I am a proud Mexican

I am proud Mexican. Soy una Mexicana orgullosa! Yes, 25% of the blood running through my veins comes from the best country on earth. 25% is a minority I know, and for those of you who know what I look like question even that percentage. Unfortunately, I don’t look 25% Mexicana. I don’t even look 1/2% thanks to my blond hair and pale skin. But who you are is not about what you look like, it’s what’s inside that counts, or at least that’s what we have learned since we were 2. Well then, be that true, beating inside my white little chest, is the biggest Latin heart you have ever seen!
I am feeling the need to write about this to try and clear up the dumbfounded look most people have when I express my love of everything Latin. Most people assume I am facing some kind of identity crisis and give me a sympathetic nod like you do to little children who think they are dinosaurs or monster, like I will grow out of it one day. However, for me it has been working in the opposite direction. Every day I grow more and more into an almost unhealthy obsession. At the beginning most people just laughed at it, like most of my weird little quirks. But I saw their expressions change from amusement to concern when I decided to move from Orange County to San Diego to closer myself to the border. Even more so when I started crossing into Tijuana every weekend (and some week days), simply to “breathe in the fresh air.”
But, to me, it’s not weird at all. It’s just like any human with a hobby. They practice it and learn all about it, do it every free moment they have, and love every second of it, even in the learning phases when they suck at it. My hobby just happens to be exercising my latin side.
My travels were what really started the love journey for me. My restless feet and curiosity for the unknown have taken me all over the world. But even after having gone to some of the most beautiful places on earth, Paris, Florence, London, nothing quite fulfills me like being in a country where Spanish is the main language and the guys call at you like cats walking down the street. Not that there aren’t beautiful Latin countries! Of course, Spain has some of the most gorgeous cities in the world, Costa Rica holds the world’s best natural wonders, and Mexico’s beaches are heavenly. But those beauties are not what I love, mostly because those things do not make up the heart of the culture. It’s in the inner cities, which most tourist avoid, where you really see the Latin life, and it is more breathtaking to me than any natural wonder. Their love for family and friends is unbreakable, they embrace the simple, free enjoyments of life, like friends, family, laughing, The Virgin Mary, dance, music, romance, and hating all other fellow Spanish speaking countries besides their own. That was one advantage I have by being American, I’m loved by the entire Latin world. That is why I had to learn Spanish, so I could properly love it back. And of course, so I could speak to my mother-in-law one day. J
I am convinced that it takes a deep love to be able to learn a language. There is no other force strong enough to keep you committed. It is definitely the hardest thing I have every tackled, which is a validated statement since I have graduated college with a degree in accounting and conquered all four parts of my CPA exam. Being able to express not just words and phrases, but yourself, in another tongue is exhausting and, at times, impossible. It requires every muscle in your brain and mouth working in complete harmony and at flawless speed. It requires memorization, commitment, hours of practice and most of all, cultural humility. But, oh! What euphoria when even the simplest phrase comes out in perfect synchronization. Or when you understand exactly what someone is saying to you for the first time, even if it’s just “hello, how are you?” You feel on top of the world! Nothing could be too hard for you! Ph.d? Why not? The bar exam? Piece of cake! Why? Because I just ordered dinner in Spanish! I can take care of myself in another language! What can get more intelligent than that! It isn’t until the waiter then asks you what you want to drink and you stare at him in blank confusion that you are brought back down to reality and public shame and are inspired to study more.
Something about that language is just intoxicating. Every word I hear hypnotizes me, and every word I say always sends butterflies up my stomach as if I just developed a crush on whoever is speaking. Which, the majority of the time, is usually the case.
There just isn’t anything quite like a man who speaks Spanish. Even if he’s as old as your grandfather, he’ll be just as willing and eager to talk with you, woe you, impregnate you, sing to you and write you love letters. Most of them do it to 2 or 3 girls at once, that’s how much they love it. Though I have never agreed with unfaithfulness that seems inevitable in a Hispanic romance, I have always been quite impressed with their stamina.
It’s amazing how many things you rationalized for what you love. I find who I am almost changes when I’m in Mexico as compared to my life in San Diego. For instance, I’ve never been able to see myself as a mother, I just don’t feel like I have those natural maternal instincts that most girls have. At least not in English. But in Mexico, nothing is more beautiful to me than the children there, with their dark skin and big eyes. I whole heartily love each one, even if I am a little resentful that they can speak Spanish so much better than me at a tenth of my age. It’s actually quite frustrating when you think about it.
So, as I chug along in my current gringa lifestyle, I continue to daily exercise my favorite hobby, hoping to one day have the opportunity to make it my life. Until then I try to turn all this obsession into something actually tangible and useful. My Tijuana wonderings introduced me to hundreds of little friends that I look forward to seeing every week more than anything, hoping that it is possible to give them just a small percentage of what they have given me, and to leave the best place on earth just a little better because I was there. Should this be accomplished, how could I ever ask for anything more?

So here I am...writing

So here I am, writing. Quite obviously stated I know, but I feel the need to explain this sudden re-occurrence of an old passion. Writing, for me, is not at all a new past-time or hobby. No, I have always loved to write creatively. The desire came to surface during my high school days, when I was assigned creative writing essays in my English class. I would relish those assignments, mulling of the themes and topics and the different ways I could express my thoughts. I would always wait patiently for my creativity to arrive (which it always did eventually, at its own convenience) and together we would create a little piece of myself on paper. My essays always did my teacher proud, as well as my mother, who still to this day insists that, one day, I will come to my senses and quit my well paying, stable career in finance and become a writer.
My mother’s fantasies about my career seemed to make some sense at first. After all, weren’t we taught from grade school that we should pick our career based on our hobbies and pastimes? That might be a popular method of career choosing for many, but for me, I disagree with it completely. To me, hobbies are about separating yourself from the stress, pressures and demands of work and allowing yourself to run wild in the freedom of your interests. We have complete control of our hobbies because we do them at our leisure. By turning them into our career, they would then have complete control of us, because we would need it to survive. What could be worse than taking something that we love and turning it into our source of income? It’s like sending our children to work to help pay the bills, abusive and unfair.
However, this is not to say that a job can’t be enjoyable nor that we can’t use our talents within our career. But I know that if my financial and professional success were reliant on a favorite pastime, it would no longer be a favorite pastime, it would be a job, another boss to answer too. I would become angry and frustrated with it when it would not function as needed. With writing, this could be especially dangerous, since it is a creative hobby. I do consider myself a creative person, but not at my own disposal. I have creative moments that awaken at random that I must harness in that exact moment or it is gone until who knows when. Should I be relying on this fickle friend of mine for money, I would find that my rent would be perpetually late and my credit score shot. The biggest danger, even above the financial instability, is the risk of abusing your passion to the point of disdaining it. Any one thing, if it is done to the extreme, will begin to annoy and be resented by the user. That is why so many Americans face a mid-life crisis, because they wake up one day and realize what they thought they loved to do and revolved their career around, they were actually quite sick of, and were left with nowhere to go from that point on. And should that job also be your pastime, you are not only losing your career but also a part of yourself. A job that is part of you is not disposable. And that is the main reason why I chose a career in finance. It is a career that is stable and allows me fund my life, while also giving me the comfort of knowing I can leave it at any point should my heart so desire, because it is not a part of who I am. My hobbies and talents, however, are, and I want to cherish and nurture them, so they can grow up into something strong, stable, and mature, and maybe one day, like children, they might be able to give back to me all I have invested in them.