Out on the Weekend

Last Friday, I went to my first "Posada," hosted by my friend Patricia. A "Posada" is a traditional Mexican fiesta held before Christmas. It was all young people, about graduate student age. There is drinks, conversation, enjoyment of friends' company, a piñata, and food. Lots of food. One thing about Mexican parties: they know how to keep their guests and guts happy. At one point during the night, a book of songs (I was later corrected that they were "laments") was brought out. one of the children of the guests, a cute little girl named Miley, handed me a candle. Then, half of the guests stood outside the door, their candles lit, and half of us stayed behind the door, our candles lit, imitating the journey of Josef and Mary as they looked for sanctuary in the stable. A back-and-forth prayer was uttered between us, and the guests came in, as we set of some nightsticks. Then, we strung up our piñata across the courtyard of the small apartment complex and had a rollicking good time. I spent the night and left at 7 in the morning, after falling asleep at 3.

As Patricia guided me on the bus ride back to the metro station, she pointed out to me the countless pilgrims riding their bicycles to the Basilica to pay homage to the Virgin Mary (That weekend was the Day of Guadalupe, a sacred holiday among Mexican Catholics). It looked almost like Burning Man, with people camping out in small corner parks, people hanging around laughing, praying, eating food provided specifically for the pilgrims. Most of the food was even catered by local city residents specifically for the travelers, many who had come from miles outside of Mexico City for the stunning service to be held Sunday.

The weekend experience wasn't quite over. That day, Saturday, I had an interview for a modeling agency (of all things) at 11am. They had found me through Facebook, which is a little strange. I had very little prospects of getting the "job," and I had no idea how my Spanish would fare in the interview. So, going into the interview expecting to tell them the truth and be present (as I have avoided in so many interviews; worried about getting the job you agonize over thinking about what they want to hear out of you), I had a jolly good time. By the time I talked to a second woman about the work visa requirements, I was literally only seeing gibberish spew out of her mouth. But I caught enough to make sense, and I think I presented myself well. So, no modeling jobs at the moment, but I felt very proud that at the very least I had gone to my first Mexican job interview.

The building was in the Condeza district, a very nice part of town. With nothing much to do, I decided to take a stroll through the park. It reminded me of Halloween weekend with the guys, strolling on our little daytrip through the SF Botanical Garden, and really taking in the unique different-ness of Mexican flora and fauna. As a sat on a bridge giving a fond remembrance of home, a Jedi talked to me. He called himself Tiny. He carried a divining rod with him. It was very amusing.

Here is a transcribed poem I wrote that afternoon:

"Some moments are meant to be waited for. Walk. Walk. Walking through the park replaying, relaying those fond fond memories of men in a park observing the universe passing by, when you were the finest dudded gent in the playground pond. How does it feel to be the only white skinned devil on the bus of browns, light and dark ones, to be the only one reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X. Perhaps it is vainly stroking an ego, an id, a thought when someone wants you for your skin and eyes and ears. But the true satisfaction is in traversing the odd-edged sidewalks to the building of pretty gibberish ladies, that you came and went and took your walk in the park, where you met a tiny Jedi and discussed the Sith Lords of America. Perhaps it is the continued waking of this life, a stern continued lack of sleep that makes us weep at the growing, hoarse talking trees and plants and the old ladies waiting at their bus stop churches and all of the things we just can't catch up to. Remember your fine duds and your devil skin and then forget them. The trees will tell you why. Don't forget the way it feels to walk on water, to dance with your chances, to feel like every step is exactly where it should be."

That same day, around 5:00pm, a 6.5 earthquake hit Mexico City. I was back home and only felt a little shake and rattle. I was still incredibly surprised. I had lived a whole year in San Francisco and my whole life in California and never experienced an earthquake. I had to come to Mexico to see one. It was relatively easy-going in my part of town, but Alexander said his whole apartment complex was shaking for a good three minutes. Two people died in one of the poorer parts of town. My friend Patricia, who lives on the fourth floor of an apartment complex, really got a good scare.

On Sunday I went out for a few errands and had a great time getting some final pieces together for art projects. I have been slowly working on a comic bookstore for my dear fairy friend Koala, who lives in Thailand. It will be up on my website soon. I spent the afternoon stapling, gluing, covering, and decorating the book with leaves I found on the ground. I think she'll really like it.

When I got home I realized I had lost my call phone. I got really mad for awhile about that. I had just bought a hard drive that day as well. I think I was getting angry about my seemingly wasted money. Its incredible how worried money can get you about just about everything. So I fumed for awhile, but all in all it was a pleasant day. I still haven't sent the package to Koala, but once I get around a post office (probably this weekend) I'll be sending that shit out.

I've been thinking a lot about where I want to go in life, and where life is taking me, and whether they are the same thing. I've been finding a whole lot of personal power in The Autobiography of Malcolm X. I would like to be in a position where I can meet people frequently from all types of existences and corners of the earth, and invite them over to dinner at my whim. I want to be able to tell stories and travel a lot. I want to have something at stake, to find a way I can use my interests for a public service, and not one that relies on the evil corporate endless economic growth structure. I want to have a house with a garden. Where will home be? Maybe it shall end up being back in the town of my birth. Maybe it will be in Austin. I feel a strong urge pulling me towards San Diego. I want to visit my niece, whom I believe will be turning four in the new year. I am realizing here that I truly love my family. They are some of the smartest, most creative, intellectually stimulating and incredibly interesting people I know. My parents escaped their families because they couldn't find something they recognized in themselves in their families. I don't have that problem, luckily. I want to see my niece, a person young enough still to not need a reason to love anybody. She just knows that she likes her parents, her grandparents, and me, I think.

It would be great to travel Mexico in January or February, go to Merida, Chiapas, and work on some farms through WWOOF. Then Go live in San Diego in my brother's mothers house (which she has offered me to stay at numerous times) for awhile. Then go out and live with dad in Virginia for 2 weeks, a month, or something. I think then I will be ready to start this thing called life. Get a job to support the comic-ing, or apply for that internship at Pixar. Or move to Los Angeles and do improv classes, write some scripts with Omar, do some PA jobs. I'm not sure which to do, but it all sounds like its time for me to get going. My allotted time in Mexico is almost up, I'm about halfway through a three-month stay.

I've always wished I could give myself up to living totally on faith. Like those people you hear about who jump a boxcar and don't know where they're going or where they'll be sleeping. I'd love to have an experience as inspiring and life-affirming and as full of purpose as the one described by Malcolm X when he made his pilgrimage to Mecca. It sounds so amazing to go in search of a spiritual awakening, to run with mobs of people across the desert, screaming to the heavens your faith in the living world, what they call Allah, what some people call God, what I choose to call The Universe. But reading his thoughts also made me realize I have been blessed with a strong and intelligent mind, and if it usually takes me down a path of plans, preparedness and plotting out my next avenue in life, then I should be thankful I have that ability. I believe that living through my mind and my body will fare me quite well, and when it is time to make a journey from which I am not sure I will return, my mind and body will tell me when I am ready.