“Obligatory quote: ties the literary work together by linking a deep and often spiritual thought of a person (a menudo ya muerto) with the nonsensical rambling that fills the remainder of the document.” -Anonymous*
Flashback: Scrunched up on the “hump” seat of the bus, I am buried by a number of my own recently-acquired possessions, plus a leg or two of the sick, wailing child that continually squirms off the lap of the large woman next to me. She comprises the squishier, more comfortable half of the emparedado de Angela. The hard, unforgiving, window coated with peeling semi-transparent black plastic, rattles against my right arm ceaselessly. El DeeJay directly behind me attempts to blend a grainy, cell-phone version of James Blunt’s “You’re Beautiful” with the radio’s “Dormir Juntitos” while he serenades me in the ear...”yo bootiful”...only pausing to yell at his friend who happens to be seated directly in front of me.
Surrounded. I close my eyes and take a few measured deep breaths. Suddenly, in my head I begin dictating the scene to myself, and soon I see myself from the perspective of the gallotes that cruise over the bus. There I am, my little self below, a little dot in the mayhem of all that is Panama – and I see that I am smiling. Amazing! Everything looks so distorted from above. The scene that a minute ago had me on the verge of tears is now unbearably comical. Someone’s having a laugh al gusto de nosotros.
Looking back on moments that at the time were frustrating, irritating or even almost unbearable, the humor is now apparent. Sitting (or standing) through endless meetings, being laughed at for saying “sí” to everything I didn’t understand, almost crying over hot soup on a scorching day, waiting at the school for a meeting during a vicious aguacero, waking up to kids peeking in my windows at 6am, my cat getting stolen, diarrhoea explosiva...hilarious!
When the irritation begins to mount, I try to look at the situation from the outside – from the perspective of the construction worker psst-pssting above me, and I write the story in my head, a version to be told over a Panama bien fría. Really, when else in my life will I be suck a rock star? So I flip my hair, stride confidently forward, and I smile.
When the irritation begins to mount, I try to look at the situation from the outside – from the perspective of the construction worker psst-pssting above me, and I write the story in my head, a version to be told over a Panama bien fría. Really, when else in my life will I be suck a rock star? So I flip my hair, stride confidently forward, and I smile.
*Warning: Coffee + wine = creative juices overflowing superflously.
