One year (and a bit) on

I have now been in Mexico a little over a year. I intended to write a one-year anniversary post, but, predictably, didn’t quite get round to it.

A year ago, even a few months ago, I had no intention of staying in my job for more than a year; I was offered another 12-month contract but another year just looked too long and frightened me too much.

However, I eventually decided to accept an offer to stay on another six months as a consultant rather than an intern, and I’m very happy I did. I wouldn’t be ready to leave Mexico now: there’s too much I still haven’t done, and I’m finally at a point with my Spanish where I can hold reasonably natural conversations.

Of course, I’ve learned all kinds of things this year, many of which I can’t put my finger on or can’t put into words. Things have changed a lot – for me and around me – in the time I’ve been here. As is the nature of a research institution, many people have arrived and many people have departed. As I’ve got to know people, some I like less than when I first met them, some much more. Slowly slowly, as is my wont, I have made friends, built relationships. Overall there are many more younger people without families working at the centre, and living on campus, than when I first arrived. This means people to do things with and hang out with, and my lonely first months seem a long time ago.

Nonetheless, living here can be really hard. I love Mexico, I absolutely fucking love so many things about it and I don’t like to think too hard about how I’ll feel about eventually being back ‘home’, and I love being an independent adult, and I love making genuine connections with people here… but, it is sometimes a very lonely road indeed, living far away from your friends, your home, your culture.

One of my crunch moments came on Saturday, when I organised a party to celebrate my one-year anniversary here – a barbecue followed by salsa dancing in town. I put a lot of effort and money and time into it. I spent most of Saturday shopping for snacks and meat and bread and salad and fruit and then lovingly making desserts: chocolate cake, fruit jellies, mango muffins with cream cheese frosting, fruit salad. All of which I actually kind of enjoy, if I hadn’t been stressed about getting everything done. I’d invited around 60 people, maybe more, a mixture of Mexicans and international staff, and I expected between 30 and 40 to actually show up. In the event, there were barely 20 of us, including only a couple of Mexicans.

Now I know the thing to do is to just enjoy the party and the people there, but I couldn’t help feeling intensely miserable about the whole thing, not important after all to the people I thought I could count as friends and friendly colleagues. However much I rationalised that people have families (who were welcome too), prior commitments, other things they need to be doing, it really hurt – especially the people who’d said they’d be there. Mexicans do that sometimes, say yes when it’s really a no, presumably to avoid hurting your feelings, but I absolutely hate it. So I felt pathetic and alone and embarrassed about the too-much food, and ill and kind of detached and struggling to join in normal conversation. And then to make things worse nobody wanted to go dancing.

Not that I sat in a corner and cried all evening: I smiled and enjoyed the kids being silly and made conversation. But I ultimately didn’t enjoy my party. Intellectually I know that these things happen; sometimes a lot of people just happen to end up with other things to do. But I feel the social ground beneath my feet seems to have turned to quicksand. I don’t feel certain of anyone, and I just want to spend time alone.

This too shall pass.