Adventures with a Cuban Boy: Que dijiste?! Cultural Misunderstandings and Language Barriers

I have always been open to interracial, intercultural, intersocial, inter-whatever relations. The differences between two people can be fun, interesting, and make for a good strong relationship. But even in the best of relationships that involve a variety of differences, there will inevitably be misunderstandings and obstacles. I had never really thought about all that though until I was in this type of relationship. I must throw in that it is my first relationship so I'm also learning about all the relationship basics at the same time. Oy.
I think that in a lot of ways our relationship started off because of our differences. To him, I was a foreigner(bonus points!), which means money, completely different lifestyle, something different and exciting, a way to see the world a little, and to me, he was a Cuban which is exciting and different for me and a way to see the real Cuba. It didn't hurt that he was one of the more attractive human beings I've ever seen. Throughout our time together so far, we have learned a lot from our differences. I don't know what he would say but I think I opened his eyes up to a different perspective on the world, which he hasn't had the opportunity to see in the censored, caged-in society in Cuba. At the same time he has taught me about life in Cuba, his ideas, and at the same time I am learning to look at my life and my ideas differently.
There are also moments of misunderstanding that come along with these differences. The cultural misunderstandings and differences can be a little difficult, and sometimes humorous in a way. For instance, the whole dating game is completely different. After getting Jose's number, I waited the American standard 3 days to call him, not wanting to seem desperate obviously. On the third day, his friend Geovanis addressed me about it, asking why I hadn't called Jose and what was wrong with him? I tried, unsuccessfully to explain that that is how you are supposed to do things in the U.S. He just didn't get the point. I had to laugh at this and other similar instances. We play so many games in the dating world here in the U.S...don't call immediately, play hard to get, let him call you, blah blah blah. I found it relieving to not have to deal with all that. If I wanted to call him, I did, if we wanted to hang out three days in a row, we did. It was so much easier and less stressful once I got used to the fact that that is how they did it there.
I'm still trying to figure out all the different ways that we do things and the different ways that we think, and trying to embrace it for what it is and although it's hard to get around it sometimes, it's a really good thing at the same time to learn how people do things differently and adjust on both sides to make it work.
The language barriers proved a lot more comical. My Spanish is okay but nowhere near fluent, especially my Cubanespañol, and he only knows a tiny bit of English so we communicate in Spanish. We got in a fight once because I don't understand how to use the verb gustar and so thought he was saying he didn't like me; and he freaked out the other day when I told him I was having dos dientes taken out and he thought I said todos dientes. I was a little hurt that he wouldn't love me if I had no teeth...
The mix ups are endless and sometimes endlessly entertaining and the truth is I love that part of our relationship because no matter if it's good or upsetting or hilarious, it is always interesting.

A Different Life Perspective

Sometimes random experiences will put life into perspective, or give it a different perspective, if only for a moment. I work at an Immigration Center in Boston and this makes for some interesting experiences all around. We have people from all over the world who come in here, some crazy people, some very warm people, and they are always very interesting. In some cases, however, their stories are very hard to listen to.
Last Monday, first thing in the morning, no one else was in the office and I was going about my morning duties as usual. The bell rang and a man with smooth dark skin, friendly eyes, and a small suitcase walked in. He asked to apply for asylum. We don't deal with asylum at our office so throughout the next week I assisted him in finding people that do and helping him find food and shelter. I felt like although there were some things I could do to help him, it really wasn't much at all. In his helplessness, I felt my helplessness, I couldn't make things better for him, not to the extent he deserved.
He had arrived on a plane from his country the day before, having never been here before, he had dealt with torture, harassment, and threats from police and the government in Kenya and has no idea where his family is and if they are even alive. He was taken to be killed and luckily escaped. His family probably assumes him dead.
Listening to his story broke my heart. You hear these stories on the news, you know about genocide, violent discrimination, government and police brutality, etc. But when a victim who has lived it out is sitting in front of you, eyes hopeless and yearning for help, it makes it too real. Everyday we watch the news and the awful stories and the only way to deal with it is to separate yourself in some way from what is happening, to block from your mind the reality of the hell that happens all over the globe. But sometimes these stories are closer to us than we make ourselves believe.
The most awful part of the story is that in many asylum cases, even with physical evidence of abuse and torture on your body, you can be denied asylum status. It may be a necessary process to limit numbers of asylees, but I can't justify in my mind sending this man back to his home country where he will be killed by his own people.
It was a tough situation and a sad story and I realize that his story, or some version of it, is not uncommon in the least, and that is the worst part.

