Change

I have come to believe that while once a creature that enjoyed the new and exciting, that reveled in what lurked around the corner and that found the unknown interesting... I have changed a bit. I have changed to not appreciate, well, change the way I once did. I still think I'm resilient with the punches and throws that life serves, but I'm exhausted with it. So, in contemplation I started thinking of all the "change" that Mexico has offered me.

Change. Dinero. La lana. Every time I pay for something I always do a quick count of my change. It has always been accurate. I don't know why I still do it. I never do in the US. I don't know if I'm just a racist or elitist and think that I'll be cheated or they won't count correctly. Afterall, this is a country of informal economies, of fast action transactions on the street. Vale diez pesos, vale diez pesos! Is heard throughout the streets. Socks, pens, roasted nuts, steamed tamales, candy, nail files, pirated DVDs, post-it notes, calling cards, newspapers, tacos, blankets. Are all sold in a constant flow of commerce and exchange. I walk out my door in the morning and on the way to work I grab a tamale con rajas, chit-chat with the woman selling them and then hand over my 6 pesos, hoping she meant it when she said it wasn't made with meat. I then walk down the street a bit more, turn the corner and select what juice I'll have from José Luis, who sells freshly squeezed juice out of an old shopping cart. For less than 70 cents US I have my choice of beets, carrots, mandarin, orange, grapefruit, or guayaba. Count the change.

There are two things to be noted in this. One is trust. Where does our mistrust come from? Is it a subconscious manifestation of my own personal racism? Do I just trust a cash register more than human math? How am I capable of having a friendly relationship with the guy that sells me my beet and mandarin combo juice in the morning, that I haven't ever had with my Whole Foods clerk? However, why do I still doubt his accuracy, or whatever else, whereas the tattooed and pierced kid at Whole Foods has somehow gotta be right since he has a computer in front of him? Do I fear that because I appear gringa that I will somehow be a target for losing a mere 10 cents or so, USD? And where was this fear of "losing" or "being cheated out of" money come from? The second thing to be noted is the system of economics in Mexico. Why is a land of so much need, is there also so much consumption? Why for the first time IN MY LIFE have I been told by vendors that there are no mangos available because "it is the season" for them? Why do I not find many things, other than food, that are made in Mexico? Mexico imports so much but yet appears to have the capability and the human-power to be largely self-sustaining. Among the chaos of street vendors, food puestos, and roadside markets, is there order? Why, in nearly every sales transaction I've had here in Mexico, are vendors not just willing, but actually initiate a conversation? An attempt to get to know me. I can ask any question. What is this? Where does this come from? How do I cook it? And I am treated to a 15-minute verbal dissertation, which can often lead into a myriad of other topics- politics, family, US-Mexico relations, English language, my love life.

Change. Here I am, starting over again in Puebla, after a difficult decision to change jobs from one in which I wasn't feeling challenged in Mexico City, to one that is taking me all over rural Puebla and Tlaxcala (two states in Mexico) doing house visits, talking with workers about their labor rights and participating in active organizing. I didn't want to leave D.F. (Distrito Federal, aka Mexico City, aka Mexico, el Distrito, etc.). My social life rivaled the excitement of my early college years and my nights were packed with things to do, people to see, places to visit. But I came to Mexico with two main goals: primarily to perfect my Spanish and hopefully become fluent, and secondarily, to learn the ins-and-outs of organizing from a union perspective. Neither of those were being accomplished. Both my boss at the Solidarity Center and my coordinator at the Lutheran Center encouraged me to consider changing organizations, which would also mean changing cities, and with that housing, neighborhood, comfort, and of course, friends.

I love to network. I make friends easily. I love exploring new places. But to be honest, I'm exhausted. I want familiarity. I've been living in a foreign country for only 5 months, but when simple communication is an effort, the rest can appear too much to surmount. I have 6 months left and I have to make a new group of friends, I have to explore a new (although MUCH smaller) city, I have to learn a new neighborhood, I have to find new housing, I have to understand a new industry of workers, I have to learn the inner workings of a new organization and the personalities within it. It feels like a lot. I didn't expect for this to happen half way through the year. But in the same sense, I also am trying to remind myself that this is a wonderful opportunity and I made this decision with my very concrete goals in mind. In only two weeks I've lived here, I have seen an improvement in my Spanish. Furthermore, I have gone to several workers homes, sat with them, and humbly listened to their stories of injustice and economic abuse by the US company that employs them. I can walk Puebla much more than in DF and while I haven't found a favorite taco man, I have been loving the food. The old colonial buildings are gorgeous and the air is a bit cleaner. I am having the opportunity to complete both of my goals and I am feeling much more useful in my job. Change isn't so bad.

Change. And what about the change that is needed? I have learned more in this year about the world than I ever have in my years of reading the newspaper daily. To read a feature article about the affected migrant farmers is one thing. To talk to a family that has lost many of their men to the capitalist needs of the States is another. To read a news article about a "violent protest" in Southern Mexico is one thing. To see the thousands of people march from hundreds of miles away to the capital to make their demands known to the federal government is another. To see the government promise to rid the country of political and social movements is a lot harder when you see why these folks are fighting mad. My eyes are open. My heart is ready. My mind is a filled. My actions are calculated. My thoughts are focused. Then why do I feel so confused? So alone. What am I willing to give up? How can I possibly share this with others when it is still so overwhelming for me? I often wonder is change even possible at all when we're dealing with such large entities such as governments and corporations. It is hard not to lose your idealism, or even hope when you try to think about what one person can do. Change is hard.

Change. And then there's the inevitable question of "what will you do after this?" Change is scary. I'll be honest, I fear more than anything else right now a return to the States. I miss it in many ways- the choice, the apparent efficiency, my friends, familiarity. But I also love my life here- for better and for worse. Sometimes I fondly think of the comfy bed I'll buy when I get back. I want a down comforter, soft sheets with a Moroccan design, red pillows thrown all about, and a height that practically requires a ladder to surmount, or at the very least a run-and-jump to get into bed. I miss the selection of the super market. I day dream about strolling up and down the aisles of Whole Foods and the abundance of free samples. I want to receive my j.crew catalogs in the mail nearly weekly and ponder over which argyle sweater goes better with the crisp oxford shirt. I even think how lovely it will be that hot water won't run out when I'm taking a 10 minute shower or that I will be able to drink from water fountains again.

There are times when I really look forward to a return to the States. But right now I am really happy here in Mexico. Life is more peaceful here. There's not as much hectic schedules. I don't have to schedule good friends in two weeks ahead in order to see them for an hour. I feel like work doesn't overpower everything and much of that is because, for the first time, I really love what I'm doing. I feel like organizing is it in so many ways for me. I love the strategy, the networking, the relationship building, the leadership, the empowerment. I hope I can continue to have good mentors that want me to succeed and recognize and utilize my strengths. And now that I have that here in Mexico, I'm afraid it won't be the same in the US. I'm afraid to return to the egos, the hustle and bustle, the disconnection from kind and generous interactions. I fear going to a place where social change doesn't mean survival. And the truth is I really fear going back because I don't want to undo the change that I have experienced here. How do we let life shape us and force us to grow, without letting go of the moments that have made us better people? How will I take Mexico back with me? How will I keep Mexico in my heart and soul, when the world around me is not Mexico? In many ways I feel like I've regained my soul here. I don't want to lose it again. I don't want to change.