Last weekend a bunch of Tufts people (and others) and I went to see a movie called Dawson Isla 10.
Short movie review courtesy of Chilean Embassy:
“Dawson Island” 10 is a film that recounts the experiences of a group of approximately 50 senior officials and close aides to President Salvador Allende who were imprisoned on Dawson Island, a few days after the Pinochet military coup in 1973. Located south of the Strait of Magellan, this island became the southernmost political prison that existed in the world.
ese men, ministers, senators, and deputies, who embodied the dream of Allende, were subjected to forced labor in the frigid inclement weather of southern Chile.
Anyway, at one point in the movie one of the prisoners was talking to the head commander on the island about the military coup. After a quick disagreement about what American presidents were doing, the prisoner exclaimed, "Everyone knows that without the authorization of the United States, the coup would not have happened!"
Oh dear, thought I. Of course I was aware of this information, but what a friendly reminder of the splendid nation that I was born in.
I later began to think about the passing relationships that I've formed here and Chile and how my American identity has affected them. These relationships often occur when I stop to buy earrings, or fruit, or a guitar (yeah, I bought a guitar and I'm learning to play!!). Knowing from my appearance and from my accent that I am not Chilean, vendors will ask me where I am from. It usually takes me a second to answer, as I decide whether to say that I am from Colombia or from the United States. Usually I give the most accurate response, which is that I am from the United States. I say this mainly because I often lack the vocabulary and culture to pull off being 100% Colombian.
But, to be honest, I would much rather say that I am Colombian. Since being here, I've been asked many a time about where I am from, and why my accent is so good, and yadayadayada. These questions have driven me to think more about my national and cultural identity. And I've come to the conclusion that since my American national identity is mostly just a product of human exploitation for economic gain, and my American culture is imperialist and indulgent, I would much rather be associated with Colombia (not that Colombia doesn't have problems as well, but that's a whole other conversation). In reality, I greatly dislike patriotism, but I can't really say that I'm not from anywhere.
So after this friendly reminder from Dawson Isla 10 (oh, and Dead Prez. They always remind me that the US -for lack of a better word- sucks), I am attempting to step away from my American side and embrace my Colombian side (sorry father). This is not an attempt to be something that I am not, but rather an attempt to encourage something that I am. And how privileged I am to have this dual sense of identity. Well, it's a bit of a blessing and a curse, but all's well for now.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
P.S.
Last weekend Ben, Katrina, Christy, Aaron, and I (a.k.a. Tufts-in-Chile people who will be staying for the year) went down south to Temuco and Valdivia. These cities are not super-duper far south, but do check ‘em out on the map.
As I told Katrina earlier today, I was not too excited about this little trip that I did not do any of the planning for (I didn’t know where we were going until a few days before we left). However, I ended up having quite a nice time. Maybe it was because I’d finally had a weekend without having to worry about a paper or a test, or the sitting in McDonald’s at 7am, or the long chats on the overnight bus rides, or the strawberry banana milkshake at the trendy bar, or the sea-lions on the river, or the traditional café’s that serve delicious cake, or the meal that Ben Katrina and Aaron cooked, or the dancing ‘til 3am, or the delicious lunch in the countryside, or the massage train, or the beautiful lakes and mountains, or the company of my lovely friends. It wasn’t such a bad columbus day weekend after all. I would put some pictures up, but Aaron has my camera…facebook?
As I told Katrina earlier today, I was not too excited about this little trip that I did not do any of the planning for (I didn’t know where we were going until a few days before we left). However, I ended up having quite a nice time. Maybe it was because I’d finally had a weekend without having to worry about a paper or a test, or the sitting in McDonald’s at 7am, or the long chats on the overnight bus rides, or the strawberry banana milkshake at the trendy bar, or the sea-lions on the river, or the traditional café’s that serve delicious cake, or the meal that Ben Katrina and Aaron cooked, or the dancing ‘til 3am, or the delicious lunch in the countryside, or the massage train, or the beautiful lakes and mountains, or the company of my lovely friends. It wasn’t such a bad columbus day weekend after all. I would put some pictures up, but Aaron has my camera…facebook?
The Devil Beating His Wife
It rained today. The sky wasn't particularly sunny or cloudy, but the thunder started around 17:30. As I worked intently on my new ceramics project, I heard the muffled sounds of Chilean thunder (or truenos). Several people in class moaned at the sounds of thunder and pittle pattle on the roof, but I continued shaping my clay in an over-tired creative trance, as if nothing were happening.
