Going ANYWHERE here includes a careful study of maps and bus routes. I then depart with the fare carefully divided in separate pockets for quick access. I always draw a map of the surrounding streets. As soon as I get on the bus, I ask the cashier to please alert me when we reach my street. Sometimes all this results in an easy trip to my destination.
MOST OF THE TIME I AM WANDERING STREETS ASKING UP TO THREE OR FOUR PEOPLE FOR DIRECTIONS IN THIS STUPID LABYRINTH OF A CITY AFTER I GET OFF.
I just can't understand how for all my maps and research I still get hopelessly lost... I think the streets are on a randomization algorithm.
I find it sometimes helps to pretend you're Mario and this is just another level to get to the castle. Instead of evil mushrooms and grainy pixel monsters I dodge muggers and psycho-motorcyclists. That princess I rescue had better be grateful, damn it!
I know it just takes time to figure this all out. However, it's getting hotter every day here, and these little peregrinations leave me drenched. The raining season starts in a few days... then I'll really know what "wet" is. Mamma mia! Ay Mario no lika the slushy sneakers!
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
15 September 2009
31 August 2009
Self-reassuring posting
I know, I know, it's been nothing but static on the blogging channel lately. Life has, in fact, settled into a routine. I know the streets in my neighborhood. People know me at the bakery, the apartment building, my work, the supermarket. They are even starting to comment that my speech seems more natural and fluid. Tranquility? Comfort? Ease?
Nay. Madness.
This is just when moving gets dangerous!! You went to Fish Camp. You bought your books (wtf $$??) You ate pizza three days in a row at the cafeteria (becuase I can!). You've explored campus, even attended a few classes (not so scary). The newness of your dorm has worn off (yes, it's that small).
Well... what now?
The quiet is so scary because you realize so much of your old life was built on transient things. The silence terrifies you because it demands from you... who are you? what are you about? (and worst of all) Why are you worth my time?
Fortunately, I know how the rest of the story goes. You gradually make new friends (some pretty amazing people too!) You find new aspects of your home (You can get on the roof of most buildings on campus). Religious crazies scream at you. You encounter new ideas. You grow. You work really hard. You learn things you never could have imagined. You fail. You join causes. You get in shape. You learn how to manage money. Your perspective changes. Your direction changes. You cry. You make bad decisions. You fall in love. Your heart breaks.
And when you look around your apartment where you made so many memories. When your friends wave good bye while you wipe the tears away on the road to current dreams, you'll look back at yourself (such a short time ago). And smile.
Though I'm pining for the familiar faces and things, though I'm spazzing out wondering what the hell am I going to do next year? I am confident of this: if you put out your hands and open your eyes - wherever you are - life will find you.
Nay. Madness.
This is just when moving gets dangerous!! You went to Fish Camp. You bought your books (wtf $$??) You ate pizza three days in a row at the cafeteria (becuase I can!). You've explored campus, even attended a few classes (not so scary). The newness of your dorm has worn off (yes, it's that small).
and you're just sitting there.
at the MSC fountain.
all your highschool chums far away.
Well... what now?
The quiet is so scary because you realize so much of your old life was built on transient things. The silence terrifies you because it demands from you... who are you? what are you about? (and worst of all) Why are you worth my time?
Fortunately, I know how the rest of the story goes. You gradually make new friends (some pretty amazing people too!) You find new aspects of your home (You can get on the roof of most buildings on campus). Religious crazies scream at you. You encounter new ideas. You grow. You work really hard. You learn things you never could have imagined. You fail. You join causes. You get in shape. You learn how to manage money. Your perspective changes. Your direction changes. You cry. You make bad decisions. You fall in love. Your heart breaks.
And when you look around your apartment where you made so many memories. When your friends wave good bye while you wipe the tears away on the road to current dreams, you'll look back at yourself (such a short time ago). And smile.
Though I'm pining for the familiar faces and things, though I'm spazzing out wondering what the hell am I going to do next year? I am confident of this: if you put out your hands and open your eyes - wherever you are - life will find you.
