Tengo miedo

One of the craziest nights of my life on Saturday. Lots of lessons learned.

A retelling:

Spent the whole day Saturday at the mall shopping by myself. It was half heavenly, half a miserable exercise in loneliness and self-hate. I went because I had nothing better to do and because I'm extremely tired of wearing the same 8 or 9 outfits that I brought with me from the states. I loved walking around listening to my podcasts and enjoyed the air conditioning quite a lot. But then there was that enemy, the mirror in the dressing room, and the whole confusing dilemma of sizing in a foreign country. I've lost some weight here, but I'm still very large.

Anyway. I wore one of my new shirts to go out that night. A green patterned tank top with a cutout in the back. Blue j crew shorts, brown leather wedges, dangly earrings, smoky eye make-up. I looked good. My host sister and her date drove me into town, dropped me off at the bar where I'd meet my friend Mo. He was late (as always) so I met him at a famous plaza where all the gringos and argentinian backpackers hangout. We drank a little and talked, I met some fellow volunteers from Denmark and Canada and some backpackers from France. Then a Colombian guy named Francisco introduced himself. He is so cute! Dark and muscle-y with a charming smile. We talked all the way to the party that Mo had heard about down the street. I felt confident in my spanish at that moment, and that felt really nice.

Got to the party. It was much more electronica and reggae than the salsa and champeta I've gotten used to. The smell of pot was everywhere, I'm sure lots of other drugs. Blue lazer lights, a big sound system, a bar with over-priced beers and margaritas. I talked to a bunch of people, then found my way back to Francisco. We started dancing, and then suddenly it was clear to both of us there was something more going on. Our bodies got closer, he was whispering in my ear, and then we were kissing. Maybe an hour passed, I have no idea the time. Suddenly my host sister came and broke the spell. "I can't believe you are dancing that way with this guy! He is so ugly!" I looked at her, shocked. She looked disgusted with me. "We have to go. Now" she told me. I gave Francisco my number and followed her down the steep stairs to the street. She started telling me how horrible he is, so champetua and not the type of guy I should hangout with. I started to get angry with her. How dare she tell me who I could like? How dare she judge someone she's never even talked to? We fought on the street and I felt indignant. So she left and I stayed. I went back to the party and Francisco had left.

Distraught, I went back to my new friends the French backpackers, and struck up conversation. We talked awhile, then danced some. My friend Mo found some weed and I had a few puffs, thinking it would be just like when I smoked back home. I hadn't smoked in months and wasn't used to it anymore. Immediately I regretted everything. I was so paranoid, anxious, and lost in my own thoughts. I didn't want to feel this way anymore. The guy who had given it to me noticed and tried to calm me down but I felt awful. Time to go, I thought, and asked Mo to help me grab a cab.

We left the party; Me, a Dutch girl, a French guy, a Colombian I didn't know, and Mo. As we walked down the stairs I told Mo I felt way too high and he laughed while telling me he'd find me a cab. But before he could do that, his drunk ass got into a fight with a drunk old man. "Que pasa?!" he asked in that awful loud drunk way american college students have. The man understandingly took this tone as aggressive and got worked up. He threw a glass bottle at us and the shards hit my legs. I freaked. Didn't look back, just speed walked away from the yelling and the sound of more bottles smashing. "What the hell were you thinking?!' I yelled at Mo. "We're in a foreign country, you can't act like that!" He laughed it off and went to hail me a cab.

We're waiting on the sidewalk, the Colombian and I nervously laughing about how drunk Mo is acting. Everyone is a little freaked out. Then the police show up and my heart starts beating hard. My high brain is on overdrive, super paranoid and now filling with adrenaline. Two cops walk over and start asking questions. Thank God there is a Colombian here to talk to them, my Spanish is not good enough for this situation. While one questions us, the other starts searching the French guy. Pats him down, turns out his pockets, makes him take off his shoes. The French guy looks understandably freaked out. My hands are shaking and I'm terrified. "It's okay. It's normal" Dutch girl tells me. This doesn't help and I'm still freaking out.

Another Colombian guy shows up, a friend of the first guy, and starts asking what's going on. He joins the discussion with the police. Then a few more friends, and one of them miraculously is Francisco. "Pensé que te fuiste a casa?" he asks me. "I was supposed to." I say back in English. I have no more Spanish in my brain. "Are you okay?" he asks. I shake my head and say "Tengo mucho miedo." He looks concerned, and goes to take my hands. "Está temblando" he says, noticing my shaking hands. He gives me a hug and offers to find me a cab. I say yes, and leave the situation as quickly as I can. He tells his friends I'm really afraid, and walks with his arms around me away from the cops and the whole mess.

I am shaking so hard, and I cannot stop. My heart is still beating so quickly I can barely breathe and I'm so high my brain can't focus on anything, least of all trying to communicate in Spanish. We sit down and he looks at my hands, still furiously shaking. "Tranquila" he tells me over and over. But I can't calm down. I have so much adrenaline in my system I could sprint a mile. He buys me water and sits with me until I stop shaking. He kisses me, but I'm not sure I want to be kissing anyone. I'm still to scared to be interested romantically in anything. We walk to find a cab, and he negotiates for me. We kiss goodbye, and I start to worry about how I can most silently open all the locks on my front door and slip into bed.

The next morning I woke up late and started worrying all over again. My host sister had been right. That was a bad party, and I shouldn't have been doing any drugs. In the states it would have been fine, but this isn't the states and I need to be more careful. I don't know anything about this city, and things could have gone so much worse than they did. What if the French guy had had drugs on him? What if it's an offense in Colombia just to smell like weed? Cause we all sure did. I don't know enough Spanish to get me out of tricky situations, and I don't know the culture well enough to navigate it sober, let alone higher than I've been in months. I spent the day worrying and chastising myself, then avoiding eye contact with host sister. Who knows if she'll ever forgive me.

Francisco texted me yesterday. We have a date for tonight. Not sure I want to start anything with a guy my host sister clearly hates so much, but to me he seems fine. So I'm going, but I'm very nervous about my Spanish skills. Wish me luck.