Yesterday I took a little drive down to a Latin supermarket here in Louisville for some yuca. I can't even tell you what mixture of feelings overwhelmed me,even just stepping out of my car in the parking lot. The familiar juxtapositions of run-down, beat-up family cars next to the pimped out with spinners and hydraulics gangster cars... The women with tight jeans and large hoops in their ears... The simple working men next to the wanna-be-Ricky-Martin teens... And all around me the ebb and flow of those soft, musical syllables of Spanish.
All so temptingly familiar, and my heart almost cried out to start up a conversation with the family deciding between chicharrones or chips in the snack aisle.
Yet, I felt so immensely alien. So white. Out of place.
A total stranger in a well known place.
What was the name of that tasty sweet Mexican roll again? I freaked out- I haven't spoken Spanish since we left Paraguay! What if I'm losing it? My tongue tripped over itself to answer the cashier's simple, "Debit or credit?"
And why did I so acutely feel the stares of the people around me? So creeped out by the guy who opened the door for me and called out "Adios" as I left?
I feel this all so acutely. Especially since it feels like I'm losing that part of me. The thing that makes me special. The thing that defines me. The part of me I've been teased for, the thing I've fought for, and that thing that shapes every introduction of me to you.
But I've been here so long, I'm worried you can't tell.
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