A Meditation on My Mom

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. Like the good daughter that I am, I sent my mom a million 100 little K-Cups for her Keurig coffee maker. I even made sure the coffee came from fair trade companies. But enough about how awesome I am; there are more pressing matters at hand.

My mom is awesome. My awesomeness is due, in part, because she raised me. But again, this post isn’t about how awesome I am; it’s about how awesome my mom is. I am so grateful to her for everything she sacrificed for me. There were (and still are) always things she says she wished she could have given me. Had she been able to, she would have paid for my college, or given me money while I was in school so I didn’t have to have a job(s), or numerous other things that would have, no doubt, made my life easier. But I do not begrudge her inability to do these things for me; after all, what kind of kid would I be if I were pissed off that my mom didn’t do those things? She couldn’t afford them.

There were many things we couldn’t afford while I was growing up, but it’s not like I was really aware of them. We never went hungry, even when my mom was supporting two children on minimum wage; I still have absolutely no idea how she pulled that off.  We always had Christmas presents and birthday presents and clothes and school supplies. We just did. She made it so.

My mom has also always been my biggest cheerleader. I mean, that’s who moms are supposed to be, right? She never told me my love of philosophy was silly, or that I should study something that would be “useful.” She believed that following what I loved mattered. She was also my earliest teacher. My mom has a love of knowledge, and is incredibly bright. Growing up, she made sure I paid attention to the news, to political events, to the world around me, to my grammar. Oh yeah, she paid very close attention to my grammar. I remember being very young and trying to ask her a question. She refused to answer my question until I’d structured the query in the proper form. Such a thing was maddening to my roughly 4-year-old self, but damn it, I learned how to speak properly.

My mom is also funny. I don’t know if she thinks of herself that way. She’s not funny in the sense that she loves to tell jokes, but there’s just something entertaining about her. She appreciates humor. I remember doing my best to make her laugh until she peed her pants. Oh yeah. That happened.

She let me be my own person. She let me listen to whatever music I wanted to, she let me watch horror movies, she let me watch MTV, she only worried a little when I wanted to wear black nail polish, and she complimented my combat boots. She got me a lab coat for career day, and advised me as to where I should add more red nail polish to the coat because I wanted to be a mortician with a bloody lab coat. (Why a mortician would wear a lab coat is beyond me; maybe I wanted to be a mortician/medical examiner. I’ve no idea. I was 13.)

I don’t have children. At this point, I doubt I will. I’ve never had strong maternal urges. In part, that may be because while my childhood was pretty happy, it was still fraught with the problems that children of divorce have. But were I ever to have kids, I can only hope my children would hold me in the esteem I hold my mom.

So, thanks, Mama. I love you. Even though, to your chagrin, you raised a super super liberal daughter, I think you did all right.

Note: this post was inspired, in part, by a flash of a memory I had. Whenever Devon and I were screwing around, which usually meant participating in some activity destined to bring one or both of us physical anguish, you’d shout over the melee, “Someone’s gonna get hurt!” and then let us continue our activities. This, of course, was long after Devon no longer wanted to actually harm his little sister, but instead wanted to kill me via tickling. I can hear the tone and volume of your voice perfectly, and I laugh every time I think of it.

 

Reading Is Hard, Writing Is Harder

I just finished reading, in about 5-6 days, the following books by John Green: Looking for Alaska, An Abundance of Katherines, Paper Towns, Will Grayson, Will Grayson, and The Fault in Our Stars. I loved every single book. But like every book that I read and love, I go through this kind of withdrawal and sadness when I’m done.

First, each and every one of these books made me cry on various levels. And I won’t attempt to write a book review or book reviews here; there are professionals who can do that for you. Nor will I flail like I usually do when I freak out about something I love. But today, now that I’m out of JG books to read, I’m a little sad. There are all kinds of other books to read, and I know that, but you know, I just need to grieve.

