o country of mine
Leaving your country, and then living away from it, really makes you re-evaluate your relationship with it. I guess I noticed this in all my friends who spent time abroad during college (while Jeremy and I stayed at school so as not to "miss" anything). They would return a bit quieter, more contemplative, moreso than after a summer away in Vermont or Boston. They would mention how much nicer the coffee was in the Netherlands, or how American certain things were. Of course then I didn't have a notion of how they were feeling.
Yesterday marked six months away: half a year of breakup. By September I had already cut the strings, the relationship that had been on the rocks for years was over but for the leaving. Me and the USA were splitsville. I quoted a Salvadoran poet:
Me, I think I've moved to the second stage of breakup, the part where any further relations couldn't be just the old emotions playing themselves out, love aftershocks. When the USA and I get together again, someday, it will have to be on entirely new terms. A fresh start.
Part of it is that with my new lover Argentina, we've moved on to the next stage. She's given me keys to the house, that sort of thing. It's kind of premature maybe but welcomed, me never the sort to take things slowly. I've begun to talk about Argentina in the first person: "I'm scared about what's going to happen to us after the elections", or "I don't know how we can get out of this economic mess." Max commented today, "I'm surprise how much you care about argentina and if it's going well or not." Of course we care about Argentina. She is warm, and beautiful. And besides, my last relationship with a country was such a flop.
What I have realized, in these six months, is that as much as we try we cannot move on, we are wedded to our country, we who grew up with Reagan and Bush and Star Wars (the movie and the Pentagon plan), with our old landscapes and accents, American dreams and plans. We try to blend in, try to mask our accents, learn about the politics and learn to call our friends "boludo", but I have roots, I have a culture.
Eminem plays here in the subways and from the stereos of 4x4s, but I know he is not singing to Argentines. He is singing to me. "Cuz it feels so empty without me," he says, and it does feel empty. But it's not Eminem we're lacking here: it's all his Yankee fans.
My country is so messed up it started a stupid war. I don't forgive it but I do miss its people, even Eminem and the messed up ones who want the war. Maybe as I get a better notion of what it's like to be Argentine, I will figure out how to go back to being an American.
For now I'll wait out the war here. Maybe I can be Candian, too, eh?
Yesterday marked six months away: half a year of breakup. By September I had already cut the strings, the relationship that had been on the rocks for years was over but for the leaving. Me and the USA were splitsville. I quoted a Salvadoran poet:
O country of mine you do not existThese days in Buenos Aires, the war makes being American so charged a topic that a friend of mine (from New Jersey, even) has taken to feigning that he's Canadian. Even to the people at the laundrymat:
except as a deformed shadow
a word coined by my enemy
...
(What I mean is: my being an expatriate
makes you an ex-patria)
[1962]
"Hey, where are you from?"Every time Jeremy walks by one of the guys who works at his apartment, the guy jokes, in a gravelly voice, "SADAAAAM! SADAAAAAAM!" No harm meant -- Argentines understand that a government is not the same as its people, they know what it's like for your country to turn on you -- but even so, you could really get a complex, being an American.
"Oh, me, I'm Canadian."
(conversation stops)
Me, I think I've moved to the second stage of breakup, the part where any further relations couldn't be just the old emotions playing themselves out, love aftershocks. When the USA and I get together again, someday, it will have to be on entirely new terms. A fresh start.
Part of it is that with my new lover Argentina, we've moved on to the next stage. She's given me keys to the house, that sort of thing. It's kind of premature maybe but welcomed, me never the sort to take things slowly. I've begun to talk about Argentina in the first person: "I'm scared about what's going to happen to us after the elections", or "I don't know how we can get out of this economic mess." Max commented today, "I'm surprise how much you care about argentina and if it's going well or not." Of course we care about Argentina. She is warm, and beautiful. And besides, my last relationship with a country was such a flop.
Anytime you go back [...]
the kitchen faucet sticks in a way you know
you have to pull the basement door
in before drawing the bolt
the last porch-step is still loose
the water from the tap
is the old drink of water
the familiar underpulse
will start its throbbing: Home, home!
