Hija del Diablo.

Well here I am in the Zocalo, sitting on a bench with my backpack and school supplies, of course not doing homework like usual. UGH! I hate this feeling of almost ennui-I just want to give up before I start anything. I can't think right now because there's and old man sitting near me who for some reason is really bothering me. I wish he would go away and I feel guilty for it. Out of nowhere, he just sat down next to me and started talking--it's really hard to understand his Spanish and he keeps creeping closer and closer. I wish I knew what his intentions are, but I just can't read people here and it's so frustrating. They say that the first step to conquering any problem is recognition, right? Well, here I go.
Let's start with this old man--why am I so uncomfortable? He's not hurting me, he's no doing anything wrong. But...his teeth are rotten, he smells strongly of body odor, which I catch a whiff of every time the breeze blows in my direction. His toes curl under with those yellow, cracked nails that I see so often here. To me, he is physically repulsive. But more than that--I could overcome physical disgust if it weren't for all the other cultural factors pushing and pulling me to disassociate myself from him. Maybe it's leftovers from the million times my mommy ordered me as a child to beware of the big bad wolf. Maybe it's the three almost attractrive muchachos staring at me from across the zocalo. Their eyes grate into me and make me feel exposed...to what, I don't know. I want them to know I don't want this old man's attention, and at the same time I am scolding myself, wondering why I even care what they think. Maybe it's proxemics--inch by inch, he is intruding into my personal space. Maybe his rules aren't the same--maybe he has no sense of personal space and has no idea where my own boundaries lie. Is it a cultural difference or just a personal preference? I don't know--but I do know that I wish he would stay in his "proper place" hugging the armrest on the opposite side of the bench...or better yet, go find an empty bench.

Some kind of profound conclusion seems appropriate at this point...but honestly I have not the slightest clue what that conclusion may be. Should I seek to cast of my qualms and just have a friendly conversation with this man? Or should I surrender to my gut reaction and take off across the zocalo? These reactions to people are built into my being...they form part of me and I don't know how to rid myself of them. And is that even a valuable objective, to cast off my "prejudices"? Thus far they have kept me out of trouble...for instance...I met a man in Jardin Revolucion the other day who spent a substancial amount of time in the U.S. Out of nowhere, he just plops down next to me (I am minding my own business, trying to write a blog I think) and starts talking. He looks a little rough around the edges, which in itself is not disconcerting. Although he speaks English, it is very blatantly the kind of English you learn in the not-so-shiney parts of town. In the course of the conversation, I find that he has spent some time under lock and key, although the cocaine in his vehicle at the time was most certainly "planted," and that on a separate occasion, he broke his leg fleeing the police. At this point, I feel like it is probably time for me to go. He gives me his number and invites me to his home in Lagunilla. I'm not going to call this guy and I don't think there are many people who would advise me to do so. In a way, I am stereotyping him as a drug dealing bum, aren't I? But being able to assign him a certain status allows me to make sense of our interaction and draw the conclusion that spending time with this guy is not the safest thing for me to do. Sure, there is a chance that this is just a very unlucky man who has nothing but the best intentions, and I could be missing out on a beautiful friendship. On the other hand, if something shady were to go down, I would only have myself to blame for ignoring the social clues that my framework for interpreting interactions gave me. So I guess my conclusion is this...there is a fine line between being "safe" and being a cold hearted snob. I'm not sure exactly where that line is drawn...throw in the factor that I am trying to negotiate my way through a foreign culture and it is understandable that a few social clues may be lost in translation, or exagerated in translation, or completely distorted in translation. Maybe here in Cuernavaca, it's completely normal for a scruffy elderly man to sit down and strike up a conversation with a young woman. Maybe a Mexican woman would have felt completely comfortable and at ease in my situation. I'm not Mexican, though, and although I can try to understand how things work here, I am still U.S.en at my core. Okay I'm going to have to quote Emerson for moment, which I don't think I've ever done before in my life. "If I am the devil's child, I will live then from the devil. No law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but names very readily transferable to that or this..." To be what I am, to be U.S.en, is not good, bad, shameful, or meritorious. It's just who I am. To be Mexican is the same. All I can do is live the way I know how...I can't restructure my entire framework for viewing the world just because I'm afraid I might not be giving a prospective friend a chance. I am who I am.

I suppose now I've made myself out to be the cold-hearted snob who's afraid to try anything new or even poke her toe out of her comfort zone. I feel the need to defend myself, and to clarify that these experiences I am having, although at times irritating, are not negative as a whole. On the contrary--although I may be frustrated at times, I feel myself changing and growing into something strange and beautiful with every twist and turn. I've had my ups and downs, and without a doubt I know that this journey is far from over. I can't wait to see where it takes me.