Second, when I read great writing, whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, I am simultaneously inspired and disheartened, because OH MY GOD I WANT TO WRITE LIKE THAT AND OH MY GOD I NEVER WILL BE ABLE TO WRITE LIKE THAT. It’s tough. And it makes me a little sad. But not like, cliff-jumping-off sad.

Third, and this follows from above, I am not a great writer, nor do I pretend to be. I spend a lot of time thinking about why that is. Sometimes, I think it may be because I don’t think hard enough. Other times, I think it’s because I think too much, and then I can’t focus. In my academic writing career, for example, I’ve hit a wall. It’s a wall made of fear, rejection, disillusionment, and a distinct lack of interest and inspiration.

The problem, or at least one of the problems, is that I don’t read enough. I don’t read enough of the things I should be reading. I should be reading a bazillion things in my field, I should be keeping up with every new piece of research that comes out, I should be more aware. But I’m not. And I can’t bring myself to do it right now. That’s truly terrifying to me. After all, why did I work so hard for so long for this degree in this field? At this point, I’m not sure.

This got dark, didn’t it? It’s funny because I’ve always been a pretty happy person. Or, at least that’s how I’ve always thought of myself. I know that part of my uncertainty stems from living in a new country. I’ve been here nearly 10 months, and I am still adjusting. I will always be adjusting. That’s what we do, though, right? We adjust. We adapt.

I guess, then, I’m working on an adaptation of myself. Until I can get it all straight in my head, I’ll keep reading, I’ll keep thinking about writing, I’ll keep fearing failure, I’ll keep failing, and I’ll keep getting back up. Perhaps I am in the process of a reinvention. That’s a nice way to think of it.

Elections Elixir

Regarding the criminal red state Republicans who have begun a push, starting infamously in Virginia just this past Monday, to rig election laws in their states to ensure permanent Republican advantage, we can do them one better.

If Republicans really do follow through full-scale with dirty redistricting and, worse, fundamentally altering the way electoral votes are assigned in Presidential elections so that, in simplest terms, Republican candidates win even when a state’s popular vote favors the Democrat, then Democrats have a ready answer:  compulsory voting.

Oh how that would spin RNC heads.  There is nothing about compulsory voting that wouldn’t enrage today’s Republico-fascists.  Their predictable public complaint would focus on a phony claim of some unprecedented violation of civil liberties.  But what they’d actually care about is what every politico knows, namely, that more voters means fewer elected Republicans (see 2012 Republican voter suppression efforts in Florida, Pennsylvania, Ohio and elsewhere…).

According to Wikipedia, 23 countries have compulsory voting, with only 10 of which actually enforcing the laws, including several South American countries and Australia.  Sanctions for not voting usually amount to nothing more than very small fines, and strong steps are taken in these countries to make voting as accessible as possible for all citizens.  Any free speech concern is easily rested by comparison to the countless greater inconveniences to separatist solitude that we all must endure, from being forced to speak when a cop talks to us (or jail), to being forced to give a speech in school (or flunk).

Research has shown that in countries that institute compulsory voting, improvements have been seen in income distribution, political awareness, and the diminution of special interest and big money influence in election outcomes.  Put more simply, it may be the only thing America requires in order to fix itself!  But no one is talking about it.

So, Democrats, listen up and keep this one under your hats; should Republicans get any closer to invoking the ultimate nuclear option with their election law games, Democrats should strongly consider compulsory voting initiatives as a way of providing the Republicans with the threat of mutually assured destruction.  The best thing about this deterrent is that compulsory voting is a far more powerful force than just fiddling with how electoral votes are assigned to Presidential candidates.  When everyone votes, gaming the system becomes practically impossible.  Republicans, you hold Pandora’s Box on this one.

