1 Year 1 Day

I’ve been foreign or at least felt and been received as foreign since I can remember. Maybe that can explain why my hair was always changing when I was a young buck…and it typically wasn’t for the best.  From slicked back, ¼ side parted (my mom called my Louis Farrakhan), buzzed, ½ side parted, slicked forward, curly top, corn rows, box plaits and that was all before I hit high school. 

It was definitely a nuisance for that part of my life…that whole idea of not fitting in with the other cabrochicos…

…and those consistently bloody annoying questions…

“What are you?”  “A human I suppose, but I bet that’s not what your so kindly trying to ask”

“Are you black?” “Nope, I find my self to be more tan or bronze, but honestly I’ve never seen a black person in my life.  Please inform me when you do.”

“Are you white?” “Once again, not the most intelligent question or word choice, but I guess we use the filters we’re given.”

“Are you Mexican?” “¡Yeah and I speak Mexican as well!  Obviously the word Latino is too far fetched, as well as the idea that there are…oh… about 20 other countries that speak Gabriel Garcia Marques’ native tongue.  But I’m addicted to spicy food, my skin is the same tone as those toasted tortillas crammed with deliciousness, and I’m enamored with their language…  ¿Do you know where I could apply to join their club? ”

And yet at some unspecific moment I realized & fully embraced that I absolutely loved my “unboxable”, “non-categorizeable” life. Obviously anyone can and should live that way, but having found myself lacking a mundane “this is who your suppose to be” rut I think I received it a bit more freely. 

This probably explains my desire to experience the world, my unwavering desire to be neither the otter, lion, golden retriever or the beaver, but all and none all at once.  My love of languages, cultures and disgustingly delightful food.  My excited soul when I found my favorite and yet most hated word; dichotomy, because it sums it all up so nicely and yet still leaves our worlds with chasms of separation.

I’ve been here a year and a day as an official immigrant.  I’m still asked those bland, half whited questions and yet receive them as gum drops and lolly pops…for the most part that is.  No longer am I mistaken for a Mexican, but instead a Brazilian.  I’m cool with that.

Oh and a few days ago I was chatting it up with a guy in the market and he called me Peruvian, which was a huge bonus the way I see it.  Every body wants to lose that beautiful gringo accent (it’s actually atrocious :) and have people thinking that your second language is actually your first.  Let me stop with this tangent and just say it was a marking point of my Spanish speaking life and anyone who speaks a second language can probably understand this joyous moment. 

Tomorrow I’ll probably sound more gringo than ever because I wrote this. 

And returning to the point…I love being an immigrant and most everyone besides Chilean banks loves us too, but I think they snobbishly ignore a great majority of those who walk on two feet. 

I absolutely love and dislove parts of Chilean culture. I haven’t exactly found my soul-culture here nor seek it out.  I think that’s why we’re (those crazy followers of Christ) called to be and live as citizens of another kingdom. 

So the next time you see/meet someone different, their accent, nationality, skin tone, hair color, language ask them something that sparks conversation not a “how can I categorize you question”, but a “I want to learn about you” question.  Maybe the best question would be to just spend time truly sharing life with them as it all grooves along.