American. Woman.

I have alot of thoughts today. I don't know if any of them are really worth sharing. I don't know if I will end up publishing this or just saving it to reread and ponder over on my own. But I feel the need to preserve the strangeness of my feelings on this day.

I went for an extremely long run earlier, let myself deviate from my normal trail, the routine to which I've recently been attached for its sense of normalcy, and ended up getting lost and circumventing half of Palermo before trotting back to my own Belgrano stomping grounds. But somehow I just didn't wanna stop runnning. Could be that yesterday for the 2nd time since I've been here, someone asked me if I was pregnant (making me feel A. OBVIOUSLY self consious and B. really fed up with the Argentines standards of beauty... did I mention though that the woman who asked had the figure of a snowman and weighed at least 100lbs more than me??), could be the 2 cups of mate that I drank for breakfast this morning, or it could be that my mind was so a flame with inscendiary thoughts that my legs had more than enough fuel to keep them moving forward.

Today, I hate being a woman.
I hate the cat calls, and the whistles, and honks.
I hate knowing that I can't leave the house without being stared at.
I hate guilting myself into working out to fit into this society of toothpick women, when really I'd rather tear that image to shreds.
I hate that I get the guest's extra helping at the dinner table, while my host mom and sister don't eat.
I hate that I'm complaining about being fed too much when everyday I walk past people on the streets with nothing to eat.
I hate that half the reason I've been complaining so much this week is PMS.
I hate having to admit that.
I hate that the term femenista is a joke.
I hate that being good at the tango means learning how to utterly submit to the dominance of the man indicating every step you take.
I hate running past discarded condoms and panties in the mud on the side of a park path (not to mention the intestines of some gutted stray animal).
I hate that 13 year old girls are moved to inconsolable tears when they talk to God, as 2 girls were during a prayer circle at La Casita yesterday, making me wonder what in their lives behind their hardened attitudes is so plaguing them.
I hate that I want so much to reach out to them, but even if I could understand their struggles in translation, I'd never be able to relate to them, I'm sure.
I hate that I came here to absorb this culture not to change it, and in 2 months when I leave it, it will continue just the same.

On an almost entirely different note...
I also hate how its September 11, 9 years since the worst day my own country has seen in all my lifetime, and I don't know how to feel on this day. In past years the date has rolled by almost without my notice. I'd forget to watch the news and no one around me would be talking about it. But I think being abroad makes me acutely aware of the significance of this day for my country, and to be honest I'm not sure how I should feel about it.

But I hate that the pride I should be filled with as an American living abroad is mingled with so many lesser feelings on this day.
... maybe its because I feel like no one at home really realizes or appreciates the luxuries and liberties our nationality, our accident of birth, grants us.
... maybe its because my journeys abroad have given me a more refined perspective of my country and its place in the world, but I know that only the 1/3 of my countrymen who have their passports will ever experience any kind of similar enlightenment.
... maybe its that I feel like we have so much untapped and squandered capacity for good with our position in the world
... maybe its because none of our people, myself included, understand why our government can't fix health care, or stop an oil leak, or get us out of an 8 year war, or even explain to us why we're still in it.
... maybe its because the leaders of the most prominent and affluent country on the planet seem to think they can get away with obscuring something as primitive as truth from the people to whom they are indebted and who have endowed them with underserving trust.

I hate that I can even find the breath to complain about my homeland when I am daily reminded how fortunate I am to come from where I do. But it's like Mark Twain said, "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it."
The Argentines have been a perfect example of that. They love their homeland and their heritage... in fact they are quite snobbish about it. But no one, NO ONE, likes anyone or anything about their government. There are protests daily all over this capital city. But still they gather, and they jump, and dance, and drum, and sing, and demonstrate to their leaders exactly what it means to them to be a citizen of Argentina. I want that our country would know that sense of total unconditional unity. We are Americans, not Californians and Texans, not liberals and independants and conservatives, not whites and Mexicans and Blacks, not white collar and blue collar, not Lakers or Celtics even, just all unquestionably at one in our commonality. That doesn't at all mean being in agreement or support or even obedient. It means being informed and actively invested in our the culture that had made us what we are.

... wow this went from being really ranty to really preachy.... I'll conclude then.

This week, in this place, there is alot about being a woman that I don't like. Today, in this era, there is alot about America that I want to see changed. But those two elements are so integral to the core of who I am! If I'd been born any other way, I simply wouldn't be the person I am right now. I'd exist only in some completely other capacity. So yeah today is a weird day to be who I am, where I am, at the time in which I am. Pero lo que soy.


... and that is a really pathetic attempt at a conclusion, trying to tie this ridiculous monster of a rant repository up with a nice neat little bow! Gracias.