a conversation with god.

5 December 2011 § Leave a comment

I’m frustrated and this is stupid. All of it. Being here, doing what I’m doing, not doing what I’m pretending to be doing, and sitting here not practicing my spanish when I have only two weeks of somewhat friendly faces with which to share my commonalities with the rest of the world. after that, I’m done for. I have four months to do god-knows-what, and every tico I tell my plans to (my friends) tells me that Costa Ra, and maybe Panama, are the only two countries worth visiting in Central America, and more importantly, are the only two where my height or my skin color or my origin won’t have lowlifes vying to shank me for the twelve cordobas I have in my pocket. Ice that over with the sweet irony of last weekend in Cristo Rey, and what you get is an underbaked fear of me, myself, and my tendencies to avoid the usual path for ‘adventure’.

In reality, I know that I just made a mistake, that I should follow my instincts more closely next time and move on. But any attempt I make now to speak Spanish is half-hearted, because I’m convinced that my eagerness is going to get me in trouble. So I slink back, speak english, and fall into gringophase, something I harshly judge others around me for. Why?

I have no connection to this place, except for the friends I’ve made and the sense of belonging that I’ve seldom felt since… well, never. But I don’t like it here. I just like some of the people. I like being a stranger. That’s the home I’ve found. I’m different, and others are quick to point it out, and sometimes it gets me in trouble and other times it earns me extra attention, wanted or not. Usually, I end up with empty pockets because something got lost in translation, like the time I ordered one beer, and the bartender in the warehouse-esque bar popped the tops off ten bottles, apparently convinced that I wanted to buy a round for everyone I was with.

And it would have appeared to be the right thing: I was one of two guys at a table of seven or eight women, and why, she might have wondered, would he buy a beer only for himself? And then she smiled like the fox who broke into our camp that once when we had hypothermia and more concern for feeling our legs again, from the freezing Chitistone river than for the food we’d left outside, right before it left with a mouthful or whatever we had made.

Some of us don’t give context. Others then just assume it. Which I suppose is all you can do sometimes because those awkward silences are obnoxious and nobody likes indecicive natures. Assume away.

I’m scared of what comes next, because I don’t want to go ‘home’ where I could go and be in school and be miserable and cold again and claim to enjoy every minute of the icy wind and throwing icicles at trees and off cliffs at the topside of a climb in Hatcher Pass, right before an epic descent through a valley which contains only good memories of mine.

But I digress. Really, I’m rambling. For your confusion, for my clarification. I’m more silent than I’ve been in months, and when someone asks me a question I tend to clam up and want to crawl into a hole. Filled with white saltwater crashing against the rocks. Where was that? Newport, Oregon, below the park benches. In the bay with the rocky coast and the dead fishermen. August? The day I left my notebook at the gas station near Corvallis. Whenever.

I have this feeling that the more time I spend away from the States the less I’m going to want to return when it comes time. But right now I have this illusion that if I go back now my fears will dissipate, that I will have benefitted from whatever I’ve learned in Costa Rica, and will take that and run with that in a new direction. Seattle. Portland. New York. Wherever.

But I have to make it through this fear first. I’m useless now, and I have bad posture, apparently. You’re a punk. Keep talking. Laugh it up, chucklehead. What does my neck say? Chucklehead is from the Golden Girls. ¿Recuerdes?

¿Porque no?

this is an ongoing conversation with a girl who says one minute I have terrible posture and on another moment says that ________. but we won’t go there now. it’s amazing what will shut some people up. like that. it’s easy to breakway you know though I’m more than a little nervous and more bewildered at why you’re watching me type. This girl has a story, and it will not be written by me.

u just want me to stare at you….u secretly like it…dont hate on it….HATER

yep. that’s her. and I can just say that she doesn’t know that YOU is spelled Y-O-U.

u still like me tho….y u gotta b such an elitist speller!!! u can{t just sppreciate things…u can{t just shut it off..Tienes que analizar TODOS??????

See what I mean? Remember Crash, when what’s his name tells Ludacris that he loves hockey, and Ludacris is like no, you just say you do to piss me off!

I KNOW THAT U MISS MY TEXTS LIKE THAT! ur just bitter….in ur stereo shirt

The stereoshirt is cool. Fuck off.

ur just mad cuz u can{t look like a BAMF like me everyday…with my new skinny self !

I wouldn’t wear those vibram shoes in public if you paid me.

I’m no hater. I’m just in recovery.

 

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