A Fuck Maybe Given

I’m pretty sure I’m two days away from a diagnosis of psoriatic arthritis.  Fuck all.  I’d planned to quit smoking this new year, if not before, and now it seems essential to do so.  Smoking doubles risk for psoriasis, which I’ve had in some fingers for about the last 2 years or so.  Psoriasis leads to psoriatic arthritis in 35% of the afflicted.  For only the last 3 weeks my index finger knuckle, the bigger one, has been aching.  At first I thought I’d just reefed on some bottle top too hard.  But that would’ve healed by now.  Reading up on the various arthritises online, I learned that not only does psoriatic arthur line up with my psoriasis, but it also explains the low back pain I’ve felt for at least the last 10 years.  In the pelvis, the joint between the ilium and the sacrum (look it up) often hurts in psoriatic arthritis which, afterall, is considered a spinopathy.  That’s where the pain has been, never aching just for the hell of it, but always feeling janky when I move in certain ways.  It really seems now to line up, and have afterall nothing to do with some kind of long forgotten tweaking due to tennis or lifting or any other act.

I titled this as I did because I’m not concerning myself at all with editing this thing as I write it.   I’m a few drinks in to a rare drunkathon in my living room, typing rhythmically to the soft thumps of The Cure’s Seventeen Seconds and Faith albums on low volume just in front of me.  And I just want to go pure stream of consciousness for this little ditty.  It’s irresponsible, even lazy, believe me I know, but any effort at discipline at the moment would likely just keep me away from posting anything for another month or more.  And it’s already been far too long.

Having recently moved in to the first home I could call in any sense my own, I’ve been looking forward to that sense of completeness and freedom that one expects after getting a grip on one’s finances and foreseeable future living circumstances.  I sort of feel that.  But it’s been undermined.  As such similar feelings always have been in my life.  Undermined by this sure thing arthritis coming my way.  But I’m hoping to beat this bullshit.  I’m gonna summon the same kind of will that let me beat depression and suicidality many years ago.  I quit smoking just today, and this drinking binge is kind of to help me forget about going outside to smoke.  I’m gonna exercise.  I’m gonna get back to doing the activities with my daughter that I was doing months ago before the new home shopping began, and then the lame ass christmas “party” planning began at my cursed wife’s behest.  Now all that is finally over, and it’s time to get to the business of being positive.  Can’t wait to get on a roll.  Hopefully I’ll snap this thing into permanent remission, and never have to degenerate into a state of not giving a fuck ever again.  Because for me, not giving a fuck is no joke.  When that fuck gets gone, that fuck gets not fucking given.  Happy New Year!

In Which I Go to Interpol and Do Not Go to Oftalmo Salud

In the very complicated process of acquiring my work visa, I had to go to Interpol today. Thankfully, the university sent someone with me: the very kind, very patient, Luciana. She doesn’t speak much English, and I speak even less Spanish, so we make quite a pair. But she’s cool. She took me to Immigration when the process of starting residency began.

Interpol is a place of mystery and spies, or so I thought. Instead, it’s pretty much a house filled with people who are alllll business. If Luciana weren’t with me, I don’t know how I would have gotten through any of it.

We arrived and were told we needed to get a money order for $18 payable to the U.S. Government. They told us to go to Scotiabank to do this. Soctiabank said we couldn’t buy a money order there without an account. I have a BCP account and not a Soctiabank account, so we had to find a BCP. We found BCP, got the money order, then went to make copies. You have to have a million copies of everything here.

We returned to Interpol, and I had to fill out a bunch of forms. After having filled out the forms I waited in line. I didn’t have to wait too long, so that’s nice. At Immigration you wait forever. They called my number and I went over to a desk where a very bored-looking woman asked me questions regarding my scars and tattoos. Then she took my picture (front and profile, actually). The front picture was terrible. I’ve realized that there’s something weird going on with my face, like my jaw doesn’t quite sit right, so I look like I have a swollen cheek all the time. Whatever.

