Staring. People looking. Passing your day in a lovely way. Call it what you want, but it’s still staring/looking at another person and wanting to understand their life or who they are. What are their daily frustrations, joys, etc? What has that person, I am looking at, done today? And how was it different than my day? Would this person have gone about my day or my life differently?
This is what I think people are accomplishing when we people watch. I am guilty of doing it. However, in my life have always been a person who was against it. I don’t like being looked at my people I do not know. No not looked, stared at. Perhaps it’s my nervousness that they are judging me, stemming from middle school or high school. Or it is part of me questioning myself. Whatever it is, I have never been a huge fan. My sister and mom like to go to an activity called “people-watching”, and I have always been adamantly against it.
This activity has been quadrupled, or more, here in Guatemala. I get stared at each and every day. And I don’t mean a passing glance. I mean a full-on mouth open, eyes-wide stare, for about 20 seconds. Then there are the people who stare, and after I pass them, they start to laugh. This usually involves them saying something unintelligible, in Kiche, which is a language in which I can speak about eight words. The fact that they are speaking in Kiche, makes it worse for my judgement. I have no clue if they are saying something about me or not. Since they were staring, I always assume that they are saying something about me, to try and test myself and tell myself it doesn't matter, which it doesn't.
It is even worse when I go to my aldeas. I get children coming up to me, one foot from me, and just staring at me. Not staring a word, just eyes-wide staring. I do understand why they are staring. They don’t see too many people with my skin color, and these children usually don’t have a chance to interact with these people. And with my skin color and the fact that I speak English, it is assumed that I have large amounts of money, which leads to more staring, or the dreaded hand-out plead for money. “Quetzal?, Quetzal?, Quetzal?”
The point is that I am still not used to being looked at. But I do think that because the staring is rather extreme here, when I return to the States, I should be able to handle the “people-watching” activity that my mom loves. I also think by being here, I understand the want for that activity a little more. Wanting to understand that person and their life. How did they get here? And in the case of the people here, “Why is she here?” It’s just one of my anxieties that are amplified here, but I know when I return I will be a more confident and self-assured person than I was before I came.
Paz y Amor
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