#Me Too

Sometimes Córdoba is frustrating and a little isolating and nothing works the way I want it to.

And sometimes I kiss my friends goodbye after a nice evening and I run to catch the bus at 11:30pm and the bus driver waits for me and I get a solo seat by the window and in the back of the bus there's someone with a guitar playing folk songs and spreading words of compassion and love for the passengers and I look out the window and listen and smile.

Harry Potter reference coming, bear with me... (I've just finished my long journey of reading and watching all of the books and movies in Spanish, so I've really got HP on the mind). I think my relationship with Oxford was more like Ginny/Harry, where it started with naive infatuation and I had to get over that initial idealization for it to grow into a more complex understanding and sustainable affection. And my relationship with Córdoba is more like Ron/Hermione, starting with irritation and lack of understanding and, after living day after day and going through a lot of rough stuff together, building mutual respect and appreciation.

Or maybe I personify cities a little too much. :P

On a more serious note, I've been thinking a lot this week about body and gender. (Okay like when am I NOT thinking about that kind of stuff but like specifically right now) I really don't want to hear another thing about Harvey Weinstein in my life, but he shows up on the TV even here in Argentina.

I've more or less followed the news surrounding him, and on Tuesday morning last week I woke up to the outpouring of #Me Too statements on my Facebook feed. (If you don't know what that is, pause reading this blog post for a second and check out the article here for some background)

Which... I don't know. I have so many conflicting feelings around it all, and I've seen articles and posts expressing just about every different thing that has gone through my mind.

First of all, I appreciate that people are starting conversation around sexual harassment and violence, because it needs to change. I deeply admire the courage shown by everyone who has shared that status, and I hope that it continues to raise awareness and inspire a cultural shift. Every post, as much as it hurt, also added to a feeling of solidarity and strength.

But then there comes the uncertainty: is it my place to post? No, nothing I have experienced is bad enough. I mean sure, technically I guess maybe it would count but other people have experienced things so much worse...

The dismissal, the self-doubt, the normalizing-- the very reasons that this campaign exists-- are stopping me from writing those two words.

I remember seeing the first couple "Me Too's" and thinking... "Well, of course. Who hasn't?"

That, I know, is part of the point. That we are so accustomed to it. What femme person has not experienced gendered harassment or violence at some point? Why is anyone surprised to see all of the women in their life sharing this post? It was shocking to me that people found this shocking.

I understand and want to acknowledge how sexual harassment/violence is tied to sexism and often directly arises out of a culture of toxic masculinity. And while reading these posts, I also thought of the people who have experienced assault who are not women, and the focus on cis women while trans women often slipped through the cracks. A couple people on my feed pointed this out, commenting that rape culture is something that impacts all of us: cis women, trans women, trans men, nonbinary folk, and cis men, too (these categories not being mutually exclusive). People of all genders have experienced the kind of violence that is being discussed.

So given the fact that these experiences are so widespread and can leave scars so deep... what does it mean that person after person is reliving their experiences on social media platforms? How many people felt obligated to share, to dredge up memories and hurts that they may not have been ready to face? How many people have felt guilty for not sharing because they simply could not, or would be made unsafe by sharing?

This past week, two friends were sexually assaulted. One week.

This week, a young woman I know in Córdoba was slapped in the face by a man on a motorbike and had her phone stolen on the middle of a busy street in the city center in broad daylight.

This week, I gritted my teeth and kept my eyes forward as man after man whistled and catcalled me while I walked to school because I had decided to wear a dress in the hot weather instead of long pants and a shirt. I tried to reassure myself by saying that it was normal, it would go no further than words, which I could easily ignore and block out with headphones. But it still brings up fears and frustrations about my body and how I am perceived in the world.

