CH-CH-CH-CHANGES

Santiago, Chile is a city that, for me, has come to mean many things over the past now almost seven months. It has changed nearly everyday, though this was to be expected. I spend most of my days walking, traveling, living within the same twenty to thirty blocks, going to and from the school where I teach and back, or to the various businesses where I teach my corporate students for anywhere from ninety minutes to three hours. Life is generally static.

There is a vail of doubt placed upon me the moment I leave my front door--what will happen with each next step? Most often I feel as though I am being followed or at least watched. It's rare that I feel secure even in the nicest areas of town. During my free time I sometimes spend hours looking for new corners of the city, seeking out new art exhibits, trying to decipher which are the safe neighborhoods and which I should steer clear of. It's hard to tell because even in the pockets of "mini-America" scattered around the city, I am still an American in Chile.

To see punk, hipster, street fashion and artsy done up and spoken in Spanish is strange--Americans, Brits, English speakers the world over created these ways of life. Is it any less valid?

I get hints, smells, sounds of New York nearly everyday--tastes of my past that still seems so fresh. Santiago is not New YOrk, though, is nothing like it. The buildings are still made of concrete and metal, the taxis still honk at red lights and drive too fast, but New York was established many years ago--Santiago is barely out of the womb. However, ironically, in a city that the world has permeated and proliferated its customs, my existence as a single human being becomes a bit clearer, American or not.

I suppose I wish I just didn't have to look over my shoulder all the time.