The Flea.

Okay. So maybe ''The Flea'' isn't the proper name for this post, since it's actually about parasites.
Yes. You read correctly.

Parasites.

Here's the thing: apparently, it's really common in this part of the world to take a pill that kills the parasites in your body....every 6 months.

I kid you not. There are commercials of Asian families speaking Spanish, singing a jingle about taking their anti-parasitic.

When I first heard this, I thought it was a joke.
"No way." Those are the exact words I spoke.

Jethro proceeded to explain to me that in these parts, parasites live in everything. Your food. Your water. The air in the markets.

Then he told me about one parasite that lays eggs in your body, sometimes in your brain, and if the eggs hatch you die.  Or become a vegetable. Or lose your speech.

....and that is why people take anti-parasite pills.

So it's been about 2 weeks since this terrible news was broken to me, and all I can think about is how never, not a single time in my entire 26 years of existence, have I ever taken a pill to kill parasites in my body.

I'm convinced that my insides are crawling with microscopic, and not so microscopic, blood sucking, intestine biting creatures that are taking my life force and starting families in my guts.

Seriously. Could this be the reason for the dark circles under my eyes? The strange abdominal pains that awake me in the night?

Are parasites nocturnal?

I think I've accidentally waited this long because I'm afraid. I don't think I need to explain why or what it is I'm afraid of.

And here's a question: why don't we do this in the USA? Are we the only country that doesn't do this? Do we think we're just immune to parasites? Doesn't anyone know that a good portion of our produce comes form Mexico?

Or, is everyone in on this? Has everyone always been taking measures against parasites?
Am I the only one who didn't know about this?

A No Good, Very Bad Day. / El Día Horrible y Molesto

I woke up on the right side of the bed.
Me desperté de buen humor.

I had some water, got some work done, put my clothes on and decided to check out a little "natural" foods store by my house in the hopes that I would encounter rice flour and buckwheat groats (to make myself some pancakes, obviously).

Tomé agua, trabajé unas horas, me puse la ropa, y decidí caminar a una tienda cerca de mi casa (trigo verde) de "cosas naturales" con la esperanza de que encontraría harina de arroz y buckwheat (para cocinar pancakes sin gluten).

I wasn't holding my breath about the rice flour and buckwheat, so it wasn't a huge surprised that the store didn't carry it.

Entendí que la probabilidad de encontrar estas cosas no fue probable y por eso no estaba sorprendida que la tiendo no las tenía. 

But, everything else that happened next was kind of annoying.

Pero todo lo que ocurrió después me hizo agravada.

1.) I bought my soy milk, soy sauce, and alegría with 500 pesos. I realize this is a bitch move, but the bank gives you these large, annoying bills...and you have to break them somewhere...

1.) Compré leche de soya, salsa de soya, y alegría con 500 pesos. Lo sé. Entiendo que no hay nadie en todo el país que quiere cambiar 500 pesos. Pero que voy a hacer cuando el banco me los da? Tengo que usar los de alguna manera...

2.) The cashier tried to shortchange me by $200 pesos. Then she acted mad when I requested the rest of my change.  How many extranjeros has she short changed? And seriously, doesn't she understand that "math is a universal language?"

2.) La cajera trató de robar $200 pesos de mi cambio. Y fue ella que se puso enojada cuando le dije que quería mi cambio en completo. Eso me hizo pensar en cuantas personas la mujer ha engañado...y ¿no puede entender que los números son universales? 

That really, really bothered me. But I tried to just shake it off, and headed to el mercado.

Eso realmente me molestó, pero recuperé, y me fui al mercado.

3.) Every vendor in the market was in a bad mood (save the one woman who I buy bananas from. She's always in a good mood). They were all upset about something (maybe it's the influx of 5 million foreigners, half of them being demanding, rude, English speaking snobs). Or maybe the traffic because of the Guelagetza had them all bothered...because there were quite a number of vendors setting up pretty late for a Saturday morning.

