Being Gay in Cali, Colombia

I've been out of the closet since I was 13 or 14 years old, and for the first time since, I've had to inch back into it. I came out about a few minutes after making the realization that I was gay. I mean, I didn't scream it in the middle of a class, but when it came up, I told people. Or if they made an incorrect assumption, I corrected them, no more and no less than I would do if someone called me by the wrong name or thought that maybe I didn't eat asparagus. Always the same axiom: Just live life like everyone already knows.

So imagine my surprise when after the first time I was seeing a "special someone" off at the MIO station, they stuck out their hand for me to shake it. I mean, I just fucked you, but we're saying good-bye by shaking hands? A gesture that, occasionally, is meant to express a certain distance and formality (at least in US culture)? I understood immediately of course, but on the five minute walk back to my apartment, I turned the experience over and over in my head, like I was trying to solve a riddle whose answer I already knew.

Most of the time when I'm in a new place, I have a two-pronged plan of attack: 1) Find the artists and 2) find the gays. Both groups tend to be open and accepting groups because they tend to find themselves a bit on the outside of society. There's the sense that we should stick together. Up to now, this has been a pretty decent plan, but in Cali, not quite so.

First, there's no gay neighborhood to really hang out. And while there are gay bars here, you can't go out alone. I mean, you could; it's not illegal. But no one is going to want to talk to you, and no one else has gone out alone, so you're not going to find that other guy who's got the same plan you do: to go out and make a new friend. (And no, I don't mean necessarily pick someone up, you horndogs.) This ends up leaving bars feeling a bit like the cafeteria from Mean Girls. Everyone's sitting with their friends, and no...

As for the online route, there's only Grindr. I had Scruff and Hornet at first, and but I exhausted them in a few days. Everyone's on Grindr, and that makes it hard to weed out the people with bad social skills who just want to send you explicit pictures from someone with half a brain that could be interesting to have a beer with, regardless of the outcome (be it sex, friends, or just the stimulation of meeting someone new). And just like the US, the vast majority on Grindr are the former. I've been trying to use it, but it comes and goes. I have about a week where I tell myself I'm really going to try, but then I realize all it does is bring frustration and stupidity into my little bubble and it's uninstalled once more.

So in short, the gay community functions more or less like the straight community here. Groups and circles and you're not getting in unless you know someone. I acknowledge that the US tendency to be gushy and over the top in our attempt to include and welcome new people might come off as insincere, and sometimes it is, but at least the door is open for you to maybe have a chance. Here, if they don't know you, they're not interested.

So while I have a few gay acquaintances here, I don't have many gay friends. But I've talked about my loneliness and why that is ad nauseum, so if you're interested, check back a few entries and catch yourself up. But long story short, to get a Colombian to stick to a plan and show up on time is a rare thing indeed, like planets aligning, Bigfoot sightings, and winning lottery tickets. In any case, it's the first time that I haven't felt part of a group here, particularly one that included other gay people to some degree. For as much as I like to style myself as independent and like "I am the one man who is an island," I'm finding it rough, guys. Real rough.

Now combine that with having to feel like you have to, in some situations, hide who you are. For some reason, I'm asked if I have a Colombian girlfriend or if I like Colombian girls. In the past, I never thought twice about saying, "I don't date girls" or "I prefer men" or "I'm not straight." The one time I mentioned it in French class--because the teacher in the context of discussion gender roles asked me if I would date a woman who drove a taxi--was met with stares that were a swirl of interest, disbelief, and confusion. ("Did he really mean to say that? Gringos are bad with Spanish/French.") Ultimately instead of asking another version of the question, the discussion was diverted onto another topic. I wasn't embarrassed to say I preferred men in front of a group of people, but their reaction was what embarrassed me. No embarrassed laughter, no apology, no anger, no "okay" or "you're going to hell" or... anything. Just a blank look and then a complete change of subject. I was on the outs again, but this time I wasn't the outs with all the rest of society's freaks. It was just me.

Hi ho the diary-o.












