scraping by in bsas
anyone who has been close to me in the past five or so years knows how i am with money. housemates, a few girlfriends, my old neighbors, landlords, etc., have all seen me floundering, have tried to call me and found my phone shut off, have come to my house to find a kitchen filled with spices and condiments but no actual food.
it’s a funny kind of poverty because it’s more or less of my own choosing. i volunteered for a group of northamerican “piqueteros” after college, working temp jobs and waiting tables and not quite scraping by. three years later when i finally got a salaried job for a year or so, i spent my money paying off old debts and taking trips to argentina.
the second trip to argentina, i stayed, and for the first four months i lived, more or less precariously, off my last two paychecks. now i have a job teaching english but because of the long delay between working and getting a paycheck i again find my refrigerator bare. i spend days at a time eating pasta for breakfast. i have no umbrella, no jacket, no shoulder bag or briefcase, and no wallet.
when i see it in writing i start to get overwhelmed, but the truth is i don’t mind it so much. really i get by just fine, and if i should ever get into real trouble i have friends and family that could help, a college degree, and enough skills to get some kind of “real job", if it came to that.
besides that, i kind of welcome this self-induced poverty. having no money from time to time reminds me, at least, what life is like for so many families, both here in Argentina and back home in the USA. i count my change on monday, to make sure i can take the bus to my week’s english classes. the daily calculations on the street — can i buy a newspaper today? can i take a bus or should i walk to the subway, which is ten cents cheaper? — and in the grocery store, having to choose either bread or milk, either bananas or tomatoes. i walk past and marvel at the expensive bakeries with fancy pastries of all sorts, and feel the envy of the people who can afford these simple things. i curse the BMWs that pass on the street, the oversized 4x4s, for such largess in a country where millions go hungry.
and i think the politicians, the newspaper editors, the economists, the academics, the businesspeople — everyone who will have to make decisions about how their country should be run — should at some point have to experience the realities they create. to know the hard choices, to count their dimes and nickels, to feel the anger and resentment this poverty can create. there are hard choices to make, given the success neoliberal policies have had throughout the last twenty years. but who would you trust to make these decisions: Brazil’s president Lula da Silva, who was forced to leave school as a teenager to become a street vendor, or President Bush, who at the same time was doing coke at Yale?
when i talk to people about the future — fairly often these days, with most of my friends moving on in their mid-twenties life journeys — i start to think of my future and i get nervous. when my friends move on to law schools and advanced degrees, when they talk about settling down and building families and homes, i wonder if my life will ever be like that — normal, easy, comfortable.
for now, i have enough pesos in my pocket to make it to the next payday, i think, eating oatmeal for breakfast instead of spaghetti. and today i bought the newspaper. such extravagance.
it’s a funny kind of poverty because it’s more or less of my own choosing. i volunteered for a group of northamerican “piqueteros” after college, working temp jobs and waiting tables and not quite scraping by. three years later when i finally got a salaried job for a year or so, i spent my money paying off old debts and taking trips to argentina.
the second trip to argentina, i stayed, and for the first four months i lived, more or less precariously, off my last two paychecks. now i have a job teaching english but because of the long delay between working and getting a paycheck i again find my refrigerator bare. i spend days at a time eating pasta for breakfast. i have no umbrella, no jacket, no shoulder bag or briefcase, and no wallet.
when i see it in writing i start to get overwhelmed, but the truth is i don’t mind it so much. really i get by just fine, and if i should ever get into real trouble i have friends and family that could help, a college degree, and enough skills to get some kind of “real job", if it came to that.
besides that, i kind of welcome this self-induced poverty. having no money from time to time reminds me, at least, what life is like for so many families, both here in Argentina and back home in the USA. i count my change on monday, to make sure i can take the bus to my week’s english classes. the daily calculations on the street — can i buy a newspaper today? can i take a bus or should i walk to the subway, which is ten cents cheaper? — and in the grocery store, having to choose either bread or milk, either bananas or tomatoes. i walk past and marvel at the expensive bakeries with fancy pastries of all sorts, and feel the envy of the people who can afford these simple things. i curse the BMWs that pass on the street, the oversized 4x4s, for such largess in a country where millions go hungry.
and i think the politicians, the newspaper editors, the economists, the academics, the businesspeople — everyone who will have to make decisions about how their country should be run — should at some point have to experience the realities they create. to know the hard choices, to count their dimes and nickels, to feel the anger and resentment this poverty can create. there are hard choices to make, given the success neoliberal policies have had throughout the last twenty years. but who would you trust to make these decisions: Brazil’s president Lula da Silva, who was forced to leave school as a teenager to become a street vendor, or President Bush, who at the same time was doing coke at Yale?
when i talk to people about the future — fairly often these days, with most of my friends moving on in their mid-twenties life journeys — i start to think of my future and i get nervous. when my friends move on to law schools and advanced degrees, when they talk about settling down and building families and homes, i wonder if my life will ever be like that — normal, easy, comfortable.
for now, i have enough pesos in my pocket to make it to the next payday, i think, eating oatmeal for breakfast instead of spaghetti. and today i bought the newspaper. such extravagance.
previously there was Unprocessed past
afterwards you have memories, rushing back: so much life in things
Your take on politicians is right on - once they get a taste of their own medicine, they don't want to be through it again. Trouble is, most of out Latinamerican polticians never have taken a dose of it, and perhaps never will. That explains everything else. [submitted on 21 May 03]
La desesperacion REAL se siente cuando no podemos optar en que mundo vivir, esto es solo una ilusion o como vos mismo dijiste tu "propia eleccion". [submitted on 27 May 03]
las que se llaman 'personas marginadas' son cada día más, y ojalá que un día vamos a lograr de enseñar a todos que no es una falta de educación, o de ganas, o pilas, o limpieza, que ellos no tienen plata -- que hay que cambiar la sistema. [submitted on 27 May 03]