A surreal and necessary day in the center of Coyoacán. I walked to the Mercado and got Liam a sticker because he asked me to, and then I just walked around. I saw some young men beat boxing and I stopped to watch them long before they had a crowd. I am not fluent in Spanish, but I got the gist of what they were asking and joking about when they asked people to come closer. So I did. I was shy about taking pictures and video, and only did after the Mexicans did. This kid was so good, he did so many things that are hard to believe he did with his mouth only. There was no equipment but a generator, speakers and his mic. AMAZING. One of the other beat boxers did introduce him and say something about his name and how famous he is, some sort of award. That’s all I could figure out in my horrible Spanish. I watched for at least a half hour. It was pretty awesome.
I walked away. I had soaked up enough of their energy, and I was grateful for it. I started walking again. The center of Coyoacán is a tourist magnet on Sundays. The Frida Kahlo museum is free, and many Mexicans go to museums on Sundays with their families due to this. There were people from all over taking pictures. I saw some people that are clearly not from this country, but it was mostly Spanish-speaking tourists. It was really crowded, but lively, and lots more street musicians, clowns and sellers.
I found the Coyoacán version of the Eugene Saturday Market and LOVED it. The artists were all there selling what they had made. No one likes you to take photos of their work here, no matter what vendor you’re at, as many tourists I’m guessing just take photos and don’t buy art.
I got some tiny original paintings on thin wood and cut into small book-mark style by an artist in the artist studios. I got 5 little pieces of art for 200 pesos, or approximately $10. I thanked her profusely.
I was going to go to Frida’s house, but I kept getting turned around. I didn’t want to rely on my GPS, and when I kept going different directions but still in the center, I decided that it wasn’t to be. I soaked up plenty of her energy while being here in Coyoacán, so I let that wish go with love.
I was walking down a street in the center and heard a man singing outside a bar in English. It was an Ed Sheeran song. It made me immediately sad. One of the things I’ve learned here though, is that if you are drawn in by something, go toward it.
I watched the bar for a minute to see if Ley Seca was over. People were drinking, so I sat down at the bar and listened to the man sing and play his guitar. He looked like a Eugene hippie. He thanked the crowd in Spanish, and moved on to the next cafe to sing it again. I heard him go through this song about 4 times. It was heart-wrenching.
I miss Tom a lot.
I drank and drank and wrote in my journal. For hours. The waiters just came over every half an hour or so and asked me if I wanted another beer. Yes, kind stranger. I do.
Here’s the thing. I don’t often don’t feel like a good person. People sometimes tell me I am, but I don’t believe them. It’s taking a lot of emotional work to let myself off the hook for things I’ve done that have hurt others, and things that have hurt me back. I feel selfish for being myself sometimes. I feel like I could be so much kinder to others, so much more patient and understanding.
I drank and wrote until I felt like I had some resolution in my heart. I decided there was nothing to do for myself but to forgive myself. I’m not through that road yet. I allowed myself enough grace to just feel the feelings and accept that I won’t always feel this shitty. That mistakes happen. Everyone fucks up. I am no different.
A little boy stopped and asked me if I’d like to buy some gum from his box. I said no. He was about Kindergarten age and had a snotty nose. He looked at me kindly and sadly. He was very interested in my journaling. He sat down at my table and looked at my writing. He asked me if I was writing a letter. I told him I was writing to my son, because I didn’t know how to say in Spanish that I was writing about my boyfriend. He asked me where my son was. I told him at his house in the US. The little boy looked right in my eyes with so much pity and sadness. I asked him where his Mama and Papa were. They are working, he said. I said, oh. He said “hasta luego,” and walked away. I started to cry like an idiot.
It is so hard to love myself and to forgive myself. There has never been a more obvious time to just give it up to God. I don’t know how. I lack the faith to always trust things that I cannot see or even feel yet. I need so much validation in the process.
I keep being told from prophets I seek-healers of every kind-that I need to let go. That I need to get out of my mind and accept that I do not know all the answers. I guess for me, the not knowing is so terrifying, there is so much vulnerability in that. I am not an Ace at Vulnerability.
I have no solution, except that things always always are better in the morning.
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