For me, the choice to wear a dress is always fraught. I love dresses, but I hate the kind of attention I get for choosing to put them on-- not just the uncomfortable objectification, but also the showering of compliments and praise for correctly performing femininity. I know people mean it well, and part of me is able to take in the compliments and appreciate them (much easier if they are from people who I feel know me well and value me in other ways). But when people I barely know, who have never complimented me for my skills or my strength or something other than my appearance... It makes me feel like a stranger in my own skin. When I see gender as a social construct, something far beyond the typical binary, I cannot bring myself to place my own body squarely into the category of man or woman. Yet the world sees me as "woman," and that shapes the way I walk through it. It shapes the way people respond to my clothing choices. And sometimes it puts me at higher risk of certain kinds of harassment and violence.

What does it mean to have bodily autonomy, to have ownership of your body, when you are surrounded by a culture of sexual violence?

I am reminded of the art opening in my old apartment, and the phrase that was written above one of the doorways: la piel es un limite / entonces / la piel es una posibilidad, "the skin is a limit / therefore / the skin is a possibility."

Is there a way to turn what feels like limits placed on my skin, my body, into possibilities?

How do I challenge people to question the way they gender me? How do I understand my own gender?

Can I find a sense of safety in this body?

What does my outward appearance say about me?

What difference is there between "me" and "my body'?

I've been practicing yoga the last several mornings, listening to youtube videos that tell me to pay attention to my body, to listen to what it needs, to follow it. I think, like many people, I've had times where it is easier to mentally detach from my body. To try to control it. To stop listening to it, to ignore how it feels because maybe that will make the discomforts of it go away.

But I know that, for me, detaching myself from my body is not going to help me answer any of those questions I just posed or help me feel authentically myself.

When I practice circus arts, I often feel happier, more at ease, and more connected (to myself and to others). Part of it, I believe, is because of this deeply physical experience. I can't ignore my body when I'm climbing the rope and the pressure between my feet, or the strength of my grip, is the only thing keeping me in the air. I am there, physically and mentally present. And in that presence, something true and unique to me comes out.

In my aerial rope class, we did an activity where we partnered up and practiced a short routine. We went through it a few times, becoming comfortable. Then we had to watch our partner as they did the routine, and then repeat it-- but try to do it exactly the way our partner did. We had to watch and notice how each person's movements were unique to them. Some of it was easy to copy, like flexing the feet instead of pointing. Some of it was more difficult. It was funny, to see each other's attempts to mimic our partner's unique style-- to see where we succeeded at imitating them and where we just couldn't shake our own habits.

This exercise not only taught us to seek out new, different ways of performing certain skills on rope, it also revealed to each of use that there is something to each of our individual physical styles that no one else can quite capture.

We talked about each person's style after, and it was really wonderful to listen to people describe my unique manner of doing rope. Apparently I have a very special way of gripping the rope, almost like I am caressing it-- I'm very cariñosa toward it. And, with my long limbs, I create a sense of extension, expansion, that changes the way the movements look.

At this point, you are probably like "Lizzy where on earth is this rambling going." But I guess what I'm realizing, or what I'm trying to get at, is that these moments of physicality help ground me. They help me feel at home in this body. It isn't as much about whether or not I wear a dress, whether I present more masculine or feminine, but when I am in touch with these physical sensations and motions that are uniquely mine. When I notice the way my legs carry me as I jog down the block, the way I hold onto the bars on the bus to stabilize myself, the way that I automatically position my fingers to snap when I agree with someone.

In Argentina, I have sometimes felt less safe moving through the world in this body, and it almost feels like that awareness has been... echoed, or heightened, by things happening in the states.

In answer to those Facebook and Twitter posts: Me too.

But I am also learning to find healing and connection with my body despite-- because of?-- this. I feel like I have become better and better at listening to my body.

Bodies, of course, are in constant flux, so this is an ongoing process. But right now, I feel really appreciative of some of the things I have learned here.

To close, a few pictures from my week:

Waffle with ice cream!! As I suspected, the waffle was a little sad and not exactly what I would hope for from a waffle, but the ice cream was tasty :)

Somebody fell asleep with his glasses on?