3.) Cada vendedor en el mercado era de mal humor (con una excepción: la mujer que me vende los plátanos. Siempre está de buen humor). Todos eran molestos por algo (probablemente los 5 millones de extranjeros en la ciudad, la mayoría sin las capacidades de hablar Español). O...tal vez por el tráfico (debido a La Guelagetza). 

Anyway, that was annoying too...because they're typically all so happy. I didn't like that they had been having bad mornings, too.

Eso me molestó también porque típicamente todos los vendedores están felices! No me gustaba que estuvieran teniendo problemas también. 

4.) On my way home, I was taunted by these two young men. As I am a "tall" white girl living in Oaxaca, I am no stranger to being whistled, "chutched," and called at (or chased down, spoken to, etc.). But because I had already had an annoying morning, these two guys really got under my skin. They followed me down the street, trying to think of things to say about me.

4.) Mientras estaba caminando a mi casa, 2 jóvenes decidieron molestarme con tonterías. Ya que estoy una mujer "alta" y viviendo en Oaxaca, estoy acostumbrada de escuchar chiflas, "ch-ch", y otras cosas (o tener alguien perseguirme, o hablar conmigo, etc.). Pero, como había estado teniendo una mañana molesta, estos jóvenes me hicieron muy enojado. Me estaban persiguiendo y diciendo cosas groseras. 

"Oh, she thinks she's sooooo cool."
"Hey, aren't you going to turn around and flirt with us?"
"Oye, let me just touch one of them (referring to my chest)."

"Oye, ella piensa que ella es súper genial."
"Chica, no vas a coquetear con nosotros?"
"Oye, solo quiero tocar una! (en referencia a mi pecho)." 

So I gave them the finger.
And they laughed.
And that made me mad that they were laughing.

Y los "dí el dedo."
Y se me burlaron.
Y eso me hizo enojada que estaban riéndome. 

5.) When I got home, I realized I forgot to buy tostadas. I had to go back out, despite wanting to crawl into a cave and die.

5.) Cuando llegué a casa, recordé que había olvidado de comprar tostados. Tenía que salir otra ves, a pesar de querer esconderme en una cueva y morirme. 

6.) I got cat called by no less than 10 different men ON ONE BLOCK.

6.) 10+ hombres me dijeron cosas molestas, todos en la misma cuadra. 

7.) A man cut me off in line at the store, and then apologized profusely when he heard me speaking Spanish with the cashier. What the heck?! So, now because I speak Spanish I deserve my place in line?!

7.) Un hombre le tomó mi lugar en la fila en la tienda, pero después de escucharme hablar en Español con el cajero, decidió ofrecer disculpas. ¿Cómo crees? ¿Ahora sabes que puedo hablar español y por eso me vas a ofrecer disculpas?

That bothered me.
And I haven't gone out since (well, I did go running...but my house is attached to the gym). Speaking of which...

Eso me molestó.
Y no he salido de la casa desde la mañana (pues, corrí en el gimnasio, pero es adjuntado a mi casa)...Ah, eso me recuerda... 

8.) The dueño of my depa (apartment) spent 10 minutes lecturing me about how I need to eat more, especially as a vegan, especially because he never sees me eating, especially because I run. He asked me why I don't eat that much, and I said "I haven't been that hungry."

8.) El dueño de mi depa me habló durante 10 minutes, y me estaba diciendo que necesito comer más porque nunca me ve con comida, y especialmente porque me gusta correr. Me preguntó por qué no como mucho, y le dije que no he tenido mucho hambre. 

He looked at me skeptically.
That bothered me.

No me creyó.
Eso me molestó.

9.) When I decided to cook, my chickpeas had gone slightly sour. That wasn't a huge deal, as I had ample other things to prepare myself. But I love chickpeas, and so it made me sad.

9.) Decidí cocinar y descubrí que mis chickpeas se estropearon. Eso no fue algo muy grande ya que tenía muchas otras cosas que cocinar...pero me gustan los chickpeas, y por eso me puso triste. 

