
Una luz cegadora, un disparo de nieve.
Ojalá por lo menos que me lleve la muerte,
Para no verte tanto, para no verte siempre
En todos los segundos, en todas las visiones:
Ojalá que no pueda tocarte ni en canciones.

Ojalá pase algo que te borre de pronto:-- Rep.
Una luz cegadora, un disparo de nieve.
Ojalá por lo menos que me lleve la muerte,
Para no verte tanto, para no verte siempre
En todos los segundos, en todas las visiones:
Ojalá que no pueda tocarte ni en canciones.

Silvio Rodriguez - Ojala by jenni

Quality of life

I was siting at 100%. I woke to take a tea on my balcony and marveled at the view. Directly below I could see into secret courtyards scattered with caged parrots and little white dogs, popular despite the fact they always look dirty.
I let my eyes wander the miles of sprawl, where colors melt into one another and stretch to the mountains that take away my breath and not only because they suffocate Mexico City by hoarding the pollution, battling to escape.

I sat and began to read but my 100% standing led to reflection and one conclusion: the fabric of my life is quilted with friends and strangers. The laundry lady who has always known my name and the water man who refuses a tip for carrying 20 liters to my apartment and the woman who starts making my carrot and orange juice concoction before I can say "buenos dias" and the friendly man from the tienda de abarrotes on my walk to a house that should be the plot of a sitcom who sells me random vegetables and caguama refills. Each has his or her greeting and each imbues my life with a sense of community.

Then there are the idiosyncrasies of those closest to me that makes me chuckle during live showings and after the fact. The way a friend talks differently to certain types of people or a love and extensive knowledge of domesticated animals or fake animosity that turns to support as ghosts materialize. These side stories are not peripheral at all. It seems people tend to gauge their life by the big moments, big changes, good or bad, but these, the little everyday bits and pieces, are the wherefore of life and embracing them is the key to joy with pleasure. And joy without pleasure ain't no fun, ain't no fun, ain't no fun.

Boing!

I left my apartment to greet Mexico, cloudless and cold, on this November morning. Near a corner taco stand, a disheveled man walked up to me, grabbed an empty Boing bottle from the establishment's stash of returnables and hurled it in the street.

"Va Mariana!," he yelled as the bottle splattered into glass shards, no doubt destined for neighborhood tires.




I continued undeterred but slightly alarmed. I am reminded of a decade old memory:

I was running the loop of my neighborhood on Lookout Mountain; I pushed through an epic hill to find a copperhead, the width of a grapefruit, sunbathing in the middle of my path. Now, any child of the Appalachian Mountains should be able to tell you that the fatter the snake, the older and, consequently, the more venomous. With few options and little reaction time, I acted as if nothing had changed. Just kept going.

Technology

I vacillate wildly as to the benefits and or woes of technology. "What did people do before the Internet," a friend asked her elder roommate. Without much thought he named human activities: read, draw, write, paint, listen to/make music, socialize in person...

So why the obsession with the internet? I mean, what has the internet ever done for me or you other than make us less interesting, less sociable, less attentive and less self sufficient? I am sure that a reader may make quite convincing arguments that I am indeed wrong; that technology does just the opposite: makes us smarter, better, faster, more efficient and able to tap into an endless fountain of information, from debates about Norwegian funds for REDD to sustainable rural cities in Mexico. True. But do you use the Internet for that? Even if you do, can you really argue that the majority of people, especially younger generations, are really using the Internet to read Focault rather than faffing about on Facebook?



If I am so against technology then why opt to write on my neglected blog rather than inside my antiquated, tangible journal? Because the internet is useful but rarely utilized.

Shock appeal

Living in Mexico has conditioned me to see things once thought dangerous or odd (but mostly the former) as normal. Traversing a 10 lane busy streets. Normal. Ability to buy candy covered in bees. Totally normal. But I am genuinely surprised that I can now place an attempted mugging in this category.

Walking the extra couple blocks from where I bid my friends and the greedy cab driver, the bastard, adieu, the thought did cross my mind that I should be careful. It was, after all, 1:30 on a Saturday night (better said Sunday morning) in Mexico City. I spotted a drunk guy, stumbling back and forth, and cleverly evaded his sight. He had looked like trouble, and I congratulated myself on a job well done. "Just walk in the road," a friend advised me once. So I did.

