Éxito

My weight hasn't budged from 127 in three weeks. But I don't mind, it's a nice low weight for me compared to my elephant months this past winter. On Friday I felt sexy pulling on new tight-fitting jeans, a strappy tank top and wedges. My hair was long and sleek, my make-up fresh. The cat calls were louder and more frequent than usual when I walked from my house to the Castellana Plaza.

Friday was a friend's birthday and we made a plan within our group to go salsa dancing at a local place. I wanted to do something to make her feel special so far from home, so I left my house early to go buy a sparkler candle (volcan) and donuts instead of cake (cakes here in Colombia have never impressed me, always dry and tasteless). 

On the way to the store I walked across the street rather than using the pedestrian overpass because there was a group of teenagers hanging out up there and I didn't want to walk past them. So I darted across traffic instead and saw a very fat cat dead on the median. Its skinny little black and white legs were sticking straight up into the air from its fat black and white body. "Tsst Tsst Hola prima, mi vida ven aca" a guy called to me as I walked. For once I turned to acknowledge a guy calling to me on the street."Que pasó?" I asked him, pointing to the cat. "Se caió. Se morió," He told me, as if I were an idiot for asking. I said goodnight and walked away.

In Éxito (Colombian equivalent of Target) I walked straight from the entrance to the baked goods section where I examined every single box of donuts and compared them for most desirable flavors and variety. I had left my house far too early and had more than an hour to kill before I met my friends. So I walked up and down the aisles with my box of donuts, stopping to pick out a new color of nail polish. I wandered through the aisles of refrigerators and ovens and televisions and thought of the day last week when I'd done the same thing with Francisco. When I got bored I paid for the donuts and the nail polish and an impulse purchase of a smirnoff mixed drink in a can.

Then, like any number of strange americans in superstores, I sat down at a table with a box full of donuts to drink alcohol and paint my nails raspberry pink. For 30 minutes I sat contently, drinking and carefully applying three thin coats of polish. I waited for them to dry, stood up when it was time to meet my friends and went off to find a moto taxi. 

Dream a little dream of me

On my mornings off I still like to wake up reasonably early so I can feel like the day was still completely mine. Mornings off, like the mornings I work, I set a few alarms to allow myself to lazily put off getting up for a few more minutes. beep beep beep. I slide my finger across the surface of my cell phone and roll over in my bed.

Before the first alarm I was dreaming of people moving into my house. I often have that dream here, that the people back home miss me so much they're willing to move to south america to come be with me. Or that they just happen to be here too, and I welcome them into my adopted home so that we can be here together, a team of familiar faces up against the challenges of newness together.

Before the second alarm I dreamt I was organizing the closet of a very wealthy man. First we went to the store and bought a new armoire with lights running across the top and organizing shelves. Then we came home and he advised me while I stacked his slacks according to their shade of beige.

Before the third alarm the most wonderful thing happened. In the dream I was at a cocktail party where everyone was older than me, and then my mother walked in. We both cried we were so happy to see each other again. She remarked on how old I was, that I was an adult now. We hugged and I noticed how thin her shoulders were, it stuck in my mind that we were exactly the same height; with our arms wrapped around each other we pressed perfectly together cheek to cheek. The two of us sat on a sofa near a large picture window and drank a fancy foreign wine with a acquaintance of hers. She said she didn't have much time but promised to be back. I protested that I had so much to ask her, I needed so much from her. 

The third alarm rang and I got out of bed, my chest bursting with feeling. It always feels like some sort of miracle when she returns to me this way. I cry to think of all the time she missed, more than fourteen years now. But at this point in my life, even a sweet little dream of her is such a gift. I love you, Mom. I miss you. 

Medellín

A week's vacation in Medellín has spoiled me for life in Cartagena. There the weather is perfect, there is public transportation, clean parks, and so much to do. Here is a hellishly hot sprawl of houses and shopping centers, not a park or even a patch of grass to be found. It's normally difficult to come back to work from vacation, but this is harder than usual.

My body was not used to the amount of walking I did in Medellín. I did a hike in the mountains which made my calves sore for days afterwards. Then I walked miles each day after around parks and public squares and danced until my legs were shaking with exhaustion. A few months ago this would have been nothing, but after a few sedentary months it was a challenge.

Food-wise, it was an odd week. I ate only two actual meals in the 6 days I was there. The rest of my food was street food eaten from napkins. At least one empanada a day, maybe a pastelita. The majority of my calories came from the alcohol, though. Because I don't really eat after lunch time lately, the alcohol I consumed after 10pm hit an empty stomach and I got drunk quickly. 4 beers and I was dizzying-ly drunk. Medellín is famous for its white powder and the party scene there is amazing. I didn't do anything illicit, no worries. In the morning I'd try to cure my hangover with big cups of chocolate milk.

Between all the walking and my junkfood/alcohol consumption I have no idea if I gained or lost weight over my week of vacation. The day I left I weighed 127, a new low weight for me. I'm too afraid to look and see that I've gained.

Decide and let go

All through September I counted down to the break in the first week of October while simultaneously dreading it because I had no plans and no one to make plans with. I stressed a lot about it, having a little poor-me pity party over feeling alone and anchor-less. While telling my Dad about it on the phone today I started to cry. Today is monday, the first official day of the break, and I am home doing the same old stuff as always, totally wasting my vacation time.

So at noon I got off my hammock and opened my computer and started googling. Booked a flight to Medellin and texted a friend I know is close to there. I had so much adrenaline from my impulsive decision I started to shake (I shake in response to a lot of emotions lately) so much that I had to calm myself down alternating sets of squats and push-ups. My flight leaves tomorrow evening.

While I was planning all this (sort of, all I have is the flight still) the thought crossed my mind to stay to see Francisco. But then I reminded myself how stupid it would be to waste my vacation time on some boy I know is going to turn out being bad news. But still, after I bought the plane tickets I messaged him to say I was leaving. He said he would miss me, and did I have time to say goodbye today? I said yes.

So another sunset watched from las murallas, another twilight stroll along the narrow streets, another roll-around in motel sheets. But he confirmed to me all the bad news I was anticipating. "I lied to you about something," he said. My heart dropped. Turns out he isn't 25 after all, but turned 30 on June 3rd this year. 3 years older and 8 years older are two very different things. Then later he told me more truths, about the girl he's been seeing on and off for 3 years. "I don't love her, I never promised to love her forever," he said, "but I have fidelity to her. Or this is not the word... loyalty to her. As a person." She is coming to visit from her home in Australia in February and staying for two months.

I need to stop seeing him now. Just be strong and push his presence out of my life. But it's so hard to give up something that makes me so almost-happy. My days are so empty without love. To be alone is to be nothing. I am always yearning for that someone who I can pour myself into and who will pour himself into me. But I can never be first place in Francisco's heart, and he is not good enough for me. Charming and poetic and handsome and funny, but narcissistic and unmotivated and macho and a liar. If I let him stay, let the comfort of someone seduce me, I'm giving up the opportunity to have something real, the deep and loving relationship I want more than anything else.