The cheese stands alone.

My Job Keeps Me Sane

Here's another thing to file under, "I'd never thought this would happen in my life": I really enjoy my job.

Don't get me wrong. It has its annoying moments, but I never dread going to work, I never wish I could just leave and go home, and I never think about quitting or daydream about something else I'd rather be doing. I am pretty darn content, and when people ask me why I'm still in Colombia if I'm so annoyed by everything, it's the first thing I answer with.

As you all know, Colombia has not been an easy place for me, and the answer to that is complicated. It's been hard to find many people that I feel like are like me, which is to say gay, quasi-counter culture 20- or 30-somethings who are estranged from their families (whether that be by distance or beliefs). Then there's also this summation of my cultural frustrations: It's like when you're in highschool, trying to get to class on time, and there they are, a group of people walking five feet deep blocking the width of the hallway. There's no choice but to walk behind them, grumbling, "Well, I guess this is the speed I'm walking now..." And really I should resign myself to that, I know, but it, like most things, is easier said than done. In certain ways, I've tried to be flexible. I'm eating meat again, most notably, and it's helped, to a degree, and I'm getting better at guessing when someone is going to flake out or plans are going to fall through because things were poorly organized. There's been progress.

But work has kept me going. I never thought I'd reach a moment in my life when I enjoyed my job so much and it was the thing motivating me rather than my escape from it to something else. I love education, and I love participating in it as either student or teacher (I consider the line between the two to be a fine one). I love languages, whether it's English, Spainish, French, Japanese, Esperanto, or any other in the known universe. I love communication and exchanging ideas and seeing the personal growth each student makes. And when I see how much fun they have when I design a really good activity or discussion topic, I feel really happy to be making a difference. Perhaps the better question is what's not to like?

Well, there are a few things not to like, specifically how my job can be at times, like everything else in Colombia, poorly organized. Sometimes my classes with other professors are suddenly cancelled, students don't show up to their tutoring sessions, or teachers tell me what they would like me to prepare for a class visit less than twenty four hours in advance. In some of these situations, I can push back and say no, sorry I should have been told earlier if you wanted this to happen, and sometimes I have to suck it up and just realize where I'm at again. Oh, and I have to get up at five am to teach seven am some days. Yes, all these things, out of context, are unpleasant, but when you like your job, when you like what you do, it gets easy to look past. There's a moment of frustration, but it passes because oh it's two o'clock and it's time to go teach an advanced level conversation club full of people who want to be there.


So in writing about all of my problems so often, I thought it'd be good to remind you all why I came here, why I'm staying here, why I have no intention of leaving early, and why, if I knew then what I knew now, I'd still had chosen to come here all the same.

The Dark Face of Mother Nature

I'm changing it up this week. I don't feel like writing about Colombia because I'm hella over it right now. I love my job, but the country is driving me full metal crazy. So to take my mind off it, I wrote a story. In French. This is only the second real attempt to write something besides a journal entry in French so bare with me. I translated it to English afterward for the French impaired. It's definitely got a bit of a Lovecraft vibe or at least it started there and then transformed into what I like to think of as the dark face of mother nature. Not my most impressive piece of writing but doing it in the same week a paper and model lesson plan are due for two different classes on top of all the bullshit of life, I'm not that displeased, especially considering the barrier of thinking in your third language. Anyway, enjoy.

Sous terre, je dors et les gens n'ont pas d’idée que j’existe et que j’attends. Je suis tellement vieux comme leurs histoires, mais je ne suis pas un personnage dans leurs contes. En fait, je suis leurs contes. Je suis l’ambiance, l’inspiration et la fin de leurs intrigues. Je n’ai pas de parents ni d’amis. Les humains ont oublié ma forme. J’en suis sûr, car moi même je ne m’en souviens pas, ici, en l’obscurité. Certains m’ont appelé démon et d’autres m’ont donné le nom de Ténèbres et le reste n’ose pas le dire. Ce troisième groupe est le plus intelligent parce que des cultures anciennes et sages savaient qu’en déclarant le nom d’une personne, on donne pouvoir à son propriétaire, de la même façon que répéter des ragots peut les transformer en réalité. Faites attention, mes simples humains, à ce que vous direz: Je vous écoute, ici, dans mon domaine souterrain.