So there you have it, the story of my no good, very bad day (so far). Perhaps it will get better, perhaps it will get worse.

Bueno, aquí tienes mi historia del día horrible y molesto. Quizá vaya a mejorar. Quizá vaya a empeorar. 

Either way, it is what it is. Writing about it is cathartic, and reading it to myself makes me chuckle a little. So I suppose everything is fine, if I've ended up here with a smile on my face.

De cualquier manera, es lo que es. Escribir sobre estas cosas es catártico...y leerlo a mí misma me hacer reír un poco. Supongo que cosas no son tan malas si estoy sonriendo. 

The end.

The Angry Girl Rant.

I am not a cautionary tale.

I am your neighbor, your cousin, your daughter, friend, niece, sister, aunt... and I am an independent thinker, and I'm living my life as authentically as I can.

Unfortunately, there are those who exist in my life who find my way of thinking and living to be less than what they would imagine is acceptable.

Well, I'm just going to take off my filter and say one thing to you (*you* being a general, multiple bodied *you*):

I don't care what you think. The fact that you are putting my life under your microscope only tells me one thing: you want out of your own, and into mine. Otherwise, you wouldn't be meddling. You wouldn't have things to say.

Your disappointing behavior is bleeding jealousy everywhere.

My honest thoughts are...if you can't support me and/or at least try to understand the decisions I have made, am making, and will make...then you're just looking for one more thing to distract you from your own unfulfilling lot; I refuse to be that person for you.

And now, here's my unsolicited advice from me to you: wake up tomorrow, and do something different. Ask the questions you've been too afraid to ask. Do the thing you've been too afraid to do. Change the life you're tired of living.

But stay the hell away from mine until you've come to an adult understanding of what it means to live and let live.

The Day The Girl Came Home

Here I am, at 7:12 in the morning on the 4th of July - a Friday, propped up against the wall with my laptop balancing delicately over the tops of my thighs.

Outside my window, I can hear dogs barking, traffic beginning to stir...church bells, and kitchen utensils. Oaxaca has decided to wake up gently this morning.

The sun is up and out, but the morning rain clouds are preventing it from shining through my window. I should probably be sitting out on the amazing terrace overlooking the Guelagetza stadium on one side, and Santo Domingo on the other, but that would require a series of dressing, bug-repellent-applying, and possibly early morning socializing - none of which I'm quite ready for.

I'm sick.
I have been sick for several days.
Today, it seems to be less in my stomach and more in my chest/sinuses. But, if I have to be sick...I'd rather be it here.

I live in an apartment right in the heart of town. It's close to everything you could ever think of, and equally as equipped. I don't want for anything (except a rice cooker, which I will promptly purchase). José - the rad fellow who owns this place, and deserves a blog post devoted to him - has said I can have some plants if I want.

He laughed when I asked.
"Who asks a question like that?" He said.
"Well what if I bought them and you didn't like them?" I said.
"That's ridiculous." He replied...going on to tell me the best ways to tie up some tomato plants, if I get them, so that they grow just right.

The apartment I live in is more than just an apartment. It's not like what you're thinking, as far as in the USA. I do not have my own little isolation cage adorned with all the things everyone keeps in their isolation cages.  Nope. I have a private bedroom and bathroom, which opens up into communal spaces. The communal bar and living room. The communal terrace and dining area. The communal, and very well stocked, kitchen.

Last night, José, Margot, los franceses, and I passed a few hours on the terrace, chatting, making little plans and laughing while getting pumped for the futbol game -  sharing words, and time.

There are multiple studies that show that communal living makes for happier people. I believe it. What's the point of living if you're not sharing that experience with others?

So, here I am. I'm sick, underslept, and I'm still partially in bed.
But I'm happy.
How could I not be?

If I Should Die Before I Wake.

Today has not been very productive.

I mean, not in the sense of getting any studying or unit planning done. I got a lot of cleaning done, and I painted for 2 hours. I dyed my hair.