I moved to the sidewalk even as a second male approached. He looked legit with his clean clothes, lack of hair gel and piercings and years beyond (but not too far) the teens. Just an ordinary, middle-class guy walking home from a party, I thought. I mean, there is always a chance but there is a bush between me and the road now. Oh, and many cars. But he is not going to...my thought process was interrupted as he jumped for me, putting his arms around my waist and slightly lifting me off the ground. Going for the pockets, I must assume? Why not just grab my bag, not even securely attached, demonstrated by its slow plunge to the ground and subsequent vomiting of my mp3 player onto the side walk through the broken zipper that I have the best intentions to fix?

I saw the change, the adoption of a squatting position not seen since high school gym class, all happening in my mind in slow motion, and I was screaming like a maniac long before he made contact. But this reaction surprised him, nay, even took him off guard, and before I knew it, he was running as I was falling (my classic and effective robber deterrent). I examined my broken nail; then my fallen bag and mp3 player, accidentally activated by the drop and glowing blue on the sidewalk. Had I really made it through that without losing anything? Again? Do not get me wrong - I am very happy about this, but jeez. What an amateur. I do not wish he had taken anything but the whole thing just seems absurd.



I ran to my apartment and, oh technology, wrote a short sentence or two about my adventure on Facebook. Within five minutes an old friend rang me up from L.A. He wanted to know if I was okay.

"You know, Mary," he said, "I remember Mexico City and I know a way to decrease crime by 5%. Today. Install more street lights. That place is fucking ridiculously dark."

So he went on to tell me about how a man in Mexico City he had met in a cantina casually suggested they go for "hookers and cocaine" and that when my friend declined, he called him a "flan." He then spoke of California life and how a bar in L.A. has a swimming pool on the roof accompanied by a vending machine offering $80 bathing suits to unprepared guests.

I do not mean to sound flippant about this, you know. It is just that I was not injured or successfully mugged. I was barely even surprised. So who cares? I would like to say I expect the best in people but maybe having already seen the really nasty side (and I am not even speaking about Mexicans or Americans or Germans or other -ans but the greater pool of humanity) I expect people to act, well, human. A harmless, weaponless, obviously desperate guy tried his luck with some white, very well dressed (so modest), uneven haired and unaccompanied young woman on a dark street. So it goes.

Other people's despedidas

I have watched so many people, some quite good friends, leave and, honestly, each time it gets easier. Though the method of cutting cakes in Mexico will always fascinate me (the center part is cut into a circle, which shall remain untouched until all square shaped extremities are consumed), these cakes all start to taste the same and the speeches overlap in my mind. Sure, the locations change from the labs to offices to once mysterious meeting rooms behind doors usually closed. Those attending the event fluctuate too based on departments and differing friend circles. Tears are rare (at least publicly). Each person, speaking in Spanish or English or both, talks about work and how his or her time has helped foster professional and or personal growth. Bosses are always thanked.



It is not until that last moment, the moment when you realize you will more likely than not never again see this person, whoever he or she may have been to you during a period ranging from weeks to months to years, does the bit of panic set in. Should you give them a hug? A kiss on the cheek? Do you say the obligatory "see you" in denial of geography's injustice to your relationship? I always, always talk about how it is not goodbye. Jokingly, naturally.

Now, I go back to my office. I keep working. Nothing is really different because I am not leaving and my work reality is not so closely intertwined with my life. I have not changed with the other person's departure save one aspect: my realization of time passing. I have been here over two years? Is that really true? Time creeps away faster and faster in Mexico and it is at these despididas that I reflect on my own experiences, be them positive or negative, with a Styrofoam cup in hand and a half-eaten piece of cake dripping milk from its plastic fork puncture wound on my lap.

As I write this from my room, emptied into boxes, and overlook D.F.'s Centro from, what is now, my old flat, I am reminded that each despedida is also a bienvenido.

Stems

Wheat after week after wheat
following accents through rust that must be cleaned before departure
I scrape my shoes on concrete
before the stench of the garbage desert
and the offers of melted chocolates for diez pesos
and the tiptoeing around ambitious puddles striving to unite
and crash onto sidewalks
Wet shoes, I meet you plant to plant
rust dripping
and explain take all disease lingers
even after I leave the soil