Friday, April 16, 2010

Grandma Bev, a Guatemalan, and Breaking my Routine

I got a call from my Grandma Bev yesterday afternoon. For the first time in longer than I can remember, she seemed upbeat, maybe even happy. She ran through stories of her last couple days like a teenage girl who just got asked out by her big crush. Before hanging up, she invited me out to dinner last night at a sandwich/coffee shop because the guy who gave her the $5 special was Guatemalan and apparently wanted to meet me. Happy to hear my Grandma so elated and with literally nothing to do, I agreed to meet up at 5:30.

Around 6 o'clock, I found myself with my Grandma and her friend walking through cute downtown Metuchen and following them into an empty coffee shop. Behind the glass display case of parfaits and overpriced desserts stood a short Latino in his early to mid thirties. "Pedro!" my Grandma exclaimed in her still shaky voice, "This is my grandson. The one I told you about." He gave me a polite, yet slightly confused smile. "My grandson wants to learn Spanish," added my grandmother.

"Puedes entender
?" he asked me, testing my abilities. I said yes, and we talked a bit about my time in Guatemala. The connection between the Spanish speaking part of my brain and my mouth felt rusted and worn from lack of use as I threw out a "se" when there should've been a "te." My tongue stumbled and faltered on sounds I hadn't produced in over a month. He spoke slowly so I could understand. I told him I could help him with English if he would speak Spanish with me. He seemed surprised, but eager. I gave him my number.

I sat down with my Grandma and her friend at our table. My Grandma Bev leaned in with that old, anxious look in her eye, "Oh my God, Tommy, I hope I didn't get you into something that will hurt you. He's from Plainfield. I don't want you going there. It's very dangerous. Do you trust him?" "Grandma Bev," I interjected, "I just spent six months in Central America. Don't worry. He seems nice and I won't do anything that'll make me uncomfortable," I reassured her, but she seemed lost in her own worries. Her friend laughed and got what I was saying.

The truth was, however, that I did feel uncomfortable. But it didn't have anything to do with him being from Plainfield or him seeming sketchy. He didn't at all. Thoughts of where we would meet up bothered me. My house? His? In Metuchen? At my Grandma's? What would my family think of this? I can't bring him home. They wouldn't want a stranger in their house. These thoughts, barely breaching the surface of consciousness, rattled around in my head.

Then I thought back to the days, not so long ago, when I would hop on a bus not really sure if I was going in the right direction. I had no problem reaching out to people then. I thought about a couple of the truly random relationships I had made in my travels - Sergio and his bull testicle eating brother, the Rodas family. Why was this spontaneity so natural then and why did it feel so utterly alien now?

Then I realized that some of my greatest fears about my return home were coming true. I was falling into a routine, into old habits that I don't like but continue because they're easy and familiar. Staying up and watching TV when I'd be better off sleeping, jerking off when I could just as easily play guitar or read a book. With nothing to wake up early for, I don't, regardless of how early I go to bed. Monday feels like Friday, and Saturday like Wednesday. I might exercise for an hour or so a day, but the remaining hours are spent pretty immobile. What happened to reading in Spanish? What happened to keeping the salsa alive at home? To waking up early, exercising, eating healthy, and keeping my mind active and engaged?

After I finished eating, I walked up to the counter and continued our conversation. I asked him when he came here, where he was from, what his family was up to. He gave me his number as well. He said we can practice over the phone or in person and I said we'd meet up and practice English in person.

We shook hands and parted ways. I folded the receipt put it in my pocket, wondering, hoping, that I'd use the number written on it. Sitting in my kitchen, however, writing this entry, I feel those voices telling me to be complacent and comfortable, to stay put and not try new things. I hope I don't listen to them.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Stuck Sitting: Cars and Suburbs

One of the Spanish volunteers in Nicaragua, Pablo, had visited the US and didn't leave in love with the place. After a couple months in the Northeast, he complained that big cars guzzled too much gas, people had houses that were much bigger than necessary, and that everything was too spread out. As much as I hated conceding anything to him, I couldn't disagree with the last point.

While in Central America, if I wasn't taking a bus on a long distance trip I went where I was going on foot, unless I had a bike or it was dark. I walked to class, to the markets, to the city center. After only a couple months, I found myself down 15-20 lbs, with an increased metabolism, and much more alert and attentive while I was awake.

Now that I'm home, in safe, secluded suburbia, walking anywhere worth going to is a dangerous multi-hour trek. With most major roads around me carrying speed limit signs between 35 and 45 mph and straddled by shoddy, if any, sidewalks, even biking isn't all that viable of an option. Unless you have a lot of time to kill and no fear of death, you need a car.

And already, after only a couple weeks of limited physical activity, I feel lethargic and slow, both physically and mentally. I forget things like street names and what time it is even though I just looked at my clock. I can't finish a page of a book without having to snap myself out of daydreaming. I sleep 9 hours and wake up tired, spend the whole day half-awake only to fall asleep and repeat the whole process. My mind needs my body to do something, anything, to keep the blood flowing, to keep it sharp and awake. The problem is it's just so easy to sit. And sit. And sit some more. Walking or riding a bike are simple solutions, but not practical ones. I don't want to be a product of my environment, but do I have a choice? I'm hoping the answer is yes, but we'll see.