Unlike every other day in ceramics class, I was the last student to leave. Normally I leave with my Tufts friend, Emily - after the California kids and before the Chilean kids. But today I slowly cleaned up my spot as if to avoid the down pour that was now banging on the roof. As I washed some tools, I smelled the familiar smell of summer rain in Cali, Colombia. That ever so slight whiff of my past awakened the nostalgia that seems (now more than ever) to grow like weeds - like dandelions - in the spaces between cemented thoughts.
And so, led by memories, I said bye the Professor, and headed into the rain. I walked quickly through the almond sized raindrops, and though disappointed by the lack of familiar smells, I noticed that there was an unusual amount of golden light on the sidewalk. The sun was shining. Sun and rain? What a lovely juxtaposition in nature. My father (I think it was my father) once told me that if sun shines while it's raining, "the devil is beating his wife"... or so they say. "They" being those who believe in the devil, and beatings, and wives.
Unlike every other day in ceramics class, I was the last student to leave. Normally I leave with my Tufts friend, Emily - after the California kids and before the Chilean kids. But today I slowly cleaned up my spot as if to avoid the down pour that was now banging on the roof. As I washed some tools, I smelled the familiar smell of summer rain in Cali, Colombia. That ever so slight whiff of my past awakened the nostalgia that seems (now more than ever) to grow like weeds - like dandelions - in the spaces between cemented thoughts.
And so, led by memories, I said bye the Professor, and headed into the rain. I walked quickly through the almond sized raindrops, and though disappointed by the lack of familiar smells, I noticed that there was an unusual amount of golden light on the sidewalk. The sun was shining. Sun and rain? What a lovely juxtaposition in nature. My father (I think it was my father) once told me that if sun shines while it's raining, "the devil is beating his wife"... or so they say. "They" being those who believe in the devil, and beatings, and wives.
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Adventures of Alfie and Me
It was a warm and lovely evening. My fellow exchange student friend from Australia, Mim, and I had just left our Economic Sociology class, and were headed home for the evening. As we walked through the campus gates, we chatted about the cultural priorities (like food and family) associated with Latin Americans.
And that’s when I saw her. She was sitting alone by the kiosk looking rather comfortable. Her tiny silhouette in the sunset was the cutest thing that I’ve seen in a long time. I quickly bent down and picked her up. She couldn’t have been more than six weeks old. And that’s when my Latin heritage immediately kicked in, and all I wanted to do was feed her and make her a part of my family. Thinking that she belonged to someone nearby, I asked the woman who owned the kiosk if it was hers. “No no no!” the woman exclaimed, “llévatelo, llévatelo tú!” I felt a little uncomfortable taking her away from where I’d found her – did she belong to somebody? Was her mother near by? Another girl, who had also been petting our new friend, affirmed that I should take the kitten with me. And so I did.
About two minutes later, I realized that I really couldn’t take this kitten home. Mim suggested that we at least bring it to her house (which was quite near by) and feed it. Upon arriving at Miriam’s house, I was warmly greeted by her host mom and host dog. We quickly put our stuff down and took our friend – our female friend, as we’d discovered after some snooping around – to the supermarket to buy some milk and kitten food. On the way, Mim and I pondered some names. Eventually, Mim came up with the brilliant name of Alfajor. An Alfajor is a layered small cookie-like cake thing with some kind of sugary creamy filling. They’re quite popular here, and quite delicious. And so we named her Alfajor – Alfie for short. I pointed out that Alfajor sounds more like a boy’s name, but Mim reminded me that we could defy gender norms by giving her this seemingly masculine name. Perfect.
As Mim and I wandered through the supermarket looking for food and milk, I kept Alfie in my jacket to keep her warm, but mainly to people from seeing that I brought a stray animal into the supermarket. Thankfully, she was asleep most of the time and the worst thing that happened was that Mim and I got a really dirty look from an old lady whilst picking out a flavor of cat food.
