...and it was good

Bueno, how do I describe my stay in Mexico thus far and do it justice? I think it might be impossible. You can look at my pictures on facebook and read my enthusiastic wall posts about what I´m learning and seeing and doing, but you will not be able to hear what I hear. You will not be able to smell the tamales that are being sold on the street corner. You won´t be able to hear the birds that sing all day, nor the rooster that wakes me up every morning at 4 am. You will not have the opportunity to try authentic Mexican tacos...which I assure you, are nothing like those of Taco Bell.

You won´t be able to look in the eyes of the people and see them sparkle.

You won´t be able to sit in a cathedral and look past the cracked image of the crucifix to see the faith that was buried under sincretism and myth. But you also won´t be able to feel the presence of God there that surely does still remain.

You won´t be able to walk down these calles empedradas and know that this is where you should belong.

[I don´t belong yet, mind you. My halted accent and inability to think of words quickly can attest to that fact. My pale skin and light hair betray me and make it more difficult, because I will be known as a guera for quite some time, I imagine. But someday...someday when my Spanish doesn´t carry a trace of this accent, and when my skin no longer burns every time it sees the sun, then I might be able to say that I am Mexican. Not by birth...but by destiny?]

Maybe someday I will be able to write well enough...in Spanish...to be able to describe how I feel. Until then, you must be content with my concise description void of details.

It is good.

In every sense of the word "good." In the original sense of the word "good." Forget that "good" has become overused and cliche. Remember what it used to be. Fill it with your own significados, your own connotations, assumptions, presuppositions, and maybe you will know what I mean. Or maybe you won´t. Either way, I stand by my report.

Mexico is good.