Mochi u such a dork

The night before Argentine elections, all of the bars have to stop selling alcoholic drinks... so instead of having a wild night out at the clubs this Saturday, we went to a tea house... my kind of evening

Excellent graffiti on a school desk, warning of the imminent viking invasion of the entire world

Are You Ready?

I've got a month left, and it's around the time when every other conversation starts "So, are you ready to leave?"

And I think my answer changes about every hour.

Usually as I finish my aerial arts class, I feel waves of appreciation for my placement and my circus family and when I step outside, either into the rain or the sun, I turn my face upwards and soak it in and want to keep doing this forever.

And then while I sit on the bus and stare out the window the waves of missing wash over me and I think about sitting on the 43 going up Haight St in San Francisco and walking home from the bus stop almost every day of high school and I miss it, I miss my neighborhood and the hilly streets and the bus voice that tells me to please reserve the front seats for seniors and people with disabilities in three different languages.

And then I get to school, and I start chatting with the students, and the teachers tell me "Oh, we have some questions for you! What semantic difference do you interpret from 'I could have gone' and 'I might have gone?'" (I'm not sure, I guess it sounds like "might" means we don't know if you did go or not and "could" means it was possible, but you didn't?) "What's the word for an older man who pursues younger women?" (There is none-- we have a word for an older woman who pursues younger men, "cougar," but it is so normalized in our culture to have an age gap the other way around that there is no name for it) "Is it common for people to move to different cities throughout their life?" (Yes, spending time living outside of your hometown is often a sign of "success," or "getting out"-- it's definitely the norm to move around, which is pretty opposite Argentina, although it is becoming more accepted in the States for graduates to move in with their parents due to student debt, high cost of living, and the competitive job market). I get involved in these discussions and think about how much I have learned from everyone here, how many conversations I would never have had, how many conversations I haven't had yet, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to go.

Then I'm waiting at the bus stop in the dark and thinking about what I'm going to make for dinner when I get back home at 10:30 or 11pm and I feel ready for an earlier schedule, ready to go back to a day job and to cook dinner in the kitchen I know so well and share meals with my parents.

When I left for Argentina, I wasn't ready-- there was no way to be ready. I hadn't been ready for the phone call informing me that a spot had opened up for me, and I hadn't been ready to say goodbye to the kids and staff I worked with, and I definitely was not ready for life in Argentina. But there was no time to think about ready or not-- I just had to go.

This is the opposite. I have lots of time, now, and I'm spent many hours planning to leave and planning my parents' visit. I've spent time thinking about leaving, thinking about what I'll do when I get back, setting goals and writing job applications and getting organized. And I'm not sure if all of that time will make it easier or harder.

Am I ready to go back? Yes, and also no. Funny enough I think I'm a lot less ready now than I was a few months ago.

I don't count down the days any more, and they seem to be passing faster.

Now, instead of going through each day thinking about how I am one day closer to coming home, I feel a pang of sadness as I realize how close I am to having to say goodbye to this new home.

But the longing for San Francisco is still there, and I still miss being close to my family, and I still think a lot about the possibilities that I'll be jumping into when I get back.

It's also strange to notice this even in the way I perceive the seasons here. We just came out of winter and it's technically spring, but part of me feels like it's fall... on social media, I see pictures of the leaves changing color in my college town and people are talking about Halloween and pumpkins and fireplaces and meals with autumn squash. Here, the weather has been flipping back and forth between hot and cold, like it used to do during the fall in college.

And both fall and spring make sense for this place I'm in. Fall, which is associated with endings, with the oncoming cold and uncertainty of winter, and spring, with its new beginnings and sense of change and growth.

Although people keep asking me if I'm ready, and it is a constant thought in the back of my mind, the fact is I do still have a month left. So to be going back and forth, to feel ready and not ready at the same time-- I think that's a good place to be right now. I can appreciate the moments knowing that they are limited without dreading the ending.

