It was nice out when I returned to Lima and I celebrated the bit of sun between snowy Philadelphia and the altipampa by blowing the dust off of some skirts and dresses. I was also rudely thrust back into machismo. It’s usually better in Lima, but I got a lot of unwanted attention. I didn’t have much of a chance, being a triple-threat of a gringa, in non-dumpy clothes, with a body type that appeals to South Americans (butt implants are as popular here as boob implants are in America). It’s mostly comments in passing or from moving vehicles, which deprives me of even a chance to shoot back a hairy eye ball. It drives me crazy that these cowardly ass-clowns have power over me. They influence what I wear and where I go. They make me put my head down and feel uncomfortable. It sucks. I was happy that I was in a sunny city by the ocean, wearing something that I felt pretty in, and they partly soured it for me. Nice dresses and mascara aren’t the foundation of self-confidence, but it’s a nice boost every now and again.
I remember posting similar complaining months ago. I guess it’s something I won’t fully get used to or be able to ignore.
I was also having a little gloomy time because, when I went back to the states, EVERYONE was in a relationship. While I was so happy to be with my friends and family, there was that little voice that enjoys raining on parades that said, “Sure, but do you have somebody to love, share your life, and make-out with? No, you don’t.” I hate that voice. I know I’m 25 and probably don’t have to worry about dying alone, gnawed by cats, yet. But while this next year will be fulfilling in friendships, exploring, and strange cultural experiences, it’s promising to be a romantic wasteland. I’m sure I’ll find a nice man with a nice beard that I’ll like and make out with one day, it’s just not going to be right away.
It was a pleasant little boost to later be asked out by a Peruvian man in a non-needing-to-take-a-shower way. I went out on my first date with a host country national! Milestone! He was sweet, educated, and an artist, but also unfortunately 38. I’ll bet getter at estimating Peruvian ages one of these days. I’m not going to call him again, but it was nice to have someone tell me how gorgeous my amber eyes were while I was eating a giant sandwich.
I’ve always been pretty level-headed and good at being single. I think it’s the Peace Corps aloneness and general yuckiness of male attention that wears on a lady. For now, I’ll channel extra love into my work, my abundance of friends in my home and adopted countries, my beautiful, ridiculous families, and try to learn to dance like Beyoncé.