After the pictures I got fingerprinted within an inch of my life; the dude that did the fingerprinting was totally not into his job. I can’t say I blame him; fingerprinting probably gets old quickly. Then I was sent behind this little screen where a guy looked at my teeth, asked me if I still have my wisdom teeth,  and then make marks on a card with a diagram of teeth. Having talked with my roommate Jason, who went through this experience last year, we’re pretty sure that this all has to do with them being able to identify my body if something happens to me. No lie. I’m registered with the U.S. Embassy here, too, so I shouldn’t be too hard to find when the frequently-predicted double-whammy earthquake/tsunami hits. As my other roommate Mel refers to the earthquake and imminent death people keep forecasting, “Well, at least we’ll make history.” She’s excellent.

In other news, I keep trying to go in for a LASIK consultation at Oftalmo Salud. I keep getting thwarted. Seriously. I’ve made three appointments and all three have been canceled for a variety of reasons. I have to check back in on Friday to see what’s what. I’ve been saying for some years now that when I start making grown-up money I’d get LASIK. Well, I’m making grown-up money and I can’t use it! I am paying off some debt, so that’s good. Having seen that Interpol photo of me is making me reconsider going glasses-less, however. I just looked so weird. I’m trying not to get too hung up on it, but getting hung up is something at which I excel, so yeah.

 

Dining Out in Lima!

Once a month, Melanie, Jason, and I are trying to dine out at a different restaurant. The restaurants in Lima are plentiful and amazing, so it’s not really difficult to find one we’ve not been to.

It was my turn to choose, and Mel suggested we try Italian. I looked online at some reviews, and Mel and Jason have a restaurant guide that I also flipped through. I decided on Symposium, both because of it’s great reviews, but also – and primarily – because of its name. I mean, come on. SYMPOSIUM. I have a Ph.D. in philosophy. It’s a no-brainer. Oh, and it was great because it was an Italian restaurant, in Lima, named after something very Greek, and it was playing French music. I was charmed.

The restaurant is in San Isidro. It’s smallish and cozy, with warm colors and hardwood. I’m no travel writer, so forgive the lack of awesome descriptions.

I ordered Taglialini all argosto, which is shrimp and pasta. It was delicious. But I must say the dessert was the best.

 

This is a chocolate souffle. I’d never had a souffle before, so I figured I’d go for it. I was not disappointed. It was beautiful, too!

It’s amazing how affordable delicious food is in Lima. The whole dinner, including appetizer, entree, and dessert, for me, was equivalent to around $50. That’s unbelievable.

So, thank you, Symposium. You were a delight.

I Try to Remember Things to Write

I walk a lot in Lima; it’s good for me, yes, but apart from that, I’ve always liked walking. As a teenager when I was feeling particularly melancholy, I’d put on my too-big pea coat, my Doc Martens, slap a mixed-tape in my Walkman, and start walking. Walking around listening to The Smiths, Duran Duran, and Radiohead helped with whatever teenage emotion I was feeling. I had no purpose. I wasn’t going anywhere. I just needed to go.

Not a whole lot has changed, really, except for the constant emotional fluctuation. I like to think I’m not so affected. I still walk around with music playing, but now it’s on my iPhone, I don’t need a pea coat in Peru, my Doc Martens are in storage in MI (this breaks my heart), and I have a destination. The music provides a soundtrack to my experience of Lima; I made a Peru playlist before I moved here. I still listen to it, but it’s not in its original form. I add and delete songs frequently. Right now I have a mix of music that ranges from Joy Division to Michael Penn to Muse to Kansas. It’s broad.  As I get braver and a little more familiar with my surroundings I will walk and explore more. But for now, I work with baby steps and the music helps me along.

I observe as much as I can when I walk, and I really try to catalog the things I’d like to write about here, but I always forget. For example, I’d like to make a whole post about the things I’ve noticed that seem unique to Lima; or, rather, unique to my limited experience of the world in relation to Lima. I don’t write these thoughts down, so I forget them. That of course means I forget to write about them. For shame.

