My boyfriend taught me how to drive a stick (that’s what she said)

Because today has been more of a series of events, having a general plotline, I will write about what has ahppened thus far- before returning to a more in depth discussion of a discussion we had last night (are you on tentor-hooks?).

So today we got up and after much praying, reading, and stretching on my part- yoga on April’s- and idk yet on Danny’s- we walked down to the square in Tegucigalpa to get our packs. Danny and April both eventually approached people about getting a taxi. I wonder, if they, like me, wait until the last possible moment to revert to Spanish when things need to get done. I can speak it, but I am reluctant to do anything I’m not good at unless I absolutely have to. At which point, I’ve rehearsed it so many times in my head it comes out flawlessly. My Spanish is much like my experience learning to drive a stick shift:

I want to learn to do this for several reasons. One because it is useful and 2) because it’s cool. I still love the look on boys faces when I say I can drive a stick (especially when they can’t). it is one of my last vestiges of street cred (but that’s another story). So anyway, the first person to try to teach me is Jason. But then-after he tried to teach me-and that didn’t work out so well- I didn’t like learning from him so much anymore. I tried, halfheartedly, but I wasn’t good and it wasn’t the same…story of various parts of our relationship.

Then my parents bought this $500 80’s Honda. And my mom, and dad, and eventually little sister just about forced me-albeit gently- to shut up and drive (oh rhianna). I would practice whenever I came home but I never ventured into new territory. Jamilah learned faster because she was home and it was basically her care. I say this as if time is the only factor but it is more than that. Jamilah isn’t afraid to be bad at anything-even in front of other people. She’ll mess up, cry a bit, smoke and get back up. There are very few things I have failed at, even momentarily, and certainly not publicly. Perhaps this is why I’m having issues pulling myself out of a 6yr long-distance relationship that is crippled, and crippling. The words are there but I’ve got writers block and they won’t come out the way I want them to. My sister is telling me just to say what I’m feeling but I’m too busy rehearsing my arguements in my head to hear-

Anyways, one day after I’ve moved home I have to go to work. I work up a series of hills with stop signs and stop lights and the like. So I drove to work. Never stalled out. I know that will happen here in Honduras with the Spanish.

And here I said nothing happened today

P.S. I need to learn to paint. I cannot take pictures without being a voyeur (which is why i hate those double decker buses that take the rich foreigners down to view the ghetto, slums, shanty towns, or favelas). Poverty is an evil thing, and it, like jail and prisoners adn leprosy is shoven away into dark corners so we don’t have to see it, so we don’t have to reconcile our lives with these. It needs to be thrown in the face of all those who benefit from it- and this is the beauty of grafiti. The IMF needs to be tagged with altars to the victims of their violence. Not as an act of revenge, and never using art as violence, but as a means of forcing a creative and conscious connection. You should have to look into the eyes of those who benefit from your greed.


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