Today was my fourth day of work. There are four different exit stairways at my subway stop downtown. And today-- for the very first time-- I walked up the right one. Yeah. I got this.
When I first travel to a new country all I can focus on is myself and how out of place I feel. "My taxi driver helped me with my suitcase and then kissed my cheek, is that supposed to happen?" "Oh, I pay for my fruit separately because my fruit vendor is renting a space in the big supermarket?" "Crap, I have no idea what you asked me. I'm just going to stand here looking confused until you point at somethi-- ah, do I want a bag for that? Si. Gracias."
Then, all of sudden, I start to get it. No, I don't miraculously know Spanish or totally understand a different culture; but one day you find yourself exchanging a frustrated glance with the other people waiting on the curb-- "I know, right! Where do these cabbies learn to drive?" Or biting back a laugh and nodding sympathetically as the little girl in a Snow White t-shirt sitting next to you confides, "Tengo mi vacunas." (I got my shots) and points proudly to the Band-aid on her upper arm. Or, best of all, each evening calling, "Hola, Juan!" as your doorman rushes forward to unlatch the building door with his ever constant crooked smile and, "He-lo, Miss Anne! Buenos noches!"
The tired faces at rush hour. Old friends gabbing away in a coffee shop. The wait at the post office. When I finally stop focusing on my worries I begin to see nothing but universal experiences. Big cities are all the same that way-- they sweep you along and fold you in as part of them. Today a woman asked me if she was at the right subway stop; a crowd of people waiting for the train and she picked the Chicagoan trying to sound out the announcements. Perhaps she assumed I was Argentine since I talk with my hands, perhaps it was due to my (as my boss at CCM called it) "wholesome Midwestern girl face." Or perhaps it's because this time, finally, I knew which staircase to use.
Love from,
Kerk