Sometimes I feel like I´m in a life-sized game of Where´s Waldo and I´m the Waldo.
Every so often someone will realize that I´m a gringa, a blanchita, or simply the American, and will point it out to me or to their friends. It´s like they are saying, ¨Look I found the Waldo!¨
The girls at Alalay were amazed one afternoon when they pulled back my shirt and saw my stomach. They let out gasps of, ¨Blanchita!¨ Like it was this dirty secret I had been hiding. I´m not sure how it slipped pass them. It´s not like I´ve gotten some amazing tan since I arrived. My stomach is about the same color as my arms and face.
Or at the La Paz fiesta when one of the actors playing a bull singled me out of the crowd and pretended to maul me while the crowd pointed and laughed at the gringa.
Or when a coworker realized I have green eyes and walked me around the house making sure everyone was aware and had a chance to stare.
Or when guys on the street see my white skin and mutter every English word they know.
How are you.
Where are you from?
Or my personal favorite, Suck my bloody cock bitch.
I´m not sure who is going around Santa Cruz teaching the boys English swear words, but when I find them I promise you that I´ll give them a good punch in the face.
It usually doesn´t get to me but it does make me want to try my hardest to fit in. To make all the right moves when I´m walking down the street or buying something in a market or riding a bus so that my actions look normal enough to cover the sometimes glaring difference my skin presents.