Friday, December 19, 2003
When we arrived at the Panama airport (after the sweetest flight ever- I was behind the exit row with no seat in front of me and two empty seats next to me) the rhythm was different. Soon afterwards, I was thrown into the sea of people that is the Santo Domingo airport at Christmastime, and the arms of my worried mother. Real Dulce de Leche ice cream, empanadas, mangos and papayas and all the (Havarti, Gouda, Brie, Jarlsburg) cheese I want. Having mom buy me a shirt on her credit card, and losing some of the money anxiety thats dodged me the past 5 months being more of a present than the shirt itself. But the differentness that is the DR, not Chile, not the US, manifested itself in full form tonight, when my cousins and I went to see Freaky Friday at the mall (supercute movie, lousy production values). Though the stores were closed, the mall echoed with din from the food court, and the movie theater lobby was packed with socializing Dominicans dressed to the nines. Slick hair, tight pants- and 13 years old (verifiable fact- one of them being the older of my two cousins). I didn't have to worry about being picked up by the guys; not only did I probably not look smart enough in my Chilean skirt and flip flops, I most definitely looked too young for the high school ones. Its fascinating to watch these kids though, thnking back to the UA life I never exactly led, and sideways to the fact no one I know would dress half as nicely to a night out at Landmark. Different worlds.
Which, I realized, is one mistake I made about Chile. I pictured it somewhere on a continuum between the two cultures I knew, the DR and the US. But its not, and can't be; they're all their own encapsulated worlds, with some mutual cultural references (Harry Potter) and some slopover , but not enough to assume comfort in one emerges naturally from comfort in the other two. I denied the process of aculteration, I think, and it hit me hard. So now I'm in the DR figuring this out, and without even my ex-host family's email to tell them one of my shirts vanished mysteriously in transition (I didn[t take it out of my room the whol semester, is why the mystery). But , no budging on one point- at least I can ponder cultural assimilation while my tar covered lungs start the slow process of recovery. In all that crowd, not a single cigarette seen inside or outside of Acropolis Mall (though two heart stopping fireworks went off)
Which, I realized, is one mistake I made about Chile. I pictured it somewhere on a continuum between the two cultures I knew, the DR and the US. But its not, and can't be; they're all their own encapsulated worlds, with some mutual cultural references (Harry Potter) and some slopover , but not enough to assume comfort in one emerges naturally from comfort in the other two. I denied the process of aculteration, I think, and it hit me hard. So now I'm in the DR figuring this out, and without even my ex-host family's email to tell them one of my shirts vanished mysteriously in transition (I didn[t take it out of my room the whol semester, is why the mystery). But , no budging on one point- at least I can ponder cultural assimilation while my tar covered lungs start the slow process of recovery. In all that crowd, not a single cigarette seen inside or outside of Acropolis Mall (though two heart stopping fireworks went off)
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