A lot of my friends and family expect me to do loads of traveling and sight-seeing while I’m here. I’d like to, but I need to get a little more courage first. It’s scary when you can’t really speak the language. I’m not exactly the bravest person in the world, either, so it’s daunting. I’m taking Spanish lessons now, and they help, but I have a long way to go. I am, es ever, a work in progress. I’ve also never really seen myself as the adventure-type. I’ve made a friend here who goes all over the place and wants to travel in Asia all over the place. I can’t see myself doing that and sometimes I wonder what that says about me.

I will try harder to write down observations and share them with you. I promise.

I will leave you with a couple of pictures I took from my office window at USIL. I am not sure of the name of the mountains/hills in the background; my research is not turning up much at this point. If/when I find out I will let you know. The street view is of Avenida La Fontana, the street which USIL faces. It’s usually a pretty busy street. La Molina, the district of Lima where the school is located, is a pretty residential, suburb-y type area, I think. There are loads of schools there, and all of the schools remind me of walled fortresses or compounds. They all have major gates and major walls and major armed guards. It’s serious business.

Grocery shopping in Lima, and other thoughts

There’s a grocery store not too far from our house called Wong. It’s a great store, very comparable to grocery stores in the U.S. (though not as huge). Anyway, they have an awesome deli where you can get all kinds of yummy stuff. They also have salad bar with lots of fruit. I even got a super cute robot-themed toothbrush holder there.

Anyway, I went to Wong this afternoon with Jason and even though I had this thought before, I realized it even more today: they have a ton of people working there. There are people who will unload your groceries onto the conveyor belt for you, people who will wrap gifts for you, and if you’re on crutches, for example, someone will help you shop. It’s pretty amazing, actually. And what’s more, if you live close enough, THEY WILL CARRY YOUR GROCERIES HOME FOR YOU. That totally blows my mind.

So far every Peruvian I’ve encountered has been very kind and very patient with me. It’s really great, especially since my Spanish is pretty much nil. The woman behind the deli counter at Wong spoke pretty slowly and did hand gestures to ask us which sizes we wanted. Jason ordered everything since I suck a figuring out grams and kilograms, plus he’s really good with Spanish. Like, really good. I wanna be like him when I grow up.

Trying to put on my big girl pants.

Last night, the plan was that this morning, Jason and I would meet our friend Jorge for a ride to USIL’s campus. I’m working on getting my paperwork processed – which is a bit crazy here – and Jason was coming with me because he’s a bloody humanitarian and good friend. Most people in HR don’t speak English, and I don’t speak Spanish, so Jason was going to translate for me.

Jason woke up with a migraine this morning. He drew me a little map of where I needed to meet up with Jorge, and even wrote down what I should say to the cab driver to get me to the place where I should meet Jorge. He did all this while barely able to keep his eyes open. I know migraines. They’re evil. Jason pushed through his to help me. Melanie also helped me by calling Jorge to let him know it would just be me and that there would probably be some lost-looking blonde on Benavides waiting for him.

Needless to say, I was pretty freaked out this morning. But I wasn’t going to cancel my meeting with HR because I need money, pronto. Plus, like my subject header says, I need to put on my big girl pants. I hailed a cab, told the cab driver where I was heading, and got in. Near our destination (mind you, I had NO idea where I was headed. Jason’s map was good, but it wasn’t like, an amazing portrait of the streets of Lima) the cab driver started asking me questions about where I wanted to be dropped off. I didn’t understand a damn word. Luckily, Jason also told me how to tell the driver that I needed to go over the bridge, and I remembered how to say “Here is fine, thank you.” I got out, paid the driver, and went to wait for Jorge.

I went to the wrong spot. Thankfully, Jason lent me his cell phone (I desperately need to get one, but I can’t right now because of funding issues) and Mel called me to tell me that Jorge had called her to ask her to let me know that traffic was slow. Jorge found me and we rode to school. When we got there, he bought me a coffee and showed me around a bit, and made sure that Hans (he works for CAE and is awesome) would take me to HR because of the lack of communication skills I have. Big ups to Jorge.

