Claire Szabo<\/p>\n
I wish that when my madre<\/i> asked me if I\u2019d found un novio espanola<\/i> that I could tell her I already have una novia americana.<\/i> I have the urge to tell her that I\u2019m in love, and left half of me across the Atlantic for three months, but I don\u2019t know what consequences this information would have on our relationship. <\/i> I keep it to myself and wonder, would my padres<\/i> stop calling me hija <\/i>or cari\u00f1a <\/i>if they knew? <\/i>Would they stop trying to make me feel at home? Would they hate me? It\u2019s a strange, silent kind of oppression, having to omit such an important part of my life, having to censor myself.<\/span><\/p>\n Outside of my apartment, I don\u2019t censor myself. Instead I find myself arguing with men in bars about why I will not kiss them. Here, when men engage me in conversation I let them. At home I would brush them off because any conversation we have isn\u2019t going to lead them to my bed so I see it as a waste of time for everyone. But in Spain I take advantage to practice my Spanish. My Spanish is better when I\u2019ve been drinking, cuando tengo el puntillo, cuando estoy borracha. <\/i><\/span><\/p>\n <\/i>The conversations always start with the same questions: \u00bfC\u00f3mo te llamas? \u00bfDe d\u00f3nde eres? \u00bfPor qu\u00e9 est\u00e1s en Salamanca? <\/i>After the basic introductions some sort of advance is made, and I turn them down with the truth.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTengo novia.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Each time they assume I\u2019ve made a mistake and they try to correct me. \u201cTienes novio<\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo, tengo novia<\/i>.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n A look of surprise and slight betrayal crosses their faces, as if I have misled, \u201c\u00bfEres lesbiana?<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d I suppose they\u2019ve never heard of the concept of sexuality as a spectrum. I clarify, \u201cSoy pansexual.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Now they\u2019re really confused, and I can understand why. Pansexuality isn\u2019t something you hear about, even within the LGBTIQA+ community. You hear about heterosexuality, homosexuality, and bisexuality, but pansexuality is an alien concept to many, even my word processor doesn\u2019t recognize it. I could make things easier on myself by lying and just saying I am a lesbian. That would most likely end the conversation because I would be seen as a lost cause. But for the sake of honesty and practicing my Spanish I explain the truth to them as best I can.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo me importa el g\u00e9nero ni el sexo. Me gustan los hombres, las mujeres, y las personas que tienen unas identidades de g\u00e9neros diferentes.\u201d The most interesting reaction I get is when men decide to continue their advances because of the phrase \u201cMe gustan los hombres.\u201d They aren\u2019t deterred by my having a girlfriend or by my unconventional sexual orientation. Instead they see my stating that I am also attracted to men as an invitation to continue. <\/span><\/p>\n Some men are relentless. They won\u2019t take a hint or even a straight up no as an answer. They continue to move closer, think it\u2019s okay to touch. I keep repeating, \u201cTengo novia. Tengo novia. Tengo novia,\u201d but they continue trying to persuade me. They tell me it\u2019s only one night, that if I cheat on my girlfriend she doesn\u2019t need to know, \u201cNo pasa nada. No pasa nada.\u201d I tell them they should go find another girl to talk to, they say they only want me. I tell them that I don\u2019t like them, that I\u2019m not attracted to them, that I want them to go away, and they laugh it off. Mary Spears crosses my mind, so does a girl who was stabbed for turning down a boy for prom. I wonder if the man I\u2019m talking to feels entitled to women up to that point. I wonder if he\u2019ll try to hurt me, if he\u2019ll follow me home in the shadows, if he wants to kill me for saying no. <\/span><\/p>\n When these thoughts start to cross my mind it\u2019s time to end the conversation. I don\u2019t trust men who are so persistent. Such persistence shows a dark sense of entitlement that has taken women\u2019s lives. I grab some friends, and excuse myself to go to the bathroom.<\/span><\/p>\n When I get out, the man I was talking to is gone. On the walk home I still feel paranoid that someone is following me, but when I look there is no one. Every time I close the door to my apartment building behind me after the walk home through the darkened city I feel relief. I always think of my mom telling me that I should take a taxi home if I\u2019ve been drinking because nowhere is safe for women at night. I know she\u2019s right, but taxis are too expensive, and I\u2019ve convinced myself the walk isn\u2019t that far in reality.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Claire Szabo My host madre asks if I\u2019ve found a boyfriend yet. I smile and tell her no, not yet, although truthfully I never will. An important part of my life I can\u2019t tell my madre. The crosses and framed prayers in the hallway make me cautious. They celebrate the day of my madre\u2019s saint […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":540,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-359","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-written-by"],"blocksy_meta":{"styles_descriptor":{"styles":{"desktop":"","tablet":"","mobile":""},"google_fonts":[],"version":6}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/359","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/540"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=359"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/359\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":362,"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/359\/revisions\/362"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=359"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=359"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.owu.edu\/nightowl\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=359"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nMy host madre<\/i> asks if I\u2019ve found a boyfriend yet. I smile and tell her no, not yet, although truthfully I never will. An important part of my life I can\u2019t tell my madre<\/i>. The crosses and framed prayers in the hallway make me cautious. They celebrate the day of my madre\u2019<\/i>s saint in October. They have friends over and her family in Valencia calls to wish her felicitaciones<\/i>. I get pastries and a bowl of chocolate left over from the party for dinner, and it makes me feel at home. <\/span><\/p>\n