12 August 2009
Never underestimate the power of stupid
I'm not sure why, but on Friday at going home time, so many people and cars clog the streets I can't help but think of rats escaping a forest fire. The buses have standing room only. The herds of people swarming the crosswalks migrate like wildebeest on the Serengeti - mindlessly lost in their group identity, focused but still slightly jumpy as though a lion might ambush them at the corner. Friday night commuters are so glazed over tired, I am convinced donating pints of blood is the primary economic activity in this city.
I decided to liven things up a bit by wearing my goggles on the bus. I know it seems rather infantile, but I was really trying it more as a cultural/psychological experiment. You know... for science.
The elevator ride came first. I positioned myself at the back with a big grin. Two people got in on the long descent to the street. They ignored me and Ricardo who was turning purple from trying to contain his laughter. Dignified they both just stared at the elevator door intently, desperate to escape that dreaded question "why?"
In the streets, the commuter zombies were so lost in their cares that few noticed how stupid I looked. Every once in a while someone would see me though... You could read the internal dialog on his face... is he? He is. Why? What on earth? One young lady passing in a bus pointed me out to her friend. Another older woman just burst out laughing.
In the darkening gloom after a wearying day, I'm glade I was able to send at least one person home with a chuckle...
I decided to liven things up a bit by wearing my goggles on the bus. I know it seems rather infantile, but I was really trying it more as a cultural/psychological experiment. You know... for science.
The elevator ride came first. I positioned myself at the back with a big grin. Two people got in on the long descent to the street. They ignored me and Ricardo who was turning purple from trying to contain his laughter. Dignified they both just stared at the elevator door intently, desperate to escape that dreaded question "why?"
In the streets, the commuter zombies were so lost in their cares that few noticed how stupid I looked. Every once in a while someone would see me though... You could read the internal dialog on his face... is he? He is. Why? What on earth? One young lady passing in a bus pointed me out to her friend. Another older woman just burst out laughing.
In the darkening gloom after a wearying day, I'm glade I was able to send at least one person home with a chuckle...
08 July 2009
Do you know why Chinatown exists?
Imagine you're an immigrant. You travel to another country in the hopes for a better life. Unfortunately for you, in that country people speak in a way you may one day understand but never be able to completely reproduce. They don't sell your coffee maker there. They laugh at your music. Insurance? What's that? How do I get it?
You are an outsider. Period. Some people may take an interest in you, but most just wish you'd work harder on your verbal skills so they don't have to make an effort when they need to communicate with you... "seriously, why can these people just learn *insert language here."
It is natural to retreat into a ghetto. It gets a little tiring after a while to always be misunderstood, bewildered, clueless... in many countries immigrants are looked upon with mistrust or even hatred.
I am fortunate. Well-educated, well-connected, I am insolated from many of the nearly insurmountable difficulties immigrants face all over the world as they struggle to adapt in an often hostile environment without losing their dignity... or sanity.
I went with my boss recently to a get together for his fishing buddies. The place was about as macho an environment as cigarshop. Beer, meat, firewater, testosterone, egos bloated on alcohol... In these gatherings I'm isolated enough even if I understand what's being said.
The words swirl around you. All the little tricks you have to establish rapport fall flat. No one is looking at you. Quiet, bewildered, you fade into the background. A burning self-consciousness you haven't felt since junior high tugs at your sleave. Things you find distastefull are aplauded. The entire interaction leaves you drained and longing for escape to a place where you feel comfortable. You don't understand these people... but then the terrorible thought assails you... what do they think about you??
You are different. Does that sound scary to you?
Traveling, learning a new language... these things throw into sharp relief our sense of self. You simply have to learn how to carry yourself to interact in the face of such challenges. Here is a brief sketch of strategies you can apply in any social setting where you are an outsider.
1. alcohol in moderation helps.
2. remain calm. Chances are these people are just as mystified by you as you are by them.
3. try bringing the situation down a level. instead of aspiring to be the life of the party, find someone interesting to converse with.
