We’re sitting at a gas station outside of Salta: 24 de marzo de 2015
Now we’re sitting at a gas station outside of Salta in the unnatural glare of white light that floods the area where cars pump gas. Tanks are refilled with that toxic liquid fueling the metal mechanism our wild intelligence created. Raúl sits at my side reading a magazine I bought yesterday for 15 pesos about medicinal plants, and I write in English so he can’t read over my shoulder.
I think one of the reasons I wanted to learn another language was so that I could write in code, depending on who I’m with. I think I feel more like a spy, which I totally probably would not be good at but I wish I could be good at, and anyway no one would suspect me because I’m too ridiculous and weird to do anything so serious.
What I’d really like is to be forced into a fucked-up situation like in the James Bond movies and just have to deal with people dying, and be like ok bueno, vamos. Yes I will break the law if in the end it’s for a good cause (más o menos lol) and the Bond I’m with is super hot, like Matt Damon. Can someone please insert me into the life of Jason Bourne? Gracias!
Anyway, since we all know that’s probs not going to happen, I will continue the story of my much less interesting, slow-paced, hitchhiker’s life, that involves a lot of waiting at gas stations, peeing behind bushes, rejoicing at the encounter of half-smoked cigarettes on the ground, and hopelessly asking anyone that looks slightly “too-relaxed” if they know where we can buy faso.
And the beauty of it is kind of counter intuitive: the less often we find something good, a shimmery vibe, the kindness of a stranger, enough half-smoked cigarettes to roll a full one, or two bowls-worth of paratóxico to shift our mental energy into something stranger, the more we enjoy it, the more we are grateful for what we do have. Because even if it’s shitty, even if we barely have anything, we have something, and that’s enough.
That’s what I adore about South America: everyone seems to be grateful for what they have, so much so that often I have felt like maybe they’re being a bit too optimistic. For example, I hate so strongly how the weed here sucks; is it not an outrage that these people can’t get real marijuana?? It’s so unfair to me, so when they live their lives normally without feeling even slightly angry, or settle for paraguayo without complaining, I feel they are being too optimistic.
But maybe I just value weed more than them? I have felt its looming heavy presence warming my chest: a purring cat sitting on you as you lie in bed. A deep breath in. Eating something hot and filling when you’ve been hungry for a long time.
Now I realize that there’s no such thing as “too optimistic.” It’s just my perception based on my experience, my cultural coldness cooling everything around me, slowing it down to the rate of molasses sliding downhill. It’s me not having the patience to endure not having everything I want or as many opportunities as I have in the states. And I am a much more patient and humble person now because of it, because I’ve had to just suck it up and deal.
I feel like no one in the states is as thankful for what they have as the people here, and the people here have so much less. You guys don’t even know, they have, like, five brands of cereal. And if you want granola it’s like five dollars for what would be about three bowls of cereal, maybe. But even though Reese’s Puffs doesn’t exist, it really doesn’t matter. I think that’s what’s important.
To appreciate what you have now is essential to being happy. If forever you’re imagining a better future, you’re wasting the beauty of the present moment. I think to always remember to be thankful is wise, even if you know things are better elsewhere. For me, now, it means so what if it’s midnight and we’ll definitely have to sleep crumpled up outside the gas station with the rain sprinkling close? We have each other, enough food to not be hungry until tomorrow, water, a roof (even if it’s a gas station awning), books, music, warm clothes. And beyond this viaje we have a million other things to be thankful for: the support of our friends and families, money in a bank account (if not much), working arms and legs and eyes and ears. The list goes on and on, it’s incredible.
Anyways, blah blah blah, I’m so preachy.