I think I have a mental block because I have a few doctors appointments this week - one (tomorrow) at which I will be put under for a little while.

But I keep thinking what if I'm that person who has a complication? Do I want to spend the last hours of my life unit planning? I think not.

In the .0001% chance that I decide to hit up Jamie and the Heavenly Fiesta in the sky, I'd like to have had enjoyed my life the day of, and the day before.

Like I said. This way of thinking is not exactly conducive to academic productivity. Plus, I'm just being a little morbid. But what's life (or death) without a good chuckle?

Can't Take My Eyes Off of You.

Don Quixote didn't have a bad plan, did he?

He lived in his books. His books came alive. Life and dreams, they became the same.

Wouldn't that be something?

That's what I want, a lot of the time. I want my life and dreams to be the same. I want to blur the line. I don't want to know fact from fiction.

But that's not the way life is.

Not for me. Or you.

I'm glad it happened for someone, though.

Let an Image be an Image.

All you need is love.

But love is the last thing you need.

Do you want to go out?

yes

maybe

no.

All you need is chocolate.

If you're selfless, you'll give me some.

Okay, love.

O Useful Element and Clear!

Water has always intrigued me.

When I was young, I used to stare straight into my glass (or fish tank, or bath water) and marvel at the fact that I was looking at something that was almost invisible. I could see it, feel it, taste it. I was amazed - like I was in the presence of something that, at any moment, could instantly and completely conceal itself from me forever.

I loved water so much that sometimes I would just stand at the water fountain and let it run over my lips. I didn't want to drink it. I just wanted to feel it. I took long showers on purpose. I drank from the hose in the back yard. I got up in the middle of the night to drink water from the bathroom sink because a still glass of room-temperature water just wasn't exciting enough for me. I jumped in fountains. I stood outside when it rained. When condensation formed on the side of a glass, I crouched down and stared at it - in awe of the fact that my near-invisible object of fascination could do things - like run down the side of a glass without any help.

I thought I'd grown out of my fascination with water - you know, after learning about chemical compounds and evaporation and all that stuff. But, today, as I bent down to get a drink of water from a water fountain...I let myself linger just long enough that I was no longer drinking and was just letting the water run over my lips.

As I was walking away, I started thinking about all the poems and songs I knew about water - and how lucky I am to have clean water, and how I hate drinking water but love the sound it makes when it sloshes around in my water bottle, and the way the rain sounds when it hits my window...and the little streaks it leaves. And how the high-pressure mode in the car wash makes me really happy because I like the way the water sounds when it hits my almost invisible windows.

Maybe I never really grew out of my strange fascination for the liquid I love to stare at but hate to drink. Maybe the relationship just got complex enough that I forgot how much I loved the simple things.

Chapstick, Chapped Lips and Things Like Chemistry.

I have been a student for 18 years.

This means 18 years of sharpening pencils, trading erasers, passing notes, lunch hour, markers, tape, glue, construction paper, posters, book reports and papers. For 18 years I have walked school hallways, high fived friends, loaded up my binders with pictures and poetry. In 18 years, I have written a novel's length worth of witty comments in the margins of my books. I have signed my name as

Nikki W

Nikki C

Nikki A

Nikki M

Nikki P

Nikki I

Nikki S

Nikki J

and of course, as Nikki Hansen, all on the left hand side of my notebooks, near the coil that holds the paper together. In 18 years I have collected numerous, hilarious drawings of people that I know or knew. Phone numbers. Snide comments. Lightbulb moments. Impromptu poems. 18 years of who I am, how I've grown lives in writing around the edges of my notes.

Oh yes. Notes. For 18 years I have taken notes. The alphabet, times tables, sentence diagrams, mice and men, geometric shapes, musical theory and happy daggers. For 18 years I have had a notebook as a steady companion, with little pockets to hide secrets and house schoolwork in. For 18 years, I have had a fairly predictable routine: waking up, packing my back pack, going to school, doing homework.

