I just finished reading Paper Towns by John Green on the flight to Miami. Ironic, I thought, because paper towns is set very prominently in Florida, so I was left making connections constantly. Subdivisions, strip-malls, palm trees. But it’s not as desolate as Margo Roth Spiegelman often described it.
There is a certain type of life here, burbling quite loudly amongst those blocks and highways. It is in the stores and in the houses and on the beaches. The Cuban slang and the Argentinean food and the Bolivian aunties and the dogs (oh god, the dogs are so cute) that spill out onto empty subdivision streets and past security guards.
The amount of fried food I’ve eaten here in the past 2 days has maybe outweighed the amount of fried food that I would eat at home in a month at least. This is both exciting, because I love trying new food, and generally taxing on my so-called “bikini body” which isn’t really a body made for a bikini but more of a bikini-wearing-device. Something very much so utilitarian in its properties to not expose my jiggly bits on the beach in front of infants. Somehow, though, women here manage to make the equivalent of underwear on a hot day, covered in sand, look good. I will forever be impressed with such women and their devotion to their bodies. I would love to replicate that sort of devotion this year, but dear god, you know I’m not making promises.
Regardless, life here has certainly been trippy for me. Like a dorm (rooms spread by highways) but with like, literally the funniest and most straight-forward and unabashed people ever. I like the reflections I get from my friends’ friends. They make him seem kind of okay. Sometimes. (>:])
I’m appreciating all of these moments I get to be in. I feel very much spectator but also very much here, because it’s so clearly removed from my normal routine that I think I’m coping by just slinking into myself and trying to take as much of it in as I can.