J’existe et j’attends. J’attends le moment parfait pour me révéler à tous, pour m’approprier cette planète et tous ses habitants. Et quand il arrivera, vous n’aurez autre choix que vous rendre parce que cette roche est prête à accueillir son nouveau maître. Vous l’avez trahie et les arbres, les oiseaux, les lacs et les nuées qui auraient été vos amis seront ceux qui vous rendront à la ruine. C’est pour ça que j’y attends, au centre de la Terre, en communiant avec les vers, les asticots, les racines des chênes et les sources des eaux. Ma voix est de la musique. Elle est miel et nectar. Elle est irrésistible quand je désire qu’elle le soit, bien que vous n’ayez pas rendu difficile mon travail, et c’était une prouesse simple, les convaincre de me joindre.

Et maintenant, nous attendons ensemble, les créatures de la Terre et moi. Quand vous regardez le paysage, rempli de paix et de beaux animaux et avec des cieux bleus et quand vous sentez que tout est bon dans le monde, la vérité est que ses bêtes sont en train de comploter votre chute. Il n’y a pas de paix pour vous, il n’y a pas de fuite. C’est le destin que vous avez créé et je crains qu’il n’existe pas d’autre remède. Vous n’avez pas d’alliés. Tous vous ont abandonnés.

En attendant, je vous donne mon sang, noir et collant, pour alimenter vos machines et votre avidité et, maintenant, en si peu de temps, vous avez devenu des toxicomanes, mordus de cette destruction qui semble le progrès et retourne votre propre planète contre vous. Vous buvez cette liqueur et ainsi vous vous rencontrez ivres de la colère que je faisais fermenter pour des siècles dans mes veines, avec ma haine pour vous. Et pourquoi vous détesté-je ? Parce que vous vous croyez forts, invincibles, éternels et vous êtes tout sauf ça.

Ici, je reste, pour le moment, vous donnant ma vie et même si j’ai besoin de vider la dernière goutte pour accomplir mon but et régner comme un simple esprit sans forme dans mon nouveau royaume, je n’hésiterai pas, je n’hésiterai pas...

Underground, I sleep, and no one has any idea I exist, waiting.  I am as old as their stories, but I am not a character in them. In fact, I am their stories. I am the ambiance, the inspiration and the end of their tales. I have not parents nor friends. Humans have forgotten my shape. Of that I am sure because even I don't remember it, here, in the dark. Some have called me demon and others have given me the name of Darkness, and the rest don't dare to say it. This third group is the smartest since ancient and wise cultures knew that speaking the same of a person gives power to its owner, the same way that repeating rumors can transformer them in reality. Be careful, little humans, of what you say: I'm listening, here, in my underground domain.

I exist and I wait. I await the perfect moment to reveal myself to everyone, to dominate this planet and all its inhabitants. And when it comes, you will have no other choice but to give up because this rock is ready to welcome its new master. You have betrayed her, and the trees, the birds, the lakes and the clouds that would have been your friends will be who bring you to ruin. That's why I wait, in the Earth's center, communing with the worms, the maggots, the roots of the oaks and the waters' sources. My voice is music. It is nectar and honey. It is irresistible when I wish it to be, even though you have not made my work hard, and it was a simple feat to convince them to join me.

And now, we wait together, the Earth's creatures and I. When you look into nature, full of peace and beautiful animals and blue skies, and when you feel everything to be right in the world, the truth is that these critters are plotting your downfall. There is no peace for you, no escape. It's the fate you have created and I'm afraid that there's no other way. You have no allies; they've all abandoned you.