-Adrienne Rich
What I have realized, in these six months, is that as much as we try we cannot move on, we are wedded to our country, we who grew up with Reagan and Bush and Star Wars (the movie and the Pentagon plan), with our old landscapes and accents, American dreams and plans. We try to blend in, try to mask our accents, learn about the politics and learn to call our friends "boludo", but I have roots, I have a culture.
Eminem plays here in the subways and from the stereos of 4x4s, but I know he is not singing to Argentines. He is singing to me. "Cuz it feels so empty without me," he says, and it does feel empty. But it's not Eminem we're lacking here: it's all his Yankee fans.
My country is so messed up it started a stupid war. I don't forgive it but I do miss its people, even Eminem and the messed up ones who want the war. Maybe as I get a better notion of what it's like to be Argentine, I will figure out how to go back to being an American.
For now I'll wait out the war here. Maybe I can be Candian, too, eh?
previously there was The view from Colonia
afterwards you have hassle
going abroad changes you a lot, but doesen't help you to stop beeing what you are. i don't feel less argentine by living in rotterdam (and knowing all the shit happening in argentine). may be more the other way, because before i used to fell very different from other argentines, and here all that difference colapses a little bit.
i know USA doesn't rank very high at this moment, but when we see people like you we can see not every north american is a "bush" (arbusto en es castellano) [submitted on 11 Apr 03]
to round out your canadian facade you should consider growing your hair just a little bit longer and then get mullet :) [submitted on 11 Apr 03]
Septiembre de 1988
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Querido amigo,
Recibí tu carta de Italia y me alegra mucho saber que todo está bien.
Aquí la cosa sigue igual, no es tan transparente. La crisis se pasea
por las calles y la tristeza del pueblo es como un barco que no
llega a destino. ¡No sé que pasó! ¡No sé como fue! Pero, no te
vuelvas. Te diré por qué.
Si vieras que triste que está la Argentina,
tiene la mirada de los caminantes que ya no caminan.
Se muere de pena por tanta mentira,
de tanta promesa por nadie cumplida.
Si vieras sus calles que tanto reían,
ya no son las mismas.
Si vieras que triste que está la Argentina,
tiene la nostalgia de aquellos amantes que nunca se olvidan.
La hicieron de goma parece mentira,
la gente se escapa pero no hay salida.
Y hasta los gorriones, de tanta tristeza,
se fueron de gira.
Septiembre de 1988
Buenos Aires, Argentina
Querido amigo,
Se me acaba de volcar el mate sobre la carta que te iba a mandar. Por
eso te vuelvo a escribir. Me alegra mucho saber que te va bien. Aquí
la cosa sigue igual. Pero de una manera u otra vamos a salir adelante.
Hay algo que no se debe perder nunca y es la esperanza.
Si vieras que linda que está la Argentina.
Tiene la mirada de la primer novia que nunca se olvida.
Desde los balcones llueven las glicinas,
y a pesar de todo camina y camina,
Si vieras de nuevo que linda y que grande que esta mi Argentina,
Buenos Aires sigue llena de gorriones.
Hay nuevos poetas que escriben sus tangos
y hay nuevos cantores.
Y sigue teniendo la vieja locura
que al doblar la esquina haya una aventura
Ya ves: sigue viva y a pesar de todo llena de ternura.
Si acaso te encuentras con otro emigrante,
decile que vuelva que pronto seremos mejores que antes.
Que todo fue culpa de cuatro atorrantes,
que solo lograron que el pueblo no cante.
Decile que vuelva, que juntos podremos salir adelante.
Music and lyrics by Cacho Castaña [submitted on 12 Apr 03]
muchas gracias. me gusto mucho el mensaje. la semana que viene voy a BA de visita, pero al final voy a terminar viviendo ahi. quizas en algun otro lado de sudamerica. [submitted on 12 Apr 03]
i can say i'm canadian and not lie. [submitted on 12 Apr 03]
http://www.standonguard.com
This is what the CBC means when they say "as it happens." Watch your backs, comrades! [submitted on 16 Apr 03]