So I met with HR, Hans translated for me, and I have to come back tomorrow at 8am to get the paperwork ball rolling. I have to be here at 8 because the line will get very long very quickly. The way Hans explained the process to me, and Jason did as well, is that I have to get permission to be able to sign contracts. They’ll stamp something on my passport, and then a few days after that I can sign my official contract. In the meantime, they’re working on getting me my moving expenses.

Eventually I will have to open a bank account here, but they should be able to transfer money to my US account. Should be. I won’t get my work visa for a few months, it seems.

After the meeting with HR I walked a couple of blocks down to the store and bought myself something to drink. I’ll be on campus until at least six, when Jorge leaves. He’s offered me a ride home. I can take a cab if I want to leave sooner, but it’s expensive(ish), and I have a ton of work to do anyway. This will keep me working.

It’s frustrating, not being able to communicate. I’m not the most outgoing person when it comes to people I don’t know anyway, so to be shy and not speak the language is a little overwhelming at times. But I’m trying to be better about it all. I’m going to go to a Spanish tutor, as well. He’s Mel’s tutor and she really likes him, but, like everything else, it has to wait until I start getting paid. Or until I get my moving money. I have some money and I’ve been able to access my account at an ATM, but eventually I’m sure they’ll put a hold on my card, as they don’t let you just call them and tell them, “Hey, I’m Peru, don’t cut me off, brah!” I have to wait until it’s declined, then call some number collect and then tell them. It’s insane. So I’m trying not to visit the ATM too often, as I’m never sure when they’ll lower the hammer. And since my phone doesn’t work, it won’t be very easy to just call the out-of-country number the bank gave me.

So, yeah. Frustrating. I’m trying not to let it overwhelm me too much. And Mel and Jason have been so helpful. Also, Jorge listens to really good music, so that helps with the commute. Oh, and don’t even get me started on driving in Lima. I mean, I don’t drive in Lima, but riding in a vehicle in Lima is crazy.

This was a long post. Wow.

Oh, and one last thing: my boxes of books have yet to arrive. It’s been nearly 4 weeks since I shipped them. Mel told me last night that the post office here is striking. Awesome.

 

 

Almost a week in Lima…

I’ve just moved to Lima, Peru. This is in itself rather monumental as I’m not the kind of person who moves out of the country. Or even out of the Midwest, for that matter. But I’ve taken a job at the Universidad San Ignacio de Loyola in the Center for American Education. Once my contract is finalized, I’ll be an Assistant Professor.

My first real job. And it’s in a Spanish-speaking country.

I live with two of my close friends from grad school, Mel and Jason, and they’ve been so patient and helpful. They’re wonderful people. And I get to live with doggies, too! Life is good.

I have moments when I am overwhelmed, and in those moments I kick myself for having taken French, German, and Russian, but never Spanish. To be fair, though, the French I know helps me understand some things a bit. But yeah, I’ll be learning Spanish as soon as I can.

Thus far, Lima is pretty spectacular. It’s huge. I look out any of the windows in my apartment and the city seems to go on forever.

I have a view of the ocean. It’s stunning. Every morning I wake up, come out to the living room, and just stand and stare. It blows me away every time.

The food here is great, too. I tried ceviche for the first time the other day. It’s a Peruvian dish made with fish. It’s really good; I’m not a fan of fish and I dug this. I was sad when it was gone. And the produce! I’ve never seen such vibrant colors. The bananas are gigantic, the avocados are massive, and there are like a zillion different kinds of potatoes. It’s magical.

I do miss my coffee pot. I’ve had coffee here in a couple of cafes and it’s great, but that can get expensive. I don’t have my moving expenses in my account yet, so I’m trying not to spend too much money. Over all it’s really affordable here, so I’m not freaking out…yet.

There is a lot to take in here, and I’m slowly trying to process everything. I begin teaching on 8/15, so Jason and I have some work to do as far as organization, etc. I’m up for the challenge! (I hope.)