The Shopping Mall

One day in Colombia, a Sunday, feeling as if I needed a break from exploring new activities and socializing with new people, I decided to make my way to the nearby shopping mall to see the latest Harry Potter movie. The mall turned out to be more or less what I expected: a little slice of America with a few Latin twists. The layout was familiar, with department stores on the first floor, a food court on the second, and a movie cineplex on the third. The department stores had different names, obviously, but they sold the same crap that are customarily sold in American malls--mostly clothes, but also books, electronics supplies, crafts, furniture.... And just like in America, the food court specialized in cheap fast food, and McDonald's stood out from the other chains.

I had some extra time before the movie started, so I decided to take in a snack. I passed up on the ice cream promotion at McDonalds and instead bought a brownie at Crepes and Waffles and a cup of coffee at the Colombian equivalent to Starbucks named the Juan Valdez Cafe. It was at about that time, as I finished explaining to the barrista how I liked my Cafe Americano, that I started to observe a change in my demeanor. I was speaking more fluently and my body language in particular exuded a newfound confidence. I walked with more poise, at a smooth even pace, head erect, shoulders straight, with little wasted motion. I gesticulated more overtly, smiled more openly and easily, and used my hands to add emphasis to my spoken words. In short, I was exhibiting a sense of style, of aplomb. I had found myself, or, to be more accurate, I had found a self, a personality--my American personality. And I'm not ashamed to say that it felt good.

One thing that has always struck me about my friend Jessica is the fact that she had no family. None. I can't even imagine what that feels like. I know people who hate their family members--and for good reason--and want nothing to do with them. And even those people, I believe, are better off than Jessica was. Those people have an idea, at the very least, of what they don't want to be--a certain basis for selfhood, even if it's a negative one. They have some sense of foundation. Jessica, though, must have sensed an emptiness around every clear line, a ubiquitous dark ocean surrounding and threatening her. And I think that played a large part in her eventual demise.

The first day I spent in Columbia I stayed with a friend's mom who, eager I think to demonstrate that her country wasn't a banana republic, took me to a shopping center in downtown Bogota. And I hated it. I hated the commercialism, the shallowness, the overly sterilized appearance, the bland and predictable layout ... everything. It stank of America. This was not, I told myself, what I came to Colombia for. And I couldn't get away fast enough.

But three weeks later, after struggling several times a day with language and cultural barriers, finding myself at a disadvantage in almost every social situation I encountered, feeling as if I had reverted to being a little boy at times, I was ready, if only for a few hours, to come back home. I was ready to go back to the family I hated.