4. recognize your own limits. if you're getting overwhelmed it's much better to sit back and simply observe.
5. if you don't understand, ASK! continuing on with the wrong assumption will lead to way more embarassment that simply admiting you didn't understand something.
I guess I'm writing this to remind you guys that traveling isn't all one long adventure. Sure, there are the nights out, the beautiful sights, the unique food, but there's also the sometimes painful growth of roaming waaaay outside of the familiar.
You are an outsider. Period. Some people may take an interest in you, but most just wish you'd work harder on your verbal skills so they don't have to make an effort when they need to communicate with you... "seriously, why can these people just learn *insert language here."
It is natural to retreat into a ghetto. It gets a little tiring after a while to always be misunderstood, bewildered, clueless... in many countries immigrants are looked upon with mistrust or even hatred.
I am fortunate. Well-educated, well-connected, I am insolated from many of the nearly insurmountable difficulties immigrants face all over the world as they struggle to adapt in an often hostile environment without losing their dignity... or sanity.
I went with my boss recently to a get together for his fishing buddies. The place was about as macho an environment as cigarshop. Beer, meat, firewater, testosterone, egos bloated on alcohol... In these gatherings I'm isolated enough even if I understand what's being said.
The words swirl around you. All the little tricks you have to establish rapport fall flat. No one is looking at you. Quiet, bewildered, you fade into the background. A burning self-consciousness you haven't felt since junior high tugs at your sleave. Things you find distastefull are aplauded. The entire interaction leaves you drained and longing for escape to a place where you feel comfortable. You don't understand these people... but then the terrorible thought assails you... what do they think about you??
You are different. Does that sound scary to you?
Traveling, learning a new language... these things throw into sharp relief our sense of self. You simply have to learn how to carry yourself to interact in the face of such challenges. Here is a brief sketch of strategies you can apply in any social setting where you are an outsider.
1. alcohol in moderation helps.
2. remain calm. Chances are these people are just as mystified by you as you are by them.
3. try bringing the situation down a level. instead of aspiring to be the life of the party, find someone interesting to converse with.
4. recognize your own limits. if you're getting overwhelmed it's much better to sit back and simply observe.
5. if you don't understand, ASK! continuing on with the wrong assumption will lead to way more embarassment that simply admiting you didn't understand something.
I guess I'm writing this to remind you guys that traveling isn't all one long adventure. Sure, there are the nights out, the beautiful sights, the unique food, but there's also the sometimes painful growth of roaming waaaay outside of the familiar.
30 May 2009
Oak Cliff optical adventures!
I think it was Thursday (all the days are running together lately).
In need of contacts since I curiously misplaced my last leftie, I had arranged a 10:30am appointment at the Optical Clinic off Saner.
Now the Optical Clinic has long been where my family gets its eye exams. The place is only surpassed in age by the tottering old optometrist who apparently resides there. He was the same man who examined my father's eyes as a boy and who now presides over his tiny shop shuffling about, all hunched over, and mumbling the exact same spiel about covering the right now the left and tell me which looks clearer.
When his mind finally goes entirely, he will be asking his Jamaican social worker which line looks clearer. Regardless, he's the cheapest show in town and the result of visiting his moldy clinic with the bright blue plastic folding chairs is vision for approximately one year.
Only not this time.
Upon arrival, I was dismayed to be informed by an obese woman in scrubs that the doctor had not come in. Unsurprising.
Nevertheless, could I reschedule? I was directed to another installation deeper into Oak Cliff at 1:30.
Now, Oak Cliff is the neighborhood of Dallas directly to the north of our South Dallas suburban towns. Throughout my entire childhood, the place loomed large in my imagination. It is a very old, very large neighborhood, which at one time was comfortably affluent - I think about the 50's.
But when I knew it, it was the place for authentic Mexican food, YMCA baseball and deal hunting at the Red Bird Mall. I suppose what fascinated me was the pleasant hills, the ancient beautiful trees, the old houses. The place had such a look of memory and belonging - as if I were walking through a dilapidated, but picturesque version of my dad's adolescence.
