Written while drinking one large bottle of cerveja Skoll and eating a cheese "worm" pastry at a snackshop in downtown Goiânia in Brazil's mid-west, alone on Thanksgiving evening.
It's official: I'm addicted to being a gringa in Latin America. This life, as a traveler, as a foreigner, as someone who is more than a tourist but still always an outsider, has become my addiction. It is at times painful and humiliating, at other times liberating and exciting, and it always (as long as my eyes, mind, and heart are open to it) inspires personal growth, reflection, and- I like to think- wisdom. My world is turned upside down on a regular basis. I can be and do anything I want. I can go far beyond the boundaries of life, society, and self created by my culture.
I am an American girl, yes. Always will be. Many aspects of my culture are deeply ingrained in me (that's how culture works, after all), and I even have pride in certain aspects of my culture, despite the awkwardness and sometimes even shame that comes with having to explain that yes I am an American but don't eat hamburgers every day or any day at all, I didn't vote for Bush, I don't support the war, and the list goes on... Among the more radical of my new colleagues and friends in Brazil it has actually been extremely uncomfortable having to say where I'm from and answer questions about my culture and government. Usually when they talk to me for a while they say that I don't seem American. My accent sounds Spanish, I have a Brazilian face, and I don't eat hamburgers for crying out loud. But I am an American girl, and I am more acutely aware of it than usual today.
Here I am on Thanksgiving evening by myself, in a town where I have developed superficial relationships with a handful of friendly and generous people, drinking beer and eating a bad cheese pastry all by myself. And it's okay. I miss my family and all of my loved ones. I admit that I miss my culture and our celebration of this confused holiday that celebrates genocide, pretending (most of us very genuinely and with the best of intentions) that instead we are celebrating a sharing of cultures and the beginning of a peaceful alliance. All I can smell is the churrasco (barbecued meat) on the grill outside, and oh how I wish that I were instead smelling a pumpkin pie baking in the oven, and cranberries with a cinnamon and orange twist boiling on the stove top. My mouth is watering at the thought, and this cheese pastry just isn't cutting it. At least I have the beer to help numb the senses. It's not yet working though, and so I find myself longing for a house warm from the heat of bodies and the oven and stove going throughout the day.
As deeply as I am now craving that idealized Thanksgiving scene, I have desperately craved alone time for the past several weeks. Since arriving in Brazil two months ago most of my alone time has been while sleeping. Brazilians are such wonderful hosts, and due to this aspect of their culture and the fact that they hate being alone and therefore assume that all other sane people do too, I have been constantly surrounded by good intentioned Brazilian friends and colleagues since I arrived. Particularly since I arrived and started working on my research in Recife, where I have been extremely well received. The last time I had any alone time was on my weekend trip to Maceió five weeks ago. When I told my new friends in Recife about this trip, they were shocked to hear that I had gone to the beach town by myself. I think they pitied me more than anything. While in Maceió for a day and a half I received pitying looks from others as I ate lunch by myself, and more than once was invited to share a table, and even to share in food and beer. Brazilians never fail to impress me with their sense of community. They are so welcoming and so generous. Everywhere I have traveled, whether it has been for a few hours, days or weeks, they have taken me under their wings. This treatment has done wonders for my Portuguese and has truly enriched my Brazilian experience. At least 80% of the time I am ecstatic about how I have been received and treated in Brazil since arriving. There are other times that I feel stifled. When with Brazlians constantly, I must behave as a Brazilian. Or at least try. It is exhausting.
Today, however, I am free. It is Thanksgiving, and I have been left alone to wander the streets of Goiânia and wallow in my homesickness, enjoying every bit of it as only someone addicted to being an outsider can.
It's official: I'm addicted to being a gringa in Latin America. This life, as a traveler, as a foreigner, as someone who is more than a tourist but still always an outsider, has become my addiction. It is at times painful and humiliating, at other times liberating and exciting, and it always (as long as my eyes, mind, and heart are open to it) inspires personal growth, reflection, and- I like to think- wisdom. My world is turned upside down on a regular basis. I can be and do anything I want. I can go far beyond the boundaries of life, society, and self created by my culture.
I am an American girl, yes. Always will be. Many aspects of my culture are deeply ingrained in me (that's how culture works, after all), and I even have pride in certain aspects of my culture, despite the awkwardness and sometimes even shame that comes with having to explain that yes I am an American but don't eat hamburgers every day or any day at all, I didn't vote for Bush, I don't support the war, and the list goes on... Among the more radical of my new colleagues and friends in Brazil it has actually been extremely uncomfortable having to say where I'm from and answer questions about my culture and government. Usually when they talk to me for a while they say that I don't seem American. My accent sounds Spanish, I have a Brazilian face, and I don't eat hamburgers for crying out loud. But I am an American girl, and I am more acutely aware of it than usual today.
Here I am on Thanksgiving evening by myself, in a town where I have developed superficial relationships with a handful of friendly and generous people, drinking beer and eating a bad cheese pastry all by myself. And it's okay. I miss my family and all of my loved ones. I admit that I miss my culture and our celebration of this confused holiday that celebrates genocide, pretending (most of us very genuinely and with the best of intentions) that instead we are celebrating a sharing of cultures and the beginning of a peaceful alliance. All I can smell is the churrasco (barbecued meat) on the grill outside, and oh how I wish that I were instead smelling a pumpkin pie baking in the oven, and cranberries with a cinnamon and orange twist boiling on the stove top. My mouth is watering at the thought, and this cheese pastry just isn't cutting it. At least I have the beer to help numb the senses. It's not yet working though, and so I find myself longing for a house warm from the heat of bodies and the oven and stove going throughout the day.
As deeply as I am now craving that idealized Thanksgiving scene, I have desperately craved alone time for the past several weeks. Since arriving in Brazil two months ago most of my alone time has been while sleeping. Brazilians are such wonderful hosts, and due to this aspect of their culture and the fact that they hate being alone and therefore assume that all other sane people do too, I have been constantly surrounded by good intentioned Brazilian friends and colleagues since I arrived. Particularly since I arrived and started working on my research in Recife, where I have been extremely well received. The last time I had any alone time was on my weekend trip to Maceió five weeks ago. When I told my new friends in Recife about this trip, they were shocked to hear that I had gone to the beach town by myself. I think they pitied me more than anything. While in Maceió for a day and a half I received pitying looks from others as I ate lunch by myself, and more than once was invited to share a table, and even to share in food and beer. Brazilians never fail to impress me with their sense of community. They are so welcoming and so generous. Everywhere I have traveled, whether it has been for a few hours, days or weeks, they have taken me under their wings. This treatment has done wonders for my Portuguese and has truly enriched my Brazilian experience. At least 80% of the time I am ecstatic about how I have been received and treated in Brazil since arriving. There are other times that I feel stifled. When with Brazlians constantly, I must behave as a Brazilian. Or at least try. It is exhausting.
Today, however, I am free. It is Thanksgiving, and I have been left alone to wander the streets of Goiânia and wallow in my homesickness, enjoying every bit of it as only someone addicted to being an outsider can.
1 comment:
Thank you! Keep up the good work!
Now i find a good superhero costumes for my friend in http://www.sanseed.com/catsuits-zentai/superhero-costumes.html, However i don't know it's fit her or not, any one help me?
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