A few moments from the week:

Ran into McGonagall on the street

Figured out how to make my own quick, 1-pot, super easy mac and cheese since I ran out of my boxes of Annie's (and mmmm this version that I made was so good)

Went out to a lovely Casa de té (teahouse) with a friend and alternated practicing English/Spanish while nibbling out treats and caffeinated beverages

Drank mate out of my own mate for the first time

Mochi decided to do some typing practice on my laptop

I received this lovely plant for Mother's Day, which is today in Argentina, despite not being a mother... thinking of you, mom <3

And of course I had to watch the game that decided whether or not Argentina would be going to the Fútbol World Championships...

This is a few seconds after Argentina's third goal, basically securing their spot-- I missed the initial shouting, but you can hear the dogs barking like nuts. The person bouncing up and down on the comfy chair is my housemate, and if you listen to the TV commentator as they repeat the playbacks, you can hear how he slowly devolves from saying full sentences into just going "MESSI MESSI MESSI FUTBOL FUTBOL FUTBOL," which tbh is a pretty accurate assessment of Argentina :P

"Sos Muy Sana:" Salud/Health of Body and Mind

Live Update from Barrio Belgrano: I've spent the last hour sitting at the dining room table with my Argentine host and her sobrino (nephew) watching cooking shows on the living room TV and yep.

(Fyi, Argentine cooking shows = lots of asado, but they included a grilled provolone dish with cherry tomatoes so this vegetarian is happy :) Plus I still find it really interesting to see how they cook the meat dishes)

Today, after a sudden random thunderstorm right around noon, we broke our regular stay-at-home Sunday routine and my host family and I drove out into the mountains. We brought our mate and home-baked blueberry muffins and made our way up to Río Ceballos to spend the afternoon by the dique la quebrada, a dam in the mountains.

My housemate, who is lovely and takes such good care of me and is an incredibly generous soul <3

Pano of the dam (that wall is straight irl lol)

We brought our homemade blueberry muffins, baked last night by me and my profe, to snack on

View of the amphitheater were we sat to drink mate

Can you believe it was thunderstorming earlier in the day?? The weather was gorgeous

Me and my profe/mentor/Argentine mom, the incredible person who has taken me into her family and helped me out these past couple months

Kiddos ("Chicis," as their mom calls them-- pronounced "cheek-ees") doing cartwheels, which apparently are called medialunas here, like the pastry :)

It was a really nice afternoon, especially because this morning I woke up really missing the outdoor trips I used to go on with my family in the Bay Area.

After walking around in the mountains, breathing the fresh air and closing my eyes and not hearing any of the sounds of the city, I felt calm, refreshed, tranqui...

And I thought about something that I've been told a lot here: sos muy sana!/You're so healthy!

Whenever I eat something with vegetables instead of meat, this is usually the response I get. When I make chia seed pudding, people tell me this. When I cook up a milenesa de soja, a breaded soy patty, instead of the traditional meat milenesa, I hear this... even when my patty is equally breaded and fried.

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be sana, healthy, and in what instances people use that word to label me... and in what instances they don't use it to label others.

/// TW for the following parts of this post: discussion of eating disorders ///

I don't think they're wrong. I do try to be conscious of my habits, eating and otherwise, and I strive to be a healthy person (i.e. my earlier blog post about self-care). But sometimes it feels a little weird to have people comment on my "healthy habits" specifically because of what I choose (not) to eat-- usually while putting themselves down for their own choices. I can't name the number of times I have shared pastries with an Argentine woman who has said at some point "Oh I shouldn't be eating these," or commented on the amount of flour and sugar and butter, or said they haven't been going to the gym enough. These comments happen a lot at home in the states, too, but I guess I have particularly noticed them here.

And I am not ignorant of the fact that the comments about my perceived healthiness are directly tied to my physical appearance-- namely, the fact that I'm tall and thin. I question whether, if I had a shorter, curvier build or had more fat, I would get the same comments-- even if I made the same choices about food.