Unfortunately, this was because no one had enough money or initiative to update anything. Furthermore, there was a real sinister side of the area of which even as a child I was cognizant. The widespread gang troubles and drug traffic made it the "lock your door, sweetie" area.
Now I'm back, walking up and down a street that looks more like Nogales than Dallas. I was reflecting on how fractured Dallas communities are. Gayborhood, little Mexico, the Hood, Asianland, the various Breadervilles, Yuppyland, Highnose Park... I suppose it's like this all over the U.S., but it still makes me sad the boys on the corner smoking weed regard me as such an interloper. "What the hell is he doing here? Let's stare at him menacingly."
I wandered in and out of shops as I waited. I spoke Spanish to most and was alternately regarded with delight or even more confusion. When 1:30 rolled around, the Optical clinic remained impassively closed. Immensely irritated, I strode across the street to an even shadier dive.
For a couple bucks I finally got my eyes examined by a goofy-shaped spider of a man with tired hair, a rubbery, slack face and spindly arms and legs. His "resting demeanor" was silent and brooding, but when he did talk, his voice, bizarrely affected, slightly patronizing, weirdly effeminate, would attack your consciousness like a bored flight attendant droning on about where to jump when the plane bursts into flames.
As he swayed his entire body about to emphasize his dire warnings of contact over-use, I began to doubt the security of the situation. When he peered at my retinas from half an inch of distance from my face, the only light in the dark, closed room coming from his hand held eye-looker thingy, I had to resist the urge to break into hysterics.
I'm just glad they put jalapeños in my French fries at the restaurant where I ate lunch. It´s the little things that make these ordeals all worth while.
Don't eat here...
In need of contacts since I curiously misplaced my last leftie, I had arranged a 10:30am appointment at the Optical Clinic off Saner.
Now the Optical Clinic has long been where my family gets its eye exams. The place is only surpassed in age by the tottering old optometrist who apparently resides there. He was the same man who examined my father's eyes as a boy and who now presides over his tiny shop shuffling about, all hunched over, and mumbling the exact same spiel about covering the right now the left and tell me which looks clearer.
When his mind finally goes entirely, he will be asking his Jamaican social worker which line looks clearer. Regardless, he's the cheapest show in town and the result of visiting his moldy clinic with the bright blue plastic folding chairs is vision for approximately one year.
Only not this time.
Upon arrival, I was dismayed to be informed by an obese woman in scrubs that the doctor had not come in. Unsurprising.
Nevertheless, could I reschedule? I was directed to another installation deeper into Oak Cliff at 1:30.
Now, Oak Cliff is the neighborhood of Dallas directly to the north of our South Dallas suburban towns. Throughout my entire childhood, the place loomed large in my imagination. It is a very old, very large neighborhood, which at one time was comfortably affluent - I think about the 50's.
But when I knew it, it was the place for authentic Mexican food, YMCA baseball and deal hunting at the Red Bird Mall. I suppose what fascinated me was the pleasant hills, the ancient beautiful trees, the old houses. The place had such a look of memory and belonging - as if I were walking through a dilapidated, but picturesque version of my dad's adolescence.
Unfortunately, this was because no one had enough money or initiative to update anything. Furthermore, there was a real sinister side of the area of which even as a child I was cognizant. The widespread gang troubles and drug traffic made it the "lock your door, sweetie" area.
Now I'm back, walking up and down a street that looks more like Nogales than Dallas. I was reflecting on how fractured Dallas communities are. Gayborhood, little Mexico, the Hood, Asianland, the various Breadervilles, Yuppyland, Highnose Park... I suppose it's like this all over the U.S., but it still makes me sad the boys on the corner smoking weed regard me as such an interloper. "What the hell is he doing here? Let's stare at him menacingly."
I wandered in and out of shops as I waited. I spoke Spanish to most and was alternately regarded with delight or even more confusion. When 1:30 rolled around, the Optical clinic remained impassively closed. Immensely irritated, I strode across the street to an even shadier dive.
