parmesan pancakes and learning to love

First, let me just make a statement. 

I miss the change of seasons.

I'm seeing everyone's pictures of leaves changing color, cozy sweaters and pumpkin spice lattes and I feel like having a pity party. It's springtime here in the desert and it's already climbing to 35 degrees during the day. I like the heat, don't get me wrong... but... there's no cozy sweater weather. And I realize I miss that. 

Anyway. 

Things are going well over here in the southern hemisphere. We're learning to co-habituate, though our differences (especially cultural) appeared long ago. Now they just appear in much greater detail. And sometimes it’s irritating.

Let me give you an example.

A few weekends ago I suddenly got the urge to clean. This happens about once every 8 years, so I decided to take advantage of it and I cleaned the inside of the fridge (which is totally a mom job – I can’t believe that I have to do it now. Bleh), did all the dishes, wiped down the counters, swept the floors and then mopped them. I KNOW right?! I should have called global news. This is front page stuff. I was literally sweating by the time I was done.

How culturally different can that be you ask? Well, it went something like this...

The way people “mop” in Brazil is take a large rag, dip it in water, and then take a squeegee type stick and scrub the floors with the stick. Completely different. But I’ve accepted it and did just that the other day. And I started talking about the fact that I had washed the floor. And Deison says this:

“Well, you didn’t really WASH the floor.. but yeah, great stuff.”

Uhh… excuse me?! I was like “um.. what did I just spend all morning doing then?!” 

and he replies:

“You passed a rag along the floor, but you didn’t actually WASH it. ...I’m just saying.”

Now I’m getting irritated.

“Ok fine. So how would YOU wash the floor?”

And he says, “I’d actually wash it. As in.. throw water on the floor so everything is wet and scrub it down.”

This sounds absolutely ridiculous to me. And the first thing I think about is how the walls would get all wet! Before I can even say anything he says, “notice how the tile of the floor extends up the wall 6 inches around the house? It’s for exactly that reason. So people can literally throw water on the the floors and wash them.”

Hm. Interesting. And here I thought it was just bad decorating.

But I’m stubborn, and I refuse to accept the fact that my way is inferior.

“Well, I think the floors are clean the way they are.”

“Yes, I think they’re clean as well,” he agrees.

And then…., “you just didn’t WASH them.”

Lovely.

Here's a picture of the lovely dinner I made for us - Canadian style pancakes with Aunt Jemima syrup - YES! A taste of home :) Or so I thought...

I was so excited for the syrup that I had brought from home (you can't get find it here), but instead.. he put ketchup, parmesan cheese and mustard on his pancake.. and thought that next time I should add cheese and ham to the batter.

Gross.

He also thinks it's incredibly humorous that I heat up water on the stove to do dishes. Most places in Brazil do not have hot water coming out of the taps, and I'm sorry but, it's nearly impossible to clean dishes with cold water. Especially let's say... a leftover lasagna dish. RIGHT?! Someone agree with me on this.

Deison also thinks that I argue about things because I don't want to lose and be wrong. Which is utterly and completely... correct. Ha! It is the one thing I struggle with most about being an immigrant. My way of doing things, no matter if it is more efficient or not, is never the most acceptable. It is usually met with, "well, that's odd." And sometimes I just want to scream, "but WHY does everyone do it this way?! It's ridiculous and doesn't make any sense!" 

First, I have to get over the fact that you can't change the mentality of an entire country - though I'd like to some [most] days. 

Second, a lot of times our differences are just that; DIFFERENT. No one is right or wrong, it's simply different. Deison sometimes mocks me and says, "WELL, in Canadaaa...." which are often my words of retaliation. That because everyone in my country does it a certain way it must be right. It feels like that anyway. And his answer is usually, "well you're not IN Canada, are you." 

Touche. I am the immigrant. I am the foreigner, and MY way is considered unusual.

I'm learning. 

I'm adapting.

I'm discovering. Who I am as part of another, and how that effects my mentality and daily routines.

I'm not the same person anymore. I CAN'T be the same person anymore. And sometimes that sucks. Sometimes it's really hard. Sometimes I can feel myself morphing into this "other half" and I don't even know who I am. I think there will always be parts of me, little treasure boxes in my soul that belong only to me - where I can put memories and dreams and fragments of happiness, but the essence of who I am.. has to change to incorporate another human. 

And that's why it baffles me when people think of marriage like a fairytale. It's messy; it's hard; it's an uprooting and replanting. Like a vine, slowly intertwining to grow together. 

And so another phase of life begins...