I've never had an easy time balancing the pressure to achieve impossible thinness/fitness standards with my underlying knowledge that the way I look doesn't determine my value as a human being. Actually, that's not true-- I have a very distinct memory of discussing eating disorders with my dad after I read about them in a puberty book I had been reading, probably around 6th grade. My dad told me that I should never feel like I had to starve myself or make myself throw up. I laughed and said he didn't have to worry, I loved food way too much (and hated throwing up way too much) to ever want to do that.

Somehow, over the next few years, that casual confidence disappeared. I guess I didn't realize at the time how invasive those kinds of thoughts and impulses could be.

In my experience of U. S. culture and Argentine culture alike, there's a common association between eating "too much" => unhealthy => morally bad. This is a huge problem that is perpetuated by all kinds of media (looking at you, Rowling, and the portrayal of fatness throughout Harry Potter...).

I've noticed that at times when I felt good about myself, when I felt like I was making positive contributions to the world, what I ate didn't bother me so much. It was when I felt like I had messed up or I was overwhelmed by things going on in my life or I just didn't feel "good enough" that the kinds of thoughts I told my dad I would never have started to sneak in. I think I had internalized a lot of the fatphobia that permeates our culture, our media; when I wasn't in a particularly healthy state of mind, what I ate and what my body looked like became tied to my worth as a person.

Many, many people, of all genders, have experienced similar feelings. I've heard the statistic (echoed in this article) that 1 in 10 Argentines suffer from an eating disorder.

So that's probably why I don't entirely know how to respond when someone literally strokes my waist and complements me on how healthy I am (yeah, that's happened).

A lot of times, when people say "sos muy sana," it doesn't sound like it's about me so much as it is a critical self-reflection... and I don't want anyone else beating themselves up based on the way I behave and look. I don't want to perpetuate the culture of body-policing that exists in the U. S. and South America alike. Because of genetics, I have a fast metabolism and I'm almost 6 feet tall and I don't put on weight as easily as some people do. But that doesn't necessarily say anything about how healthy/unhealthy I am, or about who I am as a person.

My first few months in Argentina took a lot of adjustment, and a huge part of that was finding a healthy routine with food and exercise. As I wrote about, things as simple as going to the grocery store felt really scary, and since I kept moving locations, I often didn't know my way around the kitchen (or the lack of gas meant I couldn't use the kitchen). As I didn't know my way around or know what areas were safe or unsafe, I had a really hard time going for runs or doing any exercise outside. The most accessible foods were pizza, pasta, and empanadas; I was surrounded by bakeries; and the social culture often involved plates of delicious pastries... and since school started late I had very little to occupy my time and felt I was already failing to meet my own expectations for what I would accomplish during my time here. It all brought back a lot of the body anxiety that I thought I had mostly put behind me.

One of the things I realized about having these kinds of feelings is that the thoughts may never entirely go away, I just become a lot better at dealing with them. I've worked to educate myself about fat-shaming and body positivity. If I strongly hold the belief that how someone eats or how fat they are does not in any way affect their value as a human being-- which I do-- then being caught up in self-critical thoughts based around my own eating or bodyweight leads to cognitive dissonance. I can't say all bodies are good while at the same time focus my actions and efforts on losing (or avoiding gaining) weight. And by calling out the negative thoughts in myself, I can begin to break down the unconscious biases I have about physical appearance and worth. I try to catch myself when I begin policing myself ("Oh, I shouldn't eat another" or "Haha good thing I went for a run this morning) and instead focus on being mindful about my choices ("That cupcake was good but I'm full and don't need another right now, maybe later this evening," or "I'm feeling a little low-energy, maybe some yoga and stretching will help wake my body up").

Some time around junior year of college, when I was having an especially hard time with this stuff, I started a list. When the negative thoughts felt particularly strong, I would write down one reason not to follow through. Each time I had to look at the list again and add another (new) reason. I was surprised by how effective this was for me-- sometimes just the knowledge that I have the list can help flip my mindset or stop a negative spiral.