For a couple bucks I finally got my eyes examined by a goofy-shaped spider of a man with tired hair, a rubbery, slack face and spindly arms and legs. His "resting demeanor" was silent and brooding, but when he did talk, his voice, bizarrely affected, slightly patronizing, weirdly effeminate, would attack your consciousness like a bored flight attendant droning on about where to jump when the plane bursts into flames.
As he swayed his entire body about to emphasize his dire warnings of contact over-use, I began to doubt the security of the situation. When he peered at my retinas from half an inch of distance from my face, the only light in the dark, closed room coming from his hand held eye-looker thingy, I had to resist the urge to break into hysterics.
I'm just glad they put jalapeños in my French fries at the restaurant where I ate lunch. It´s the little things that make these ordeals all worth while.
Don't eat here...
28 May 2009
Transitions... feel the burn
Sorry about the long absence... To say the least, the past few weeks have been tumultuous.
I moved out of College Station to deposit my belongings in a bedroom of my parents' house. I do not envision having an apartment again for quite some time. I have no job either here or in Brazil... which is unsettling.
I rarely worry about that sort of thing due to a bizarre sense of optimism, but you can tell the stress of uncertainty is beginning to weigh on me. I've started having nightmares every night at about three or four in the morning. They aren't scary either... they're accusing. Some person from my past troupes up to express his or her contempt for me. It's as though my subconscious were tying my penury and continued joblessness to every failed relationship or mistake I've ever committed.
Geez louise...
Nevertheless, there have been bright points in my time of waiting. I got to escape with old friends and new ones to Arkansas. Rigorous physical activity amid spectacular Ozark scenery will always be good for one's soul.
Also, I've been enjoying reconnecting with Dallas - a city I grew up in, but seem to be seeing for the first time, as it were. Everything's changed so much since I last lived here... as have I.
So here I am... waiting on calls and trying to find ways to make friends and stay occupied. I look at this time as a challenge to remain smiling despite the continuous stress ball at the pit of my stomach. With a little bit of grit, I will pull, punch and duct tape an amazing adventure in Brazil together that will provide you with delightful reading/viewing (that's right! viewing!) material for months to come.
Official leave date (as of now): June 27th... let's keep our fingers crossed.
p.s. These posts will not turn into a whiny David's journal, I promise. There's Dallas to explore! Here's a teaser for tomorrow's post - Dallas Chapter 1: Oak Cliff optical adventures!!
I moved out of College Station to deposit my belongings in a bedroom of my parents' house. I do not envision having an apartment again for quite some time. I have no job either here or in Brazil... which is unsettling.
I rarely worry about that sort of thing due to a bizarre sense of optimism, but you can tell the stress of uncertainty is beginning to weigh on me. I've started having nightmares every night at about three or four in the morning. They aren't scary either... they're accusing. Some person from my past troupes up to express his or her contempt for me. It's as though my subconscious were tying my penury and continued joblessness to every failed relationship or mistake I've ever committed.
Geez louise...
Nevertheless, there have been bright points in my time of waiting. I got to escape with old friends and new ones to Arkansas. Rigorous physical activity amid spectacular Ozark scenery will always be good for one's soul.
Also, I've been enjoying reconnecting with Dallas - a city I grew up in, but seem to be seeing for the first time, as it were. Everything's changed so much since I last lived here... as have I.
So here I am... waiting on calls and trying to find ways to make friends and stay occupied. I look at this time as a challenge to remain smiling despite the continuous stress ball at the pit of my stomach. With a little bit of grit, I will pull, punch and duct tape an amazing adventure in Brazil together that will provide you with delightful reading/viewing (that's right! viewing!) material for months to come.
Official leave date (as of now): June 27th... let's keep our fingers crossed.
p.s. These posts will not turn into a whiny David's journal, I promise. There's Dallas to explore! Here's a teaser for tomorrow's post - Dallas Chapter 1: Oak Cliff optical adventures!!
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