Writing by candlelight

... Actually, that's a lie. I'm eating sushi in Okuma and taking advantage of the fact that they paid both their electricity and their internet bill this month.

I did not. Or, rather, I wasn't aware there was a bill TO pay. Because electricity bills only arrive once every 3 months instead of every month, it's easy to lose track of when you're supposed to pay and how MUCH you're supposed to pay. To counteract this problem, CFE (the government electricity) sends out receipts which you can take to any convenience store in order to pay.

When my roommate arrived home today, she encountered the CFE men turning off our electricity (they lock the meter after they disconnect you). She asked them why, and they responded that we were two months behind in payment. It turns out that if you don't receive a bill, you still have to go chase them down to pay it.

So we are without electricity, internet, or air of any kind (the box-fan kind, since we don't have central air conditioning). This would be bearable if I had any confidence that CFE would eventually return to flip the switch back on. I don't have anything of the sort; last time they cut us off, they didn't turn it back on for 3 weeks after we paid. 3 WEEKS.

I am going to die of boredom. Or melt. Or fall down the stairs in the dark and break my neck.

Sigue adelante

Sometimes in life, we get knocked down. We get the wind knocked out of us, our feet out from under us. So we lie on the pavement, gasping for breath as we stare up at the sky, and we wonder if or when we'll be able to get up again.

Then we beg to be delivered, to have back the lives we had only yesterday. We weep and plead and rant. We beg for a miracle, and when it doesn't appear, our faith is shaken. We claim the inevitability and sovereignty of God's will aloud, but in the quiet of our hearts, we wonder if God even has a will or if it's only a lie we tell ourselves to feel better.

But no one ever promised a life without change, without golpes o topes. Life is unstable, and as precious as it is, it is also painful. Some days, we will flounder and free-fall. We may stumble. At times, we can do nothing but survive until day's end and hope that, somehow, tomorrow will be better.

We get up again, and we walk on.

For some reason, I cannot sleep. Tomorrow is destined to be a day of epic lengths, but my mind simply won't shut down. On that note, I thought I'd share the list of movies I'm currently waiting to see.

3 Idiots: Three college boys and the girl they all fall for; what can I say? It's Aamir Khan.

Tum Mile: I sincerely doubt this movie will be moving/touching/life-changing in any way, but it's not often a disaster-themed film looks... interesting.

Kurbaan: Seriously, this movie is just an excuse to let a very built Saif Ali Khan run around angry and half-naked. I cannot deny my own inability to avoid this very cunning marketing ploy.

Dhobi Ghaat: I have one word for you: Aamir Khan. Ok, that's two, and it's technically a name anyway. In all seriousness, I have high hopes for this film, simply based on its production crew. Every movie Aamir Khan has directed and produced has been nothing short of a blockbuster. Now, he's teaming up with his wife (Kiran Rao) for her directorial debut in a film that (if the title is any indication) is set in the heart of one of the poorest slums of Mumbai. Though the film is slated for a 2009 release, the lack of any substantial information or a theatrical trailer leaves me skeptical... My money is on a delayed release, probably sometime in late 2010.

That, and I'm waiting to see what comes out of the film festivals in the States. Yes, I'm on a Bollywood kick. No, I don't see that changing in the near future. I happen to like being fed epically impossible love stories in which there is (usually) a HEA.

Mi Vida (subtitulada)

Do you ever have that out-of-body moment when you see yourself --your actions, your words, your emotions -- through the eyes of those staring blankly at you and think that perhaps you need to be accompanied by a translation?

I'm not sure if language translation is really even a reasonable metaphor; honestly, sometimes it feels like a .mkv codec trying to read an .mov file (I'll let you figure out which party the highly superior .mov represents [.mkv--*blech!*]).

I've been told I have no ability to school my facial expressions (since I don't prance in front of a mirror to observe my own reactions to various scenarios, I'm unaware of the truth of this statement). If that were true, though, why would my words fail me as often as they do?

I think maybe I just need to stop watching foreign films. The subs make me angsty and emo. That, and epically tragic love stories don't do much for a cheery outlook on life-- or self-inflection, for that matter.

Ways in which living in Mexico reinforces my laziness

I told my little sister once that living here has liberated me of most menial tasks. She didn't believe me at first, but laughed when I gave her a few examples. I thought that perhaps I'd share the entirety of my daily schedule in order to show you just how lazy I have become (seriously; the biggest thing I dread about moving back to the States is having to relearn how to work).

