On this journey of self-situating, that is, reconstructing how I view myself after arriving to new location, I have been inundated with feelings of culture-starvation and sheer loneliness. It is already difficult to make meaning of oneself when relocating from everything familiar to everything foreign. But as I have discovered, this process is even more difficult when one has extreme difficulty connecting with the new culture, local fare, people, and at time foods. I walk the streets of this College Town and literally feel faint from culture shock. Where is the variety? Where is the 'corner store'? Where are the neighborhood businesses? Where is Raquan selling the original (debatable) discount couture, out of his van? Can I get a local dance spot that does not play the Top Pop/Rock 40? Where is the music, life, action, and happenings that depict more than just one ethnic group, that does not always become watered down under 'white' culture? Where are my neighborhood expressions? Where is the fingerprint of originality for crying out loud?
I have concluded that they are hiding away from me on purpose, but willing me to find them, or whither away. My best guess is that they wish to remain a good secret. I am not sure why.
In my mentally disheveled state, I met up with my friend Megan from the BGSA, which was hosting invitation to Tony's Big Easy. It was supposed to be Salsa night this Wednesday. Ha. Salsa night in this college town. If anything this ought to be hilarious.
Megan and I got there early enough to see that the place was empty. It was 10pm and the music was not even set up, nor was there any sign of life in the place. Just a lonely bartender, and a half way decent looking door guy. It was shaping up to be just like every other University Park Experience. Dull.
But we stuck around, had a drink, and talked to the doorman for about a half-an-hour. Then, slowly, people started wandering in. I even saw folks that I knew! I saw my wonderful Holmes Scholar Sister, and I immediately felt a little more chipper. She was Hispanic, and she was attending salsa night. I was hoping my stereotyping proved true, and that there was some credibility to this event.
Megan, Halima and I wondered over to the still empty salsa room and decided to take a salsa lesson with a very unassumingly excellent Salsa dancer. Looks are not only deceiving they can down right delusionary. I was so confused when he started to dance. His dirty blond hair and short stature made my eyebrows form a question mark. His small build and quirky voice nearly had me snorting. But his dance moves...Oh, they were slightly salacious!
I was intrigued. He taught us everything we needed to know in about a half an hour, including how to 'turn' and 'be led'. We were ready to go! We were going to be the best dancers on the floor tonight!
That is, until all of the ballroom, professional, and native salsa dancers started pouring into the place. Before we knew it, the dance floor was saturated. For the first time in this college town, I saw GOOD LOOKING MEN. GOOD LOOKING ONES. But the dancers! They were fascinating. Their moves were sensational! I could not believe I was standing in the midst of this...cultural experience. From the ballroom dancers, to the natives, this was a real, fun, salsa experience going on here! It was more than I expected. I danced for a long time! I watched others dance. I laughed at the obvious non-natives who had learned to salsa in a classroom somewhere. The passion was so different, the dance more technical. The native dancers, and the the great non-native dancers were such inspiration. They set loose the sensuality and the fire that makes salsa so sexy. I forgot where I was for a good while. In the midst of dancing I simply lost myself, and just had fun! One of my favorite songs came on, 'La Vida Es Un Carnival' and I decided to live like the drums, horns and lyrics were my libation. There was really no need to despair. I was not alone: I had found Salsa night! And subsequently, a new lease on fun.
Without any warning, my feet reminded me that I didn't know what I was doing. But Salsa Lessons started on Monday! I had found my bit of culture! Life seemed less bromidic.
Sing it Celia!
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