So right now... yeah, I feel pretty sana. I exercise because it makes my body feel better and I want to become stronger and I want to get better at aerial rope. I eat foods that I enjoy making, that taste good, and that include-- as much as possible-- sustainably and ethically produced ingredients. I meditate because it helps me keep my mind and body connected/balanced.

I wish there was an easy way to respond to people's comments and acknowledge the complicated role that health of body and mind plays in my salud in addition to just eating some vegetables. At the moment I don't know what it is, so when people say this, I just kind of smile and wave it off.

It's hard for me to talk about this stuff. The truth is that I finished writing this post on Sunday, but it took me until halfway through the week to post it because... it's hard to acknowledge that I sometimes struggle with food and body image. It's hard because I do freaking love food, and I am known as someone who loves food, so admitting that I sometimes have a complicated relationship with food is hard. And it's hard because I know that I benefit from thin privilege, and so acknowledging that the culture of dieting and body-shaming affects me, too, can feel a little counter-intuitive. But it does, it effects everyone, and I think one of the most positive things I can do is to address my own relationship with my body... and be honest about that.

So there we go... that was a post that got much more intense that I intended when I first sat down to write. But I guess that usually tends to happen, and was sort of the intention with this blog.

Esperando (The Space In Between)

Before I start the rest of my post, I want to mention Puerto Rico, which has been on my mind as it has been on many others after the blatant disrespect and deadly neglect it has faced from the president since Hurricane Maria blew through immediately after Irma.

It is so important that we stay educated and aware. You can read and share this statement (in English and Español) describing the facts and a clear course of action.

Here is a list of trusted organizations and fundraisers you can contribute to.

My friend and fellow Fulbrighter wrote,

"If you're not a part of the Puerto Rican diaspora it might be hard to understand why so many of us born and raised on the mainland, who may not have even seen the Island, hold it so close to who we are. Why so many of us march in parades across the US every June singing and dancing and taking up space in a country that reminds us that we don't even own the space we got our names from. But that's what makes the Island so special. That not even 500 years of colonialism could silence us."

It feels like there are so many things happening around the world that they are hard to face and it's difficult to feel like there is any action you can take that will make a difference... but I try not to let that stop me from acting anyways.

As I have mentioned before on this blog, sometimes I've felt like life is on pause here, and I have to remember that it's not. One of the ways I've found to help me stay in touch is to follow podcasts, like KQED's Bay Curious and NPR's Up First, LatinoUSA, and Radio Ambulante in Spanish.

I have a lot of time here spent waiting, during which I'm able to listen.

In fact, I think time spent waiting has been an aspect of culture shock that me and several other Fulbrighters have experienced.

The word for waiting in Spanish is the same as the word for hoping: esperando.

This feels especially true while esperando el colectivo/"waiting for the bus"/really freakin' hoping it comes soon.

Seriously. There are 8 buses that pass by my bus stop home from school, and I can take 2 of them to get home. That's a pretty good chance that one of my buses will come by relatively quickly. But one night this week, I waited for 45 minutes while buses numbered 15, 17, 10, 11, 12, 18, and 10 again passed by-- every single one of the buses I can't take-- before I was finally able to catch the 19 home.

This Friday, I had three missions I wanted to accomplish in the city center: I wanted to renew my visa for another 90 days so that it would last the extra two weeks I needed before I leave the country, I wanted to register myself for a Spanish exam in November, and I wanted to book a hotel for my parents and I to stay in.

I waited at the bus stop for a bus heading downtown. I walked to the Delgación de migrantes, went upstairs, and sat down and waited for about twenty minutes to be seen by a representative. When I spoke to someone, he told me I would need to wait until my visa was about to expire; I couldn't renew it in advance. So I walked to the Facultad de lenguas and asked to register for the Spanish exam... and was told I couldn't register there, I would have to register online, wait for an email with instructions, and then come in to pay for the registration. Finally I made it to the address of the hotel that my parents and I wanted to book, but the door was locked and there was a keypad at the side. I walked down the block looking for another entrance, found none, walked back, waited outside for a moment to see if I could see anyone, and then decided we'd have to call the hotel later.