Back at home, Alfie caused lots of chaos. First because the dog, Lua, wanted to play with her, then because she kept running away when we fed her, then because she escaped from the box we’d left her in, then because she’d pooped on Mim’s desk, and then because the Lua kept breaking into the room and scaring Alfie while we tried to have once. Everything finally calmed down, and we had once in peace. We drank tea, and ate homemade bread and apple tart. I very much enjoyed talking to Mim’s host family – they are such warm, intelligent and beautiful people. Something about Mim’s house and family made me feel more at home here in Chile. Perhaps it was the rugged kitchen and patio that reminded me of Colombia, or her host mom’s cooking, or the huge smile on her host sister’s face when she spoke to me. I ended up staying for much longer than I’d planned because I was enjoying everyone’s company so much.
After once, Mim and I had to decide what to do with Alfie. Mim’s family couldn’t keep her, and I was pretty sure that my host mom wouldn’t want a cat. So we decided that I would take Alfie either back to where we found her or leave her somewhere near by. Before leaving I called one of my friends from the Tufts program to see if she would take Alfie, “Well, we already have three cats, but I’ll ask,” she said. Hoping that my friend would call me back with good news, I took Alfie with me on the bus home.
On the walk home, Alfie meowed so loudly that I began to wonder if she knew that I’d taken her away from her home. By the time I got to my house, I hadn’t yet received a call from my friend, so I figured that I would let Alfie sleep outside of our apartment, and hopefully see her the next morning. When I put her down, she followed me through the gates, which made it way too hard to part with her just then. So I took the risk and brought her inside. When I walked in, my host mom didn’t seem to mind that I had a kitten with me. I asked her if she wanted to keep the Alfie, but she said quickly said, "No". So I brought Alfie to my room and played with her for a while. Finally, it was time to put Alfie outside for the night. I left her wrapped in my scarf in the stairway outside of our apartment.
The next morning, I awoke early - What happened to Alfie?! I thought. Then I heard a familiar meow just outside of my window. I opened the curtain and saw tiny little Alfie, sitting in the morning sun on the sidewalk across the street from our apartment. Soon a car stopped, and a woman got out to pet Alfie. I thought she might even take her home, but instead she moved Alfie further away from the road. But Alfie wouldn’t stay still. Worried, I ran outside and brought Alfie back to the safety of my scarf. I quickly showered and got ready to go so that I could take Alfie back to campus where I’d found her - better to abandon her where I'd found her, right? :(
On my way out, however, Alfie wasn’t there. I wondered if someone had taken her in, or if she had just wandered away. I hoped for the best, and began walking towards my friend Katrina’s house. I walked slowly, saddened because I’d lost Alfie.
About a block later, I looked left and right to cross the street, and there she was! – her tiny little self, scurrying across the street too slowly to avoid oncoming traffic. I ran over and picked her up, happy to be holding her, but sad to know that she was still a street cat.
When Alfie and I got to Katrina’s block, we sat down and I fed her some breadcrumbs. Soon Katrina arrived, and despite her indifference towards most animals, Katrina thought that Alfie was very cute.
30 minutes later, Katrina and I were on campus, and it was now time to leave Alfie once and for all. I felt horrible leaving such a tiny creature on its own, but I hoped – I hope – that a student would come and feed her, protect her, or take her home. I said goodbye to Alfie, and began walking toward our class. When I turned around, helpless little Alfie stared at me as I walked away, as if to ask me why I was abandoning her one more time. It was quite sad, but such is life. Worse things have happened. I can only hope that Alfie is safely scampering around campus with a family and a full belly.
And who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other one day.
And that’s when I saw her. She was sitting alone by the kiosk looking rather comfortable. Her tiny silhouette in the sunset was the cutest thing that I’ve seen in a long time. I quickly bent down and picked her up. She couldn’t have been more than six weeks old. And that’s when my Latin heritage immediately kicked in, and all I wanted to do was feed her and make her a part of my family. Thinking that she belonged to someone nearby, I asked the woman who owned the kiosk if it was hers. “No no no!” the woman exclaimed, “llévatelo, llévatelo tú!” I felt a little uncomfortable taking her away from where I’d found her – did she belong to somebody? Was her mother near by? Another girl, who had also been petting our new friend, affirmed that I should take the kitten with me. And so I did.
