I will probably never be as happy as the singing breadman. There was a man walking through the market outside Santa Tere with a box of bread on a dolly, offering a loaf for people to try as they walk past. Most people don’t even seem to see him, looking at the wares and ignoring the humanity. I can’t understand the full song, but it’s happy, buoyant, and repetatitive, in a wonderful way. It makes me think of old Italian movies, chefs making amazing food, pizza dough spinning in the air. Sometimes I go wander just to see him pass by.
I love the little things here, the woman singing opera in the market on Avendia Mexico, random spots of music everywhere. A new taco shop just a road over from a route I always take. There are still a few surprises in this city, and a few places nearby that I need to go. Looking away from here is easy. I’m finding it hard to be here, to focus on what’s in front of me. Being present is the first step in meditation. It’s good practice to focus on being here when I’m so close to gone, but it’s not always easy.
It’s nice to have time between classes, time to relax, but I’m not used to it anymore. I find I have to remember how to fill up my time. Wandering the city doesn’t have the appeal it used to, it’s too familiar. There is a problem with wanderlust, and traveling with the winds. When you feel the pull, but can’t yet go, it’s disheartening. I have trouble maintaining the joy I feel at being able to go later since I cannot go now. I know I will miss a lot of people here, and that I will never find the same food or exact feeling that I found here, but I’m still looking for something. I wish I knew what it was.
I still wonder if it’s to be found out here, or if maybe I could have found it back home. I still believe that being where I was interfered with what I can be. The world around us does so much to create us, but it’s hard to realize that while we’re surrounded with what we’ve always known. Even here in Mexico, it’s too much like home to completely lose that self. I wonder who I’ll become when I’m lost in the steppes, sitting on a warm beach, lost in the ancient cities of this world, jungles, mountains, deserts.
I was reading an article about how when a person learns a new language, they tend to take on different personality traits. Sometimes it’s the influence of the culture that the language is part of. I start to wonder how important language is to who we are. I realized that when I’m in Spanish class I’m making noises at someone in order to learn new noises to make at other people. The whole concept seems ridiculous, but within those noises and the squiggles on the board contain everything that is the culture of a country.
It’s interesting to see how my perspectives have changed over the last year. I don’t know if I’ve changed as a person, that’s too hard to see from the inside. I know my habits have changed, I can see that easily enough. Social habits change, world view, but most important is the questions I’m asking, even if I’m still not finding all the answers.