Day 4: Melancholy of Identity

What would an international travel experience be without a slight existential crisis? Yesterday I had the melt down, wondering if I was cut out to be a mother and wanting the possibility of other lives. Today our family handled the conference better and I was able to delve (happily at first) into questions beyond diapers and toddler fits. I came face to face with one of the past lives I have lived and experienced a rather old and tired crisis of sexual identity.

Today is pride. In the U.S., it is a particularly important pride, as same-sex couples have been recognized by the federal government as a legitimate marriage possibility. Putting aside the fact that I view marriage as a problematic, archaic institution (despite reaping the benefits of my straight marriage over the past two years), I am enthusiastically happy about what this says about how society views LGBTQ people.

I have never been to a pride event before today. Seville has a rather large (in my opinion) LGBTQ community, and the pride parade was much bigger than I expected. As I stood on the sidewalk, my arm wrapped around Nikola's waist and our son looking forward with his usual confusion, I felt shivers run over my arms. Excitement crept over my skin, but settled into me as a strange type of dread.

I felt the way I always feel when I look at a group of people that I long to join: like an outsider. In this case, I really am an outsider. I am not Spanish, so I know nothing of the local LGBTQ struggle. More blatantly obvious: I am pretty much living the life of a straight woman.

They say sexuality is not defined by your current relationship, but by your desire. I have always identified somewhere in the murky waters between bi and pan sexual, but as my focus draws ever more tightly to my family, I find that even my desire is fading. I find men and women attractive, but I no longer desire to have sex with them. I no longer have the energy to imagine or desire sexually. I am pretty much Nikola-sexual these days.

I have never been comfortable in the LGBTQ community. Perhaps it is because I am a bi woman, and our experiences and existence are so often discounted. My sexuality has been called into question by gay women and by straight men. You know who has not called my sexuality into question? The people who I have dated. The man I have married. For this reason, my sexuality never became part of my culture. I never immersed myself in the political and social aspects of sexuality. I allowed sexuality to just be a part of me- not a definition of me.

Still, on days like today, I wish that I could run through the streets, laughing with my arms around the waists of others, my lips on their ears, and laughter bubbling in our throats. I wish I was part of that community of people. I wish that I could stand up and claim my sexuality in front of the world. But I am left wondering--- what is the point if the life I am living does not acknowledge it? Sometimes I feel like a traitor. Other times I feel like the only role available to me in the LGBTQ community is that of an ally, despite the fact that I am actually LGBTQ.

What saves me is that my husband is supportive of me in these moments, standing next to me as the parade passes, asking me if he should run our son under the giant rainbow flag on the street. At least there is that.   

Spain: Day 2

Yep. Head over heels with this place. Or maybe it is just the aspect of 'vacation.' Honestly, I was a little crabby before we left because I thought, "How can the primary caregiver in a family actually have a vacation, especially with the whole family there?" When your daily routine consists of changing diapers, dealing with melt downs, and singing "Where is Thumbkin?" on repeat, is a change of location going to make much of a difference? Won't there still be diapers and melt downs and thumbkin?

The answer is, yes, there definitely are all of the things I do on a daily basis at home, but they are easier to do here. For one, Nikola has actually been on vacation these past two days. He has been with me and Peatuk. He put away his computer (despite being late on a few projects- yipes) and stepped up to helping manage Peatuk and giving me attention. THAT feels like vacation. Not absolute, but taking away half of my daily responsibilities is quite a lot. I can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee. That is nice.

Besides Nikola, the parks here are a great vacation. There is something about the way they are set up, with a giant square surrounding a rather large play area, that makes it safe to let Peatuk have a little more space and autonomy. He rarely goes outside of the park, and if he decides to, I can let him wander and just trail after him. It is relaxing to not have to constantly guide, engage, and shepherd him. I love not having to tell him no. This really makes me ache for a yard of our own, which he is free to roam and explore.

How nice the other people are here also makes it feel like vacation. They are super into football. I thought that kids in Bulgaria were into football, but here it is everyone. This morning, Peatuk was wandering around and we came across two little boys playing football on the alameda. They were using the columns at one end as their goal post.

Photo from wiki commons. Columns @
Alameda de Hercules, Seville Spain

No one seemed concerned or upset that they were playing with a cultural monument. (This goes into my theory that the people here really enjoy to LIVE in their space. To make use of it. To enjoy it.) Instead, an older woman stopped and shouted encouragement at the boys, giving them tips on their foot positioning. She then asked if I was their mother. I said that I don't speak Spanish and shook my head, pointing to just me and Peatuk. She didn't mind that I didn't speak Spanish. She continued talking for a moment, with a huge smile, and then engaged Peatuk for a bit.
Peatuk was enthralled with the strange game he was watching and, of course, toddled up to the boys. They let him take their football away and put it on the ground and they both shouted, "GOAL!" for him when he gave it a little push. They didn't have that much patience to stop their game, so I took Peatuk away at that point, but the fact that they were so polite about it made my morning.
A while later, the ball got chased away by a football, and a woman around my age trapped it perfectly and kicked it back. It was like, 'If you are on the alameda, you are engaged in our game.' And that was just it- everyone WAS engaged. They were happy to be engaged with each other.

I notice fewer phones out, a few more old school newspapers in the morning. But mostly, people earnestly chatting with each other. Listening with desire to understand. Speaking with animation and passion. I really wish that I knew how to speak Spanish, but even without it, I can tell that these conversations are lovely points of engagement. 

Spain: Arrival

I need to remind myself not to fall in love while I am here. Or do I? Maybe a rousing case of city-lust is just the thing I need to get me out of the doldrums of having a toddler as my most constant companion.

As soon as we got here, I felt like I was at home. The dry heat is similar to Tucson. The food, the language. It makes my heart ache for a "home" that I put aside a long time ago. Yet, even though there are similarities, the differences make it its own, unique place. In many ways, it is better, simply because it is Spain- a place I have daydreamed so idly about that I wasn't even aware of my dreams. A constant voice in the back of my heart saying, "Someday, you should go to Spain," with absolutely no logical reason why.

In those dreams, I always imagined myself on a balcony. Second floor. White curtains blowing in the breeze. Opening onto one of those tiny, cobblestone walks. We have that in our room here, but it is better than the dream. The tiles- the cool way they feel under my bare feet and the contrasting patterns. The bare walls. The tiny balcony that actually turns our who room into a balcony. It is absolutely perfect.

The language is different than Southwest Spanish. I knew it was different, logically, but hearing it is spoken is still shocking, and beautiful. It sounds round and open, the mouth so soft as people speak. Speaking of mouths... the smiles. Everywhere, there seems to be the hint of a smile just waiting to be shared. When they are shared, they are given so liberally that I cannot help but return them. The smiling makes me slightly giddy. Drunk, and I have yet to take a sip.

Six days can't possibly be enough. Or it might be. I remember the way I fell in love with Istanbul, and the way that moving there ruined the allure of that magical place. I am sure that moving here would also taint my starry-eyed notions of perfection. However, I definitely will keep Seville in my back pocket as one of the perfect vacation cities for me. Sometimes, you step off of a plane and you feel like you are home. You feel right. Dead strings resonate in your heart. Those are places worth exploring.