lost tooth, lost purse, lost identity

~ Post by Brin

 

Ella lost her tooth this morning at the market. She did it in her pastel (that pastry thing she's eating), how that could happen I don't know. I do consider the market to be a huge blessing in my life.  I can get organic (at least I assume they are) bananas and close to organic everything else. Or so the vendors tell me, if they understood the question. And I can get jungle-harvested cinnamon for toast and cobaiba oil for our bug bites. And I can walk to it if I want in comparison to the 30 minute bus ride I will be taking come February. On a bothersome side note, I could not find my coin purse when I returned home. Guess I know where I left it now (look close).

On Sunday mornings I go to Altamira’s weekly outdoor market. That is if the stars align. Those stars being an empty produce basket, a rainless morning and the willingness to sweat and make simple conversation about Obama with a particular vendor who always searches me out to practice his English. The market is so close to my house I can also walk there in about 15 minutes, but the walk back is mostly uphill and twice now I have forgotten that I was on foot when I bought a giant watermelon, besides having my obnoxiously huge Lands End boat tote running over with mangos, pineapples, kale, green onions and lettuce, my market staples.

Overall, the market suits me. I like a big variety to choose from and it is probably the freshest option for produce in the city. But this morning, something stood at a contrast. I went to the market with an apple in hand and then was annoyed when I wanted to dispose of it, but couldn’t find a trash can. Yes, I could have added my (organic) trash to the smorgasbord of garbage already on the streets;  pineapple tops, chicken feathers, plastic cups, fliers for a motorbike promotion, my core would fit right in. I would fit right in, but I couldn’t do it. I just could not litter even if not doing so set me apart from the other shoppers. I have felt that awkward dichotomy before. It is when the Brazil Brin confronts the American Brin. It also happened when I asked a vendor not to put the carrots in a plastic sack. “I don’t like to waste plastic. That is why I bring a big bag,” I explain opening my bag for her to plop the carrots in, hoping my altruistic respect for the environment rubs off on the other shoppers. I doubt it. I only manage to confuse a few vendors and maybe save about 10 extra bags from blowing freely across our city and mingling with the other thousand bags.  Why do I have to be so weird? I so want to just fit in.  But at what cost?  And when I don’t, which is plenty, why does it bug me so much? Yesterday I went to the orphanage and participated in a skit that required my character to sneeze, it was actually the defining trait of the character (yup, I got an important role). The kids love to laugh at me when I talk because they find my accent so adorable and entertaining. At least that is what I think, I mean, surely that is why they are laughing. I played my part with all the theatricalities I learned in high school. I gave my character the big, “AH- AH- AH-CHOO!” kind of sneeze. A loud, dramatic extended one. Cue the laughter; I am so charming. The skit goes on with audience participation where they have to also do their own sneezing. Now, I knew that animal sounds are different based on what language was being spoken. While in Romania years ago, I learned they do not like the sound Americans use for roosters. But I didn’t know that there was a Brazilian way to make sneeze noises. Well there is and it is much more calm and subtle, more of just a quick, but strong puffs of air through the noise.  A rather pitiful sneeze, I think, but now I feel weird because clearly I am not fluent in bodily noises. And I guess I feel bad, because….I want to be?  Grrrrrrrrr. 

Another such personality showdown occurred last Thursday. Mia participated in her school’s much anticipated and illustrious Festa de Nações, or Festival of Nations. This year we arrived in Altamira too late for Ava to participate and Mia arrived barely in time. I didn’t figure out what country she was assigned until we arrived that night. Based on her costume we were assigned to make we guessed Spain, Italy or Mexico.  We were close, bonus points given because Argentina was colonized by Spain. The invitation claimed the festivities would start at 7:00pm. Silly invitation. The Brazil Brin congratulated her good judgment when she arrived at 7:20, until she surveyed the school and realized that probably 80% of the guests still hadn’t arrived. An hour or so later, the festivities began. This being our family’s second Festa I knew to expect crowded tables, a famine of chairs that make desperate standers steal a chair if it’s owner got up, delays for unknown reasons and the reality that I still didn’t entirely understand what was going on. And you know what?  Neither did anyone else. People wandered around during the program as if it was just a practice, no one rolled their eyes when “Miss Portugal” had to be called to the stage multiple times, and some guests even chatted through the national anthem. I doubt anyone shared my private “let’s get this show on the road!” attitude or at least the degree to which I did. Reflecting this morning, I could have just sat empty-minded and unbothered, but instead I kept standing, double-checking to make sure that Mia’s costume looked like her classmates and wondering when she would need to go to the stage. Seriously, what is my problem? I have been in the culture for 4 years now, how have I not learned how to relax?

It really bugs me that I can’t be me. I mean, yeah, I am ok about giving up the annoying parts of me, or try to do so. I exaggerate, overact, don’t listen well, and am tightly-wound no matter what culture I presently reside and I wouldn’t mind softening those things on both sides of the equator. But I still kinda like me. And sometimes I feel like I spend a lot of effort trying to be something else. My reluctance at being a litterbug and conflicts with my multiple cultural personalities are strange and piddly issues yes, but the feelings in sum bring out something else. I think it has something to do with integrity. I want the Brin on the outside to match up with the Brin on the inside. And I have been taught that Brin should be the same Brin wherever she finds herself, at work on Monday morning or at church on Sunday or at Uncle Duane’s midweek barbecue. And I want to be the real me with whomever I find myself. And maybe that is why I am bothered so much by the discrepancy I see in myself. 

I eventually found a trashcan at the market and next Sunday I will lug my obnoxious bag that bangs into everyone in the crowded aisles. I will also be the only women wearing a visor. Melanoma Brin will always beat out Culturally Appropriate Brin or Fashion Brin.

Each class is assigned a different nation, here is Mia as Argentina alongside another student.

This class was assigned Brazil. I found this group hilarious because they used soccer uniforms for their costume and a dance involving a lot of running and kicking moves to exemplify the nation of Brazil. At least they know who they are, ahem!

Mia did such a fabulous job, you’d never know she got so little practice in and the fact that she was so upbeat and eager speaks well of her ability to persevere and bloom at school despite her parents mostly being clueless. She is quite inspiring. The whole program was really stupendous, credit needs to be given to my girls’ beloved Tia G (to the rest of us Pastora Angelita) who did a bang up job and made it a truly memorable evening for everyone.