As evidenced by my post documenting how much I cried during site visit and the counter I keep updated in the sidebar on the right to let you all know how often my bowels rebel, I clearly am committed to being honest and upfront about many of the aspects of being a Peace Corps volunteer and living in Guatemala. But this post feels particularly difficult to write. Why? 1. Because I have to admit I was wrong about something and 2. It involves generally embarrassing feelings and resulting embarrassing actions. But I feel I owe it to my ten or so faithful friends who keep reading this thing to keep them somewhat entertained. And now I’m just stalling, so here we go.
I have a crush on a local.
My good friends and anyone I went through training with will know this is a complete 180 from my feelings coming into Peace Corps last year. I walked into training knowing that I was NOT in the market for the “latin lover” all my friends were encouraging me to find and was 100% absolutely positive, no questions asked, you must have me mixed up with someone else who finds brown men attractive because I would NEVER be interested in a Guatemalan. I was SURE I was going to be happily single for the whole 27 months and wasn’t looking for/ hoping for/ waiting for my future Chapin soulmate. Well, this is me eating my words.
I found someone who doesn’t make me want to chuck my cell phone out the camioneta window like Kite Man, who is patient with my spanish, who makes me laugh, who is actually my age and who I think is pretty attractive. This feels like me kicking my integration to a whole new level. Plus, think about how great my spanish would get!
So, you’re probably like “Carmen, while it’s funny that you’re publicly eating a big fat piece of humble pie right now, that’s not that embarrassing. People change, that’s just normal.”
Oh, it gets better.
Mr. Crush is part of the local marching band. (I know what you’re thinking and that’s not the embarrassing part either – I actually think he’s really freaking cute in his uniform… they have to wear fedoras!) So I hear them practicing in the park on Monday and I, as usual, am not doing anything so I head on over to check it out… and also to kind of sort of snag an invite to their show on Saturday. Their show two hours away. Their “show” actually being an all day marching band competition.
You guys, I became a marching band groupie. I cancelled this week’s Saturday youth group. I woke up at 5:30 am to get on a bus with a whole bunch of kids (while Mr. Crush is my age, most of the band is junior high aged) and drive two hours away. And then I stood in the rain. And then I sat in a stadium all day sweating and watching a whole bunch of not that great marching bands. And then I cheered for them and waved around a sign I made. And then I endured the almost four hour journey back to town that included hormonal band kids (apparently that is a stereotype that holds true the world over) having a dance party on a darkened bus.
Total time spent with Mr. Crush? Probably no more than ten minutes total. You win, Universe! I was mistaken about “never wanting to date a local” and now you have shown me just how mistaken. Seems like divine justice – I was so, so, so sure and now I’m being shown just how wrong, wrong, wrong I was.
So laugh it up friends, someone might as well get some enjoyment out of this as I don’t foresee Mr. Crush becoming Mr. Novio. It’s not all bad though, I did have a good day bonding with my neighbors (two of their siblings are also in the band) and I’ve learned a valuable lesson: never say never.
Sidenote: I really, really hope the one kid in the band who speaks english NEVER finds this post.