La vida después de 30.

Turning 30 was not something I was looking forward to. Last year, on October 24th, I was a mess. I cried a lot. I put myself together for my fabulous friends who were waiting for me at my party, but brought along my Visine red-eye drops just in case (I only had one breakdown, but no one noticed).

In your twenties, you have a lot of freedom to live single and carelessly, without worrying about your future. I realized on that day, that I had let 10 years pass me by. In my career, I felt like finally it was all falling into place, but in life, I hadn't grown up yet. There I was, still renting a tiny apartment, no husband, or even a potential prospect, no children, and still in the same small county I grew up in. It took way more miles to run off a second piece a pizza, and I had to start using eye cream.  I hadn't been on a date in over a year, and the single men my age were getting engaged or dating girls a lot younger than me. How had life passed me by so quickly, and when did I become so insecure?

My 31st birthday treated me a lot better than 30. I walked into my classroom on Monday with a bag of treats and of course, lots of English practice for my students. After the first small activity, a student tells me my boss needs to see me upstairs. Before I go, I spend five minutes getting the students started on their second assignment so they can work while I'm gone; I can't stand one minute of learning wasted. The student escorts me upstairs, which I think is weird, but it's not my country so I just stand and wait with him. After about five minutes of waiting (this is a LONG time for me when I suppose to be teaching a class), my student sees me checking the time and says,  "I am bad, I lied. We just need a little more time."

I give him a puzzled look and he laughs; we go back downstairs and a few more students are waiting outside of the classroom with a blindfold. They tie it around my eyes and guide me into the classroom. When I take off the blindfold, the room is set up for a party with a gorgeous chocolate mousse pastel and refrescos. The students sing about four verses of their birthday song "Las Mañanitas", which is much more complicated than "Happy Birthday." They all start chanting "Mordida" which is my signal to dive face first into the cake taking the first bite. Of course a student behind me smashes my face into the frosting. I cut the rest of the cake that doesn't have my nose print, and we play music and dance the rest of the hour. I learn that male students are much more willing to dance than female students; one shows me how to duranguese, another student teaches me the bachata, and another cumbia. I teach them how to line dance.

The next class has planned a similar party but has decorated the room in balloons and throws confetti at me. Their cake is a delicious tres leches topped with kiwi and strawberries. I make all students stand in front of me while I take my mordida. I know these students work hard for every peso they have, and to spend so much time and money on me to make me feel special this day literally brought tears to my eyes. 

Afterwards, Coco, her husband and the rest of the family had planned a similar party - I don't even fight it when Chucho pushes my face in the delicious chocolate cake they have prepared for me.

If you are wondering, thirty actually turned out to be a pretty good year. I spent it with a wonderful group of friends and family in little Lafayette County; I earned a master's degree, saw Jimmy Buffet, and was chosen to participate in an amazing teacher exchange program. Mexico, while it has its challenges, is giving me time to figure out who I want to be. I want to be a great daughter, sister, friend, and teacher. The rest I will leave to fate; it's treated me well so far.

New Friends

So I am going to meet up with some friends to watch the game tonight. Of course by the "game" I mean the soccer match between México and Brasil (yes, I purposely spelled it like that).

Here are a few of the characters I have met so far.

Gonzalo is tall with long gray hair pulled back in a pony tail and a sharply carved face, much like Native Americans of the US. He has spent over five years in Oklahoma and loves to impress me with his hilarious Americanisms. When he speaks English has a hippie-like accent. Shheet, man. That's how he ends every English sentence. It always makes me smile when nonnative speakers swear in casual conversation. It's too charming and funny to be offensive. He loves teaching and puts countless hours into his classes.

Coco (short for Socorro) is my mentor and my jefa (boss). She is always wearing amazing shoes. She has bent over backwards to make sure I have everything I need to feel safe and comfortable. We ate at a little cafe yesterday and I learned she has her masters and works endless hours making sure her English department is content with their schedules and classloads, and she teaches a full load herself. I read her students' essays today; they were in English, two pages long on food preservation processes (food technology is the college major of this particular class). I hardly understood a word, not because the English was bad, but because I know nothing about Smoking, Fermentation, or Irradiation. Neither does Coco, but she spends hours making sure they can write about it with the proper grammar, spelling, and organization. This is the type of English I will be teaching.

My English team consists of about eleven teachers, I have met the ones who enjoy going to the local bar/restaurante around the corner from my house. They complain about the system, the lack of respect from their government, their administration, and students. Here, English is obligatory for all majors, meaning it's the class nobody wants to take. They laugh and point out the idiosyncrasies of each teacher. They teach me slang and the norms of the area and how I will notice them more as I become more accustomed to the culture.

I understand about 30% of their conversations, 50% if I concentrate really hard. But I find myself drifting into the background, watching their gestures and facial expressions, as they fight to buy the the next round. I think, wow, I'm not so far from home.