I give you my blood, black and sticky, waiting, to feed your machines and your greed, and now, in so little time, you've become addicts, hooked on that destruction that seems like progress and turns your own planet against you. You drink that liquor and thereby find yourselves drunk on the anger that I've fermented for centuries in my veins, with my hate for you. And why do I hate you? Because you believe yourselves to be strong, invincible, eternal, when you are anything but.

Here, I stay, for the moment, giving you my life, and even if I have to drain my last drop to accomplish my goal and rule as a simple, formless spirit in my new realm, I will not hesitate, I will not...

Ten Months of Solitude

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Indiana. Fondly. I know, what the hell, right? First, I allow meat back into my diet, and now I look forward to coming back to the States, not to resume living in what I used to call home, the City of New York, but in Indiana, the home I, to mince no words, practically rejected.

Well, loneliness will do funny things to you. It'll change you and sometimes, maybe, for the better. I think when I look back on Colombia, I'll think of it as the year where I learned to really, for the first time, enjoy my own company. I'm not sure I could say I did before living here. It's not because I've never really felt alone, but it's always been a faint hum in the background, and here I've had not choice but to face it directly. I've had to look at who I am, what I think, what I do, how I react to things, what is actually making me tick instead of letting it get lost in the noise or distraction of other people. What I like I am learning to let myself feel proud about, and what I don't like I'm learning to change or accept.

So, why am I, dare I even say, longing for Indiana? Well, for the sucktastic place Indianapolis used to be, it's actually developed a bit in the ten years I've been away. I'm not sure if it's gone so far to become a place I want to stay in forever, but the city in and of itself is now bearable for the four months I plan to be there. But in addition to general urban development, what makes it attractive these days are some of the people I've gotten to know. By and large, Indiana is full of people who are, for lack of a better word, simple. I don't mean that they're stupid at all. Indiana is full of engineers and pharmacists, thanks to Purdue. I mean, their needs are simple; their lives are simple. They were born there, they live there, they occasionally vacation in Florida, and they will probably die there. And for the people who are made happy by all that, bless you because if I didn't demand so much from life, I would probably be happier person too. However, it can sometimes lead to a certain sense of insularity. There's something very important about coming into contact with people from other cultures on a regular basis, and I'll always be thankful for New York and my line of work for affording me those experiences. But not everyone is like that. Among these people are some really stellar ones, some that I knew growing up and others that I met after I had already moved away. And when a Facebook message from a friend or family member asking me "why aren't you home yet?!" or telling me "I'm excited for when you come back!" prompts a bit of reverie about the kind of life I'll live there, I think about them, along with an easier job market, a lower cost of living, and all the while having some nice things on the horizon (Europe!... Hopefully!). It's nice to feel wanted somewhere, and in Colombia, if I ever feel wanted, it's only to be used as a resource.

Um, well, we're in Colombia,
 and we're not at the university and I'm not working, so.... no.

But I need to break this habit of fantasizing about far away places, regardless of whether that far away place is the United States or some other country. For as great as it'll all be, I'll get there when I get there, and for now, I'm here, which really isn't that bad. Living in the future doesn't do much to make the present any more agreeable. I've felt a certain desire to give in and keep my head down, grinning and bearing it for the next four months (wow... so little time, really), but I know that this is only going to lead to more misery. Fantasizing about a life that I'm not living will bring only more mental anguish, particularly because who knows how it will really be when I get back. I feel very much like a man without a country, to steal a bit of Vonnegut, and that tends to make me a bit displeased living anywhere in the world. I know this, and I've accepted it. It's why I often finish a rant about a recent Colombian annoyance with "but I'm actually fine." I get grumpy and complain. It's part of who I am and how I do things. By giving into my nature but keeping in mind what it is, I find harmony with myself and therefore not necessarily happiness but a kind of peace. What doesn't give me an iota of peace is trying to pretend that's not who I am and that everything is all smiles and sunshine and "culture shock? what's that? haha, winky face, exclamation point." It's a lie to myself and to the people around me, and I've only ever wanted be truthful with you all.

Vegetarian rumspringa (Aspect 2 of Coffee Region, Cartagena, and Pasto)

I just ate a ham sandwich.

