Sunday, December 12, 2010

FIN

11 PM. I fly out tomorrow. Instead of going to bed, I am up. Sitting on the floor of my empty room, staring at suitcases, literally grinding my teeth and deciding whether I feel more like crying or vomiting.

Ya, I think tears win. Definitely going with tears.

For some reason, going home is making me so much more nervous than my trip here. Once decorated with cheesy crap like giant sombreros, lucha masks, and cactus salt and pepper shakers, my now vacant room is a slap in the face. It’s like I was never here. This home I made for myself for 6 months, the people I grew to treat like family, the guy who always waves from the taco stand, the security guards at my apartment, hell, the waiter at la Bipo. A whole life, or at least 6 months worth. And it’s like some strange delusion I had that nobody will ever fully comprehend. Even though I lived it with other people, we go back to our respective schools, and are left alone with slowly fading memories of extraneous and isolated incidents.

6 months learning a culture, a language, street names, restaurants, metro stops.
Comfort.
Home.
And then it’s gone.

My dad’s only had his apartment for a few years. My mom moved to Texas. My sister works. I’ve never even seen the place I’m supposed to move in to in Berkeley. Maybe I was looking for home, and found it where I shouldn’t have. Maybe I got too attached. Maybe I’m over-thinking all of this. I knew the deadline, but I kind of tricked myself into believing I was starting some new life here.

Wow. Terrified to leave, actually. Will I feel like a stranger? Like I’m lying by trying to act like it’s all back to normal? Like nothing happened? Like I had some double life, to which no one I know will ever relate?
Maybe I’m scared because I know I’ve changed, or even worse, maybe I haven’t.

Maybe this whole “live life to the fullest, do it just to tell the story, culture and adventure and wordliness” Melanie is some temporary façade. Maybe I go back to Berkeley and lock myself in my room writing papers. Maybe I’ll look back on these times as mere follies of my youth. Wasted dreams of an international, jet-setting future. Bright optimism of a spoiled teen, soon to be obliterated by the bleak promise of office work in romantic Ohio.

Okay. This is dark. I apologize. Just kind of nervous.

But here’s the bright note: Yes, I have shed tears in Mexico. (Just wait, it gets lighter) But most of them have been happy. Ya, that’s right. I cried out of joy here. Kind of a lot. I know it makes me a giant vagina, but sometimes I would come home and just look out the window and realize how lucky I am to have this opportunity and cry a little bit. I would be on the metro, and think about how 12-year-old Melanie wanted nothing more than to travel the world and live in the big city, and I would get choked up by how many of my dreams have already come true. In Playa Azul, we took this little boat to go see mangroves. We also saw iguanas, alligators, and cranes. My little environmentalist heart fucking exploded, and I started balling. Uncontrollably. Everybody on the boat had to awkwardly pretend not to notice, but I didn’t care. I was just overcome by how many amazing things I have seen and experienced in such a short lifetime. In just these six months, I’ve lived more than the last two years.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to fall back into routine. Go home and be the same. Be comfortable. Numb. Yet, with some determination I think I can fight off Berkeley Melanie. Mold her a bit into Mexico Melanie.
Cuz what’s the point of coming here, if I don’t bring it all back with me?

And with that, kids, I end my over-sharing via self-obsessed internet diary. When I look back at my first entry, I was so excited and didn’t know what to expect, and all I wanted was to learn by doing and living.

Done. Check. Down.

Mexico was 10 times better than I could have possibly imagined. I have been so happy here, despite the occasional angry blogpost. Wonderful times with amazing people, and an astounding wealth of knowledge in a very short time. Most of which, is of course, the knowledge that I know nothing. Just to be a cheesy asshole like that.

It’s been real.

Love, man. Love for the city. Love for the people. Love for the lifestyle.
Love for my Mexican adventure.

xoxo
Guera out.

1 comment:

  1. Great Post Melanie!!!

    I honestly agree with everything you mentioned!! It almost made me cry :D

    It was nice meeting you!! Safe trip back and Good luck with everything!!

    Viva Mexico!!

    ReplyDelete