About two minutes later, I realized that I really couldn’t take this kitten home. Mim suggested that we at least bring it to her house (which was quite near by) and feed it. Upon arriving at Miriam’s house, I was warmly greeted by her host mom and host dog. We quickly put our stuff down and took our friend – our female friend, as we’d discovered after some snooping around – to the supermarket to buy some milk and kitten food. On the way, Mim and I pondered some names. Eventually, Mim came up with the brilliant name of Alfajor. An Alfajor is a layered small cookie-like cake thing with some kind of sugary creamy filling. They’re quite popular here, and quite delicious. And so we named her Alfajor – Alfie for short. I pointed out that Alfajor sounds more like a boy’s name, but Mim reminded me that we could defy gender norms by giving her this seemingly masculine name. Perfect.
As Mim and I wandered through the supermarket looking for food and milk, I kept Alfie in my jacket to keep her warm, but mainly to people from seeing that I brought a stray animal into the supermarket. Thankfully, she was asleep most of the time and the worst thing that happened was that Mim and I got a really dirty look from an old lady whilst picking out a flavor of cat food.
Back at home, Alfie caused lots of chaos. First because the dog, Lua, wanted to play with her, then because she kept running away when we fed her, then because she escaped from the box we’d left her in, then because she’d pooped on Mim’s desk, and then because the Lua kept breaking into the room and scaring Alfie while we tried to have once. Everything finally calmed down, and we had once in peace. We drank tea, and ate homemade bread and apple tart. I very much enjoyed talking to Mim’s host family – they are such warm, intelligent and beautiful people. Something about Mim’s house and family made me feel more at home here in Chile. Perhaps it was the rugged kitchen and patio that reminded me of Colombia, or her host mom’s cooking, or the huge smile on her host sister’s face when she spoke to me. I ended up staying for much longer than I’d planned because I was enjoying everyone’s company so much.
After once, Mim and I had to decide what to do with Alfie. Mim’s family couldn’t keep her, and I was pretty sure that my host mom wouldn’t want a cat. So we decided that I would take Alfie either back to where we found her or leave her somewhere near by. Before leaving I called one of my friends from the Tufts program to see if she would take Alfie, “Well, we already have three cats, but I’ll ask,” she said. Hoping that my friend would call me back with good news, I took Alfie with me on the bus home.
On the walk home, Alfie meowed so loudly that I began to wonder if she knew that I’d taken her away from her home. By the time I got to my house, I hadn’t yet received a call from my friend, so I figured that I would let Alfie sleep outside of our apartment, and hopefully see her the next morning. When I put her down, she followed me through the gates, which made it way too hard to part with her just then. So I took the risk and brought her inside. When I walked in, my host mom didn’t seem to mind that I had a kitten with me. I asked her if she wanted to keep the Alfie, but she said quickly said, "No". So I brought Alfie to my room and played with her for a while. Finally, it was time to put Alfie outside for the night. I left her wrapped in my scarf in the stairway outside of our apartment.
The next morning, I awoke early - What happened to Alfie?! I thought. Then I heard a familiar meow just outside of my window. I opened the curtain and saw tiny little Alfie, sitting in the morning sun on the sidewalk across the street from our apartment. Soon a car stopped, and a woman got out to pet Alfie. I thought she might even take her home, but instead she moved Alfie further away from the road. But Alfie wouldn’t stay still. Worried, I ran outside and brought Alfie back to the safety of my scarf. I quickly showered and got ready to go so that I could take Alfie back to campus where I’d found her - better to abandon her where I'd found her, right? :(
On my way out, however, Alfie wasn’t there. I wondered if someone had taken her in, or if she had just wandered away. I hoped for the best, and began walking towards my friend Katrina’s house. I walked slowly, saddened because I’d lost Alfie.
About a block later, I looked left and right to cross the street, and there she was! – her tiny little self, scurrying across the street too slowly to avoid oncoming traffic. I ran over and picked her up, happy to be holding her, but sad to know that she was still a street cat.
When Alfie and I got to Katrina’s block, we sat down and I fed her some breadcrumbs. Soon Katrina arrived, and despite her indifference towards most animals, Katrina thought that Alfie was very cute.
30 minutes later, Katrina and I were on campus, and it was now time to leave Alfie once and for all. I felt horrible leaving such a tiny creature on its own, but I hoped – I hope – that a student would come and feed her, protect her, or take her home. I said goodbye to Alfie, and began walking toward our class. When I turned around, helpless little Alfie stared at me as I walked away, as if to ask me why I was abandoning her one more time. It was quite sad, but such is life. Worse things have happened. I can only hope that Alfie is safely scampering around campus with a family and a full belly.
And who knows, maybe we’ll run into each other one day.
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