Let that sink in. I'll wait for a second.

Yes, you understood correctly. After twelve years of vegetarianism, I'm back on the meat. Well, temporarily at least. To refresh your memory from a previous post debating this:

1) Food is a major part of the culture in any country, and missing out on something this integral component is something that can't be ignored when a good deal of what one's life is dedicated to is world languages and cultures.

2) Vegetarian food in Cali is hard to come by, and when you do find it, it's often time very expensive. Tofu, for example, is double what it costs in the US, whey is also about double the cost, and while they don't have seitan, they have gluten. However, it isn't a complete protein. Gluten is basically the same as seitan except for it hasn't been marinated in soy sauce which adds in the final missing amino acid. 

I decided to make my trip to the coffee region my vegetarian rumspringa. For those who don't know, rumspringa is when an Amish youth leaves the community to go experience our way of life. At the end of that period, they decide whether to return or not. I made the choice to do this on a trip because there was a lot of shame wrapped up in the idea of eating even a little bit of meat again. It's a source of pride for myself that I don't eat meat, and I was sad to give that up, to part with that piece of my identity. At least while I was traveling, I would have no one to explain it to, no one to look at me to see what my first reactions would be, no pressure to do this any sort of way than how I wanted.

Flash forward to the coffee park where I ask for an arepa filled with chorizo. I ate it and waited. I was afraid that after twelve years, my stomach would launch a full scale coup, and I'd be rushing to a bathroom on the regular. Last thing I wanted was for that to happen during a roller coaster. No one likes a poopy pants. And everyone absolutely hates a poopy pants on a roller coaster. This is universal law.

But as I waited, I didn't notice much of anything. My guess is that because my diet has usually been pretty heavy on dairy, maybe this was close enough for my stomach to still process meat. There is also the fact that I had eaten meat for the sixteen years of my life, but suffice it to say, no bad effects whatsoever.

After I found out that eating meat wouldn't send me into a world of pain, I took full advantage of my rumspringa. "Let's tempt fate," I thought, "let's try to find some meat thing that I absolutely love and would go crazy for, something that would make me think I'm actually missing something because that chorizo arepa was like eh....." So I ate every meat item I could get my traitorous little hands on during that trip.... And nada. Meat, while it can taste good, still can't come close to rivaling vegetarian food in absolute savoriness. There's so much flavor in vegetarian food, and meat is just... there, all lumpy and stupid. Don't get me wrong. There were a few things I did like, but vegetarian or not, they weren't things one should make a habit of eating.

When I went to Cartagena, I tried step two of this grand experiment and didn't eat any meat to contrast, and it was probably the wrong place to try this. Not only is that city hella expensive, it's whole culture is based around seafood. Options were found; I didn't starve, but man, it was difficult without access to a kitchen to cook things for myself. I mean, yes, my hostel had a kitchen, but cooking in it was sure to give me an as of yet unknown disease, probably breeding in its darkened corners and waiting for it's opportunity to go out into the world. I've seen horror movies with plague motifs. I'm not going down that road. NOT TODAY, EBOLA!

After this experiment, the twenty pounds I've lost in the six months I've been here, the prohibitive prices of vegetarian food, and an increasing feeling of exhaustion and weakness, I decided this was the right choice. I won't eat meat at home, and I tend to follow a meal plan and it won't include meat, which means it'll mostly just be out when I'm at restaurants, but there you have it: I'm eating it none the less.

I was once explained that religions can often be broken down into one of two groups: ones that put a premium on time (such as Christianity, with an emphasis on history and potentially impending rapture or apocalypse) and ones that focus on space (such as a good deal of indigenous religions). I prefer the ones that focus on space, which I think Buddhism. It transforms and merges with the culture in which it finds itself. Zen Buddhism in Japan is not the same as it is in the United States, and there's good reasons for that. The Buddha himself wasn't vegetarian. His principle was to eat whatever was placed in his begging bowl. Well, Colombia is putting meat in my begging bowl, and so, it's meat I'll eat.