Anglais si vous plait

College life has it's perks. This weekend, the International Student and Scholar Institute funded a bonding/sightseeing weekend getaway for international students and those involved with the ISSI. Free transportation and a night stay at the Fairmont Montreal, a luxury hotel, were provided. Can't really beat that.
Twenty something of us piled onto the Peter Pan bus and headed to visit our Northern neighbor. After crossing the border successfully, we arrived midday in Montreal. It was a beautiful day and the perfect weather for a hike to the top of Mont Real. (<-Get it?)
Unprepared as we were, donning flip-flops and white high heels, we bush-whacked to the top of the mountain, and two hundred stairs later we were at the top. Thankfully the view was pretty great and thus a photo shoot ensued. After a sufficient number of tourist photos we headed inside to where our growling stomachs had been promised a decent meal. They were very disappointed when the said food was actually non-existent. But no worries, at least the way back was down-hill. The rest of the afternoon was free to find a nice Canadian meal, maybe a cocktail of some sort, and some exploring. Elisha and I settled on 3 Brassieurs, a restaurant brewery. The decor resembled UNO's but the food proved to be much more enjoyable. We marveled over the fact that the food there was fresh and healthy whereas the American counterpart would be greasy and cholesterol-rich. I also learned that beer, grenadine, and Sprite is not exactly a pleasant combo.
After checking into the five-star hotel that would be our home for the night, I ventured solo into the streets of the city. What I love most about Montreal and what I've seen of Canada is that although a lot of people think that it is similar to the U.S., it is much more European than American. The people are different, there is the aspect of French charm, and the romantic sounds of the motherland's tongue. The pace is different than that of Boston, a little slower, more laid-back and friendly. On my little outing I struck up a conversation with a couple colorful women from Ottowa. We chatted about Spain, fashion, Boston men, and how people in New England can be cold, and not just in the winter. As I talked to them and a couple other random people along my walk, I realized, once again, how true that is. I walk around Boston all day and rarely have a conversation with a stranger. I enjoy doing this but with most people it does not happen, and so I mind my own business in true New England fashion. Although this is what I'm used to, everytime I go away and return to Boston, I find myself yearning for that warmer culture of interaction.
The night started off wonderfully at Le Resident, a restaurant reccommended by a Montrealian, and it did not disappoint. The atmosphere was airy and warm, the drinks were yummy, and the food was delicious. The table was full of diverse smiling faces, laughter, and good conversation. From there it was time to head out on the town. A small group of us ended up first in Karina, a bar that advertised free drinks for the ladies but then did not follow through but we stayed anyways, if only for the intriguing contortionist aspect. The music was good, the drinks were reasonable and the crowd grew. When we were ready for a change we found ourselves in Havana. The sounds of Cola Loca coming from the club caught my ear quickly and I convinced everyone it would be great. Although the music delivered in true Cuban style, we arrived as the only ones and the crowd never grew. Although I reminisced as I danced to El Chacal in front of the bar stocked with Havana Club, it just could not live up to it's namesake and we headed out and to the hotel for the night.
The next day, although sleep-deprived, was relaxing and enjoyable. It started with breakfast in the Old Port, continued with the Biodome, and ended with a long trip back against the green backdrop of a summer New England sunset.

Adventures with a Cuban Boy: The Separation

So I guess meeting a random Cuban guy at a discoteca and dancing the night away is a respectable way to meet someone, right? Maybe for a vacation fling. Well in my defense, I never was expecting anything more than some fun while in another country. After all, at the end of three months I would leave, and, thanks to the US embargo, most likely never see him again. So that was my plan, and his too.

Six months and 3,000 miles later, we are still going strong. Well, maybe strong isn't the best word, but we are going. The end of March got nearer and nearer and I was not ready to say goodbye to Jose. We had gotten too close and real feelings had started to develop, whether I told them to go away or not. There was no avoiding it, I was in it. So I told my Cuban boy, I love you, see you sometime, and got on that plane and flew away.

The separation anxiety, both from Cuba and from my love were traumatizing to say the least. Nothing could comfort me, not even Poptarts, something I had dreamed about in one of my hazy Cuban afternoon-nap dreams. I longed for the warmth of the island and the people, the adventure of every day, and of course Jose. Sitting here, four months later, I still miss Cuba more than ever, and I love Jose possibly more than before. Obama is trying but I don't see an end to this freakin' embargo anytime soon so basically I'm screwed. But I believe that despite all that, there could be a way. They say it's good to follow your heart, and that's what I'm doing.

So here's how it's working out so far. I have spent about $500 calling him and we've only talked about a handful of times in the period of separation. He can no longer afford to e-mail me because he has no money and they raised the price for the e-mail center. We have had serious conversations, silly conversations, conversations where I love him more and conversations that make me hate him a little. Cultural misunderstandings and language barriers constantly provide obstacles. Trust is an issue on both ends, and sometimes I wonder if I'm making a huge mistake. But after all that, I think about everything, good and bad, and couldn't be more sure that all of this is somehow worth it. Maybe I'm stupid, naive, or just crazy, but if you love someone and want to be with them, why not fight as hard as you can to be with them, across unfriendly borders, pesky legal systems, and a distance of thousands of miles?