Category: Holidays

“It is like the movie ‘The Departed’ only with less drama and more murders.”
That is what my host told me about Mexico. They kept asking me why I decided to come to Tampico, of all places in Mexico. So I told them.
I opened Google Maps and looked for the first coastal city somewhat south of Oklahoma City. They just wondered why anyone would come to one of the top five most dangerous cities in Mexico. I had no idea. Just like I had no idea what I was going to do there, and like I have no idea what I’m going to do in the city I am in now, or the rest of the places I will go. After a while, the word ‘dangerous’ loses its impact anyway. But they kept telling me bedtime stories about plucking fingernails with pliers and their friends getting kidnapped for a ransom of thirty million pesos and they gave advice to never look anyone in the eyes. And as my skin slowly becomes more like dried leather, through the disgusting paperbag-sounding process of flaking like a croissant, I will become more and more used to the word, dangerous.

A few weeks of visiting friends I noticed this phrase more often than ever before:

It is what it is.

I have decided that it should be the new phrase for Tourism Mexico. Mexico, where it is what it is.

It seems to always come out with a tone of resignation, or simply an acceptance of the situation as inevitable and unchangeable. A submission. Mexican gang violence. It is what it is. And although Mexican President Calderón is doing his best to change it, still, it is what it is. And,

It will be what it will be.

I heard someone say this phrase about a party we were throwing for the Fourth of July. Unknowing how many would show up, asking who would provide the entertainment, and hoping that the Slip’n’Slide would work, he said that phrase. The future tense of acceptance or submission. When it could easily be it will be what we make it. He is a pessimist.

As I travel more, and my long anticipations of food and beaches and ruins turn into fleeting memories and images on several screens, there isn’t much that can be said but:

It was what it was.

And as I constantly worry that I’m not doing enough while traveling, (not eating enough, not going enough places, not spending enough, not staying long enough, not learning enough, not trying hard enough, not reading enough, not partying enough), I can sleep calmly at the fact that,

It is what it is. It was what it was. It will be what it will be.

Or it will be what I make it, and I won’t compare that to anyone else.

I know I am not as good looking as you’d hoped, and not as smart as I could have ended up being, and really, more embarrassing than anything. I remember trying to make you breakfast in bed as a kid on Mother’s Day, but ended up making dad do all the work while we watched cartoons, and then you probably did the dishes.

And all those times that we made chore lists and cooking lists that no one ever followed, and always complaining about supper, and never saying thank you, and burping at the dinner table, and swearing too often, and getting tattoos, and listening to loud music, and not cutting my hair, and rarely bathing.

And although at times it may seem like your kids are all screw ups, well, three of them at least, the decent qualities we have in us are because of you, and for that we all love you and think you’re pretty swell. Your patience is continually teaching me.

My apology letter is actually a thank you letter. For putting up with me for the past twenty-two plus years,
Thanks.

p.s. I tried calling, I swear.

Holidays are abridged versions of real life. Religious or not, one must understand that holidays were originally holidays because, a long time ago, people actually held their religions as a large part of their lives. Holy days became holidays, holidays became synonymous with weekends, weekends became synonymous with Teacher Conference Days. And now as a society, we don’t generally identify with anything. Holidays are our new religions. All Hail May Long.

I consider myself like any good character of a dramatic primetime soap opera, in that I always make an effort to include my readership in my holiday processes, which typically ends up a few paragraphs about commercialization and how we are all going to die soon. I went on an Easter egg hunt this morning at 9:30am. Last night, somewhere between the escalator in the metro and my apartment on Cazelais Street, I lost my red, polkadot handkerchief. This may sound like a minor problem, but this hanky has been part of my back pocket family for nearly ten years, nor do you understand my overall snot problems since my new nose was put on. So this morning, like a sugar-addicted child searching for his next fix, I sulked the grey streets looking for a blood red hanky to catch my eye.

Nope. Chip bag.
What is that across the street? A pop bottle lid.
Ah yes! There it is, on the sewer grate. Oh wait, that is just an onion mesh.

If only a designated adult had taken my hanky from me, hid it unsuspectingly so that when I couldn’t find it, he or she could tell me where he put it. Searching for something that no one else has found isn’t easy. You have no reference. But the reward when you find it is possibly better than a snot filled handkerchief.

And when you can’t find something that you lost, or that someone hid from you, you replace it with something else. Can’t find God, so replace it with hockey. Can’t find the keys, so replace them with a sledgehammer. Can’t find the hanky, so replace it with your sleeve. Can’t find the answer, move on to the next question. Can’t find the proper phrase for your paragraph, replace it with something outright barbarous.

We did an easter egg hunt on Easter Sunday at a friend’s house five years ago, and I found a plastic egg that was left hidden from the year before. I didn’t win any special prize, all I got was more dust and older chocolate than everyone else. I think this alarmed my friend’s mother that she wasn’t running quite the clean home that she thought she was. I think you must take notice when you find something that you weren’t looking for in the first place. Either it was looking for you, or you were originally looking for the wrong thing.

Once I reached a point of hopelessness, the unfindable egg/hanky, I imagined arriving home with it tied to the doorknob at the front door of the apartment. I would embrace it by blowing full force into its red-dyed design and I wouldn’t even question how it got there, because that is where it was supposed to end up anyway.

In youth, everything is a search. Some make it seem like you should find everything and stop searching when you reach adulthood. I don’t know if I’m still in childhood or now in adulthood, but I will be looking for that hanky until I die.