Articles by Elizabeth Phillips
“Where’s the APPO? I kinda miss’em.”
November 28, 2006 by Elizabeth PhillipsMy roommate and I laugh at our political incorrectness on our way home from a long day. As strangers to not only this country but especially to this city that has suffered for over 5 months, we can’t help but see the nightly bonfires occupying our street as a familiar fixture of our life here, it is all we have known. But to have lived here all your life, and to watch your city, your home, be dirtied by graffiti on every building, inconvenienced by barricades blocking the streets you’ve walked for years, has to be a very different experience. For this difference it is of the utmost importance to listen, as extranjeros, without bias. I have heard students at either end of the political spectrum and have myself, made the mistake of forming an opinion, but I don’t have the right. As outsiders it is impossible to form an unbiased perspective after a month of merely living in this city.
However, having lived in the capital of this poor state (in the midst of the political crossfire) has given us the opportunity to truly experience some of the different perspectives first hand. For example…
I sit down with another student for a hot-street-side empanada and when we finally take a breath, mouths burning with salsa verde, she asks me,
“What are all those people waiting for?”
“Nada,” I say (in just the carefree tone I’ve found myself replicating). “They’re just standing there.”
In that moment we found ourselves surrounded by teachers, APPO, protestors; you name it, they hated Ulises. We had apparently chosen a lovely spot to chow down in the middle of a demonstration against the governor of Oaxaca. Not really able to escape through the march and certainly not wanting to draw attention to ourselves, we watched the (what looked like) thousands of sun-weary men and women drag on through the streets we usually take to school. Not that I encourage sight-seeing when it comes to political demonstrations in foreign countries (in fact, it is illegal for non-citizens to participate here) but it, yet again, reminded me to stay objective. Were these young women (who looked like pre-school teachers to me) misinformed? I had heard nothing but trash-talk about these people and yet, thousands of non-delinquents were there marching the streets.
This march was shortly before the federal police arrived. The events surrounding the PFP (policía federal preventiva) as represented by the media were somewhat different from the local rumors and my own impression. This was, again, a reminder to investigate any situation from all sides before forming an opinion and even then, perhaps it is best to remain albeit passionate, a bit unsure as well.
Mexico
October 17, 2006 by Elizabeth Phillips
“Me cayes muy bien”
Innocent enough, I thought; though my response an awkward silence, squirming in my chair with a wide grin and raised brow that must have expressed, “You’re just a bus station acquaintance!”
But… apparently not.
I’m not terribly type-A when it comes to traveling and, as it were, my arrival abroad was somewhat less conventional than most other students’ arrangements. My classic rookie move was at the airport in Mexico City when I followed a taxi driver practically from my gate (across 5 lanes of crazy non-pedestrian designated traffic) to his car. After several attempts to get the cab fare out of him, (his tactics at producing confusion were flawless), and subsequently realizing what had happened once inside the moving vehicle, I decided to accept my traveling situation for what it was: a rolling ball already in motion.
The literal translation of “me cayes muy bien” is “you fall on me very well.” And it really wasn’t until I felt the clammy weight of his hand on mine that I realized the earlier affirmation was perhaps, albeit friendly, a bit of an understatement. Trapped in a cab with his happy, dancing fingers puncturing my personal space, I glued my face to the window trying to remove myself and yet frantically flipping through the filing cards in my head that would surely tell me how to handle the situation.
My 24-hour arrival process truly lacked foresight. Much like my blind paleobiology professor with his fossils, the acute perception I normally possess was somehow shut off until the situation was already upon my deliberate fingertips. At which point I knew all too well the species, age, and origin of each particular fossil.
But perhaps this phenomenon can be accredited to me and me alone; maybe I chose to ignore the obvious signs out of selfishness or boredom. A dear friend of mine once told me that one must “engage” in one’s interactions and now, years later, I may finally comprehend her wisdom. Of course such enlightenment only came to me after a subsequent and similar situation, this time ignoring the advances of my host-brother no less. But don’t let this discourage you from living with a host family if you should have the opportunity; if you can perform the necessary personal “engagement,” there shouldn’t ever be a problem.
I, however, had not performed the necessary engagement and though it certainly feels good to be wanted, the inappropriateness of such incestuous interactions doesn’t exactly inspire me to throw caution to the wind. I am left with a choice to either confront the situation in a preventative fashion (for once) or to continue curatively slapping down band-aids. Should I abide by what’s safe and known in residing at my current homestay or do I trade in doors 1 and 2 for mystery door number 3?
Whether or not braving the awkward conversation with administration and host-mom is the best decision (as I have chosen to do), one thing is sure: to ignore the reality of another’s feelings (if even for lack of his/her verbal expression) is to selfishly take advantage of a situation without regard for his/her welfare. To accept help from a stranger without considering his motivations was not only a bit risky but also irresponsible. Likewise, in receiving the advances from my host-brother and thereby reciprocating them, albeit passively, I jeopardized not only his and my contentment with our living situation but that of the entire household - forced into the awkward situation by sheer physicality.
It is not (nor is it ever) too late to be present in one’s interactions. I made the mistake of ignoring important social signs but unlike my thyroid condition or even my slight addiction to sugar, my behavior is not a genetic prison and I intend to change it. The insistence on personal growth especially when traveling abroad, weighs heavily on my thoughts and will surely influence my actions here in the days to come.
