Slightly Not American

With exactly four weeks from yesterday to go before I return to native soil, I don't feel weepy any longer when I think about how much time remains because the majority is behind me now. I am sitting in my third house where I just moved last night and reveling in the fact that I don't have anything to do today. No plans, no one to be waiting for me with a meal, no school. Just me, my Spanish text book, a novel en espanol, time to watch a movie, hopes to chat on the phone, and the choice to listen to music with the door to my room open and not worry about bothering others. Everyone left today and I am all alone. Sigh. It feels good.
Outside my window, the sun is shining (I will take pictures of the new and final place later on and post them), the brilliantly pink bougainvilla is cascading over the perimeter walls of the house, and I am in Mexio. Studying here. Eating here. Sleeping here. Living life here. My heart is content. I know that wherever I am in this world that I have the love and joy of Jesus with me as well as the love and encouragement of my family and friends in my heart. For this I am content. For where I am at, I am content. I would love to be home with those I love, in my bed, in my house, in my job, but I feel blessed to have all that I do and to be able to survive and enjoy my time in Mexico. The things of my comfortable, typical American life will be lavished upon me within a month's time, but these moments are for savoring the rich land and hearty culture that I am marinating in at nearly every moment. I know culture shock is elusive, but I will surely experience it for at least a few weeks upon return and every other phrase out of my mouth will be, "When I was in Mexico..." just like now the phrase is something about Alejandro, my friends, family, or life at home. But I feel satisfied with my potential and aquired ability to blend into and embrace this season of life in Mexico.
I had a powerful realization of how I have finally crossed a barrier in Mexico when I went to the restroom last night. My new roomie, Sarah, who is also my classmate and Bible study pal and fellow orphanage attender, told me that it's ok to throw my used toilet paper in the toilet at the house which is kinda a small miracle in Mexico cause usually their pipes cannot handle the paper and you must throw it all in the garbage. Every last piece. However, last night, with this new option available to my taking if I wanted to enjoy the luxury of not seeing what I had just done in the trash can, as I flushed the toilet I promptly tossed my tissue in the garbage can. What?! I cannot break my habit. Don't worry, it won't take long to break it when I am back home and there isn't a garbage for toilet waste, but as of now I am in the depths of a habit of tossing that TP where the Mexicans say to.
Silly, I know, but I felt like I must finally be really getting life here. I feel fully comfortable leaping on any bus, even if it happens to have been the wrong one, I can haggle down any taxista or market vendor to a price of my liking, my salsa spiciness tolerance has dramatically increased, I don't mind beans for breakfast, my heart doesn't shatter each time I throw away a can or piece of paper any more (Mexico will someday catch up to the phenomenon of recycling and amazingly enough the people I live with now actually recycle, but few people understand the purpose or concept of it here which is completely against my Washington-raised nature), a few Mexican pop songs are familiar enough now that I can sing along in stores or on the bus, and my repetoire of somewhere near a dozen Spanish verb forms helps me communicate and comprehend considerably better than seven weeks prior.
My toilet paper experience is my proof that I am becoming slightly not American with a slow transformation that will not complete itself in the time here or, realistically, ever. But take it for what it is. And then remember how American I am with a few pictures below!

1) Me, Michele, and Sarah after our last art class in front of the school saying goodbye to Michele on her last day in Cuernavaca with another photo. We have some of our art projects in the picture as well as Sarah's Happy Mealish canasta (basket). 2) Michele and me eating our favoritest Magnum ice cream bars to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos. So delicious, yet so expensive cause they are not from a cart on the street. The little boy in the background definitely was trick-or-treating and asking for candy on the 2nd of November. Sigh. Milk it for all it's worth, bud. 3) Sign at the school. Cuauhnahuac. I remember when I could not for the life of me pronounce that. Suckers. I got that in the bag now! 4) Sarah, Michele, and me in front of the sign at Marco Polo, an Italian restaurant in the centro that was my priciest meal yet by far (around 115 pesos or like $9) where we ate awesome pizza and tortellinis and relished food non-Mexican. 5) Ileana, our art teacher, and me showing off a few art projects. We had a lot of great laughs in our time after school together while Michele helped us learn and practice how to say dirty things in Spanish and Ileana would laugh, shake her head, roll her eyes, and then, of course, contribute. 6) Me, one of our teachers Estela, and Sarah during a break at school on Friday. 7) Some of the multitudinous poinsettias on our school campus. Es el tiempo de las noche buenas! I love that they are called noche buenas cause that's what they call Christmas Eve in Spanish and it's such a more appropriate and fitting name than Christmas Eve. It was a good night cause Jesus came the next morning! 8) Myself, Mario, Zoila, and their daughter Laura in the house I lived in for one month nearly next door to the school. We are in front of the breakfast table where I ate breakfast and dinner everyday for a month and behind the dining room table where we always ate "comida". Zoila was a good cook. I will miss her tostadas, quesadillas, salsa, daily fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast, but not her pancakes. :)