7:03 --I stop at the red left-hand signal at the junction of my neighborhood and the highway. Gerardo, the man who sells donuts and cut fruit on the corner, brings me a concha and a bucket of mango and pineapple for my breakfast. I pay him out of the change I have collected in the ashtray. I never leave the car.

7:17 --I arrive at school. I turn on the coffee pot and go downstairs to make sure the kids' folders are in order.

8:10 -- One of my kids sets up the desks. Another turns on the projector and puts up the transparency. If I'm lucky, another goes to refill my coffee (voluntarily, with no prompting on my part).

8:30 -- Another student takes roll while her classmates try to guess the riddle on the transparency.

8:40-10:00-- I teach.

10:02-- One of my history 1 students begins class while I go refill my coffee (this is cup # 3 usually).

10:15- 10:50-- I teach.

10:50-11:20 -- The kids go to recess; I get to stay inside.

11:43-- One of my Science 1 kids begins class. Another hands out books. I watch.

12:00-1:40-- I teach.

1:40-2:30-- Monday-Thursday, I teach. On Fridays, my students teach.

2:31-- My students clean my classroom.

3:05-- I drive into the Wal-mart parking lot. A man washes my car for me while I'm shopping.

3:23-- A young boy bags my groceries. Another pushes the cart to my car. Then a man blocks traffic so that I can back out.

3:31-- I need gas, so I pull into a Pemex and tell the attendant what kind of gas and how much. Oh, I need air in my tires, antifreeze, and oil. I tell the attendant and he refills each while the gas is pumping. I pay and tip him and am on my way without ever having to leave the car.

3:52-- I stop at the stoplight in front of Las Fuentes; my cell phone is out of credit, so I wave down the Amigo!kit man and pay him for a new ficha. Again, I don't leave my car.


My day more or less ends there. I go home, I eat dinner, I grade, and I go to bed. On Thursdays, I go out and have fun.

Yeah, I hate pumping my own gas. That's going to be a rude awakening upon moving back...

It seems that I am reminded daily that I live in a world that should not be, that was never meant to be.

We forget the tainted nature of our world sometimes because we so often wrap ourselves in the bubbles of our own lives, safe in the reality we have spun for ourselves; because we have been blessed, the world cannot be so bad, no?

Then comes that horrific moment when the warm, fuzzy cocoon rips. Eyes are opened. Reality shifts.

Charities fail because people are not generous, or often because potential donors have been scammed so many times that they no longer trust in the idea of compassion. A teenage girl with a bruise on her cheek walks barefoot down the street with a crying baby in one arm and four caguamas in the other. A sobbing toddler stands at the semaforo of Patria and Clouthier, scanning the streets for any sign of someone to take him home. A tarp strung between two trees is a home.

Poverty. Mothers so absorbed in their own tragedies that they disconnect from their children completely. The reality of slavery-- both literally and figuratively. La matagente. People so self-important that they would turn away those in need in the name of national security, in the name of politics. Children who are so desperate to belong, to be loved, they turn to the mara.

The absence of hope is like a vacuum. Who will fill it?

Ya fundí

Teaching is exhausting. Losing your temper is exhausting. Being around kids you want to throttle for hours at a time when you have to maintain your smile, utterly draining.

I'm sitting at school, listening to the cars go by on the paseo outside; the sound of it alone tires me even more. I'm still here because I'm waiting for my report cards to be issued so that I may fill them in before parent-teacher conferences tomorrow. In reality, though, I probably would not have the energy to walk to the car and drive home even if I didn't have to wait.

Tricia is visiting Friday. Such has become my mantra to get me through the last two weeks, which have been less an emotional rollercoaster and more an emotional maelstrom/electrical storm. I feel as though the other shoe has finally dropped.

I love my students, but I need a break. I have been running non-stop since August 16th, without a moment of downtime. Even the unbalanced wheels on my cars say, "Catch up, catch up, catch up" the entire way home. I buy my breakfast at the traffic light on Figueroa-- thank God for the Mexican propensity for street vendors. I buy my lunch (IF I eat lunch) at Oxxo. I sleep through dinner.

Friday cannot possibly arrive quickly enough.