I cannot remember life as anything but a student. Sitting in desks, staring at chalk boards...then white boards...overheads, then projectors. A place to put my lunch and hang my coat. My best friends sitting next to me, keeping me distracted from the schoolwork I love almost as much as I love them.

Naturally, the fact that in May I will formally leave the structure in which my whole life has taken place scares the hell out of me. Or maybe it scares hell into me. I'm not sure which.

Either way, I feel a little ridiculous. Every time I pick up my green four subject notebook, I get a little emotional. I know that it is the last notebook I will own as a student seeking some form of degree. I can see the bright light shining - telling me that, soon, the page will turn and there will be no more curled edges. No more notes to take. No more "I like your pen you" or hearts being drawn, no more swirls or butterflies or "hi's" - no more phone numbers being scrawled across the top of the pages, no more drawings of teachers, cats, bff's holding hands. No more pictures of farmer dan, who has appeared on the pages of my notebook for a steady 10 years. No more snarky remarks written to the person next to me, and no more critiquing the things I like or dislike about the ways my teachers teach.

There will be no more teachers.

I will be the teacher.

I will watch the girls and boys scribble on their notebooks - songs and notes and awful pictures of me and everyone else they know. Poems and signatures of names they hope they never have to change, or someday get to have. I will watch them doodle, and I will let it happen, knowing that they only get to be students for so long and that life is being written on those pages.

What's the reason?

A year ago, I would have told you "Everything happens for a reason."

Now, as I ponder on this little phrase...I find myself with a new train of thought. I don't think everything happens for a reason. I think some things happen because people are selfish or unprepared (unnecessary divorce, robberies at gas stations, kids picking on other kids, getting a detention for not bringing an assignment to school).

I don't think people are selfish for a reason. I think they are just selfish.
People may be unprepared for a reason, but that reason could be that they are lazy or irresponsible.
I don't think people are lazy for a reason.

I have a hard time believing that rape, genocide, child molestation, illness, kidnapping, murder etc... happen for a reason.

I think some things happen because there are people who are prepared, ready, financially able, loving (healthy marriages, happy children, adoption, financial stability, happiness in general).

I don't think people are prepared "for a reason." I think that's just in the fiber of their being.
I don't think people are financially able for a mystical reason: it's because they work hard.

I don't think God makes them that way. I think they make themselves that way. God doesn't make people drug addicts, God doesn't make people famous. People make themselves what they are.

So ... then ...what "reasons" are these types of things happening for. For us to learn? For us to grow? For us to become compassionate towards other?

Don't we learn the same lessons from lesser offenses - different experiences?

I think that some things might happen for a reason. But, more than anything, I think humanity needs these types of things to happen for a reason.

I think we make reasons for things that occur. Generally, I think we make reasons for things in times of need as a coping mechanism. I think people use "reasons" to explain other people's shortcomings ("your house is in foreclosure but it wouldn't be if you made a fast offering. Your lack of faith is the reason for your trials!) <---rude!

And I don't think that it's bad to want things to happen for a reason. I just don't think I agree.

I don't think I met Matt for a reason. I think I met him, and I'm very much in love and happy and I'm glad we met. I don't think I met him to convert him, or to bring a specific child into the world, or to have a learning experience.

I don't think I met Jamie for a reason. I think we were just in the right/same place at the right/same time (and I'm ever grateful we were). He served as a comforter, jokester, texter and a dear friend for a long time. I don't think we were thrown into each others paths for that reason. I think we were just fortunate to be walking in the same direction. I don't think he died for a reason. I think the accident was just that - an accident.

I DO believe these occurrences serve a purpose after the fast. I think Jamie's death resulted in Heaven earning an extra missionary/angel earlier than expected. It reminded many of us to love and cherish our time/relationships together. I don't think these lessons were the reason Jamie died.

I think Matt's and my relationship serves a purpose (love each other, have fun, get married someday, have kids, grow old, die...circle of life purpose). I don't think all those things are the reasons we're together!

Confused? :)
PS: it's okay to disagree.