If only I had some sort of associative web between my brain and this computer screen. My time for contemplation has come to have its set hour in the day -- 15 minutes from Roman Diaz to Parque Bustamante, and 15 minutes back. I spent weeks shaking my fist at the two-footed commute... only to realize it is the only legit me time I have. I intended to show up here with an excellent journal entry a few days ago, but upon arrival, I discovered that once again our internet was broken. Strangely fitting that one of my walking thoughts was, "can't wait to get out of this third world shit-hole."
I kid, but do not digress. I am leaving August 2nd. I was preoccupied with the thought from the moment the ticket existed out there somewhere. It was the first time not buying my own ticket, and so it remained an abstract fact. The Good Doctor and I went to buy his ticket, and we are even flying home on the same plane. At least the trip going home is shorter. Despite having lived with him for months now I am not sure that I want to spend a whole day on a plane with him.
The reality that hit me, and I started composing one of those "gonna miss this" "not gonna miss that" "excited for this" "bummed out about that" type lists in the brain. It was good, while I was on my walk... but like I said, without that direct connection brain to keyboard, there is little hope of my getting it across in any kind of artful manner.
My lungs wont miss feeling like St. Christopher under the mass of Jesus disguised as a child who is carrying the weight of the world's smog. A year is long enough. Sometimes I hear my lungs making a disturbing little whistling noise.
I will miss the fact that Argentina is a reasonable place to go for a long weekend. I will miss the three to one exchange rate in Argentina, and the unfailing availability of delicious gnocchi.
I wont miss Chilean food, or the way these folks drive a shopping cart. This country is populated with tiny little me sized people who are handed a shopping cart and somehow manage to drive it in a way that cubes their proportions.
I will miss buying Nuts 4 Nuts after every visit to the supermarket. Heck, I will even miss having to ask for a warm bag every single time. I will miss naming street dogs, but I wont miss my heart aching for them.
I wont miss the way this city smells after a rainstorm, but I will feel seriously deprived of the other rain side effect: visible glorious mountains. There is nothing quite like seeing snow drenched Andes encapsulating the pod that I call home.
I will miss po, cachai, heavy, súper, patudo etc. My last day here, I might go around begging Chileans to say Bernardo O'Higgins for me -- just one last time.
I wont miss reading Spanish translations of the writings of Russian linguists, French theorists or American political scientists.
I will miss playing with two languages, and assuming that everyone understands what I mean when I say, "I just don't want to aprovechar de your kindness." It will break my heart not to be able to substitute quizás for maybe, and entonces for well then. What if I just really want to say aunque? Once I leave this place ...will it be ok for me to lovingly refer to prepositions as "connecty-dudes"? Spanish lets me be calm even when I am furious because I am so busy trying to figure out how the hell to say something that I don't have any choice but to keep my cool.
I wont miss school. I wont I wont I wont. I will miss my friends, and being able to pretend I am a stupid, incompetent foreigner when I think an assignment is stupid and decide to do a different one.
PS. I bribed an Argentine cop a few weeks ago -- I never told you. It was an artful display. Maybe someday when I get back to the United States I will remember to tell you about it.