At one point in time, I think that series of events would have made me feel like a failure. I would have been upset at the waste of the day. But for some reason, I didn't feel that bad about it. Since I was downtown, I stopped by one of the attractions I hadn't gotten around to yet: la cripta jesuítica, the Jesuit Crypt:

It's really cool, very dark and damp...

And it's directly underneath the busy street that I used to live under...

After that I waited for the bus home and took a short siesta before class.

It can be easy to feel like the waiting moments of life don't really count. Feeling this way makes waiting for something very frustrating. It drives people to road rage while sitting in traffic, or leads to complaints at a restaurant for slow service on a busy night, or creates awkwardness during the silence while someone is thinking of what to say.

For many people, especially in the States, time spent waiting is time wasted. That doesn't mean we never wait for things-- there are a lot of things you have to wait for wherever in the world you are.

Here, I've gotten used to waiting.

When I was applying for post-college fellowships, one of my advisors, a member of the Japanese faculty, talked with me about a Japanese character called ma. He thought that ma was an important concept related to my applications and to the experience of being abroad in general.

According to Wikipedia, ma "can be roughly translated as 'gap,' 'space,' 'pause' or 'the space between two structural parts.'"

Ma is negative space. It's, as my high school figure drawing teacher would have said, "the Not." That which is not, that which is in between two states of being.

Ma is what makes Miyazaki films so real, so touching: those moments of animation that are not necessary, that do not  forward the plot or reveal key new information, but during which the viewer is able to just be, to contemplate alongside the characters. (Search "Ma in Miyazaki" on Google and you'll find a whole bunch of essays on this, and this scene from Spirited Away is a beautiful example.)

While waiting for something, we are in that place described by ma, a space of time which is in between two fixed points.

And my experience living abroad in Argentina is itself a kind of in-between... I've taken a break from "normal life"; I don't totally fit in but I no longer feel like a total stranger; part of me has been waiting anxiously to get back home while the other part of me is just living in this space.

It's funny, I think when I get home I'm actually going to miss the waiting, the time in between.

To finish this blog post, I want to share a really really long stream-of-consciousness sentence that I wrote on my phone on Monday afternoon while on the bus, recording a moment/feeling that wouldn't have happened if it weren't for all of the periods of waiting in between activities:

I arrived at my aerial rope class this afternoon having just finished the 13th episode of the podcast Millennial (y'all should go listen to that episode right now because it is like my favorite thing in the entire world) and some soft folksie music was playing (which I later realized was from an album with a song called San Francisco) while we warmed up waiting for class to start, stretching on the yoga balls, and I was just feeling really happy and appreciative and I started thinking about the other Fulbrighter who is in Córdoba with me, who I have really grown to love and appreciate and who I found myself missing over the weekend, and my friend Evan who I admire so much and who I can't wait to bake with again and how we recently had a conversation about how much we appreciate each other, and my sister who has grown into a person I am so proud of, and it just kept snowballing and I kept thinking of all of the people I love- the people I do circus with, especially the one who was more of a beginner like me and comes every Monday and Wednesday on her red bicycle and we commiserate over the slow struggle to build strength, and the Fulbrighter who took me in to her apartment in Puerto Madryn and made sure I had fun and enjoyed myself and is just super cool, and the professor I work with and her mom who have been so sweet to me and really taken me in and deserve so much more than I can give in return, and my housemates from college and my friends back home and my family and all of the Bay Area based organizations that inspire me to live in the city I love and do work I love no matter what it takes-- and that feeling of loving so many people so much made me start to tear up while I was lying upside down on the yoga ball and it was just a really nice moment and now that I wrote it all out it feels gushy af but ah it's true haha it is the best thing in the world, it is the feeling worth living for.