What's in a Name?

As a newcomer to blogging, I'm still trying to tackle the best way to go about this thing.  My past experiences journaling purely for my own pleasure/mental sanity have instilled me with the habit of only writing when  I need to work something out on paper.  Thus, my journals were never an accurate reflection of my life- they were strings of melodramatic musings that highlighted the most depressing/self-critical/insecure moments of my existence.  When I would read through them, I was always struck by how I would come to the same conclusions again and again and how I never seemed to achieve the life changes that I was striving for.  I resolved to journal more about the beautiful days, the people I was grateful for, positive accomplishments, etc... but, inevitably, when I was content I just never was as compelled to pick up the pen.  With blogging, the issue of writing down the good, the bad, AND the ugly is still present, but there's also the challenge to write regularly, a practice that I never have undertaken in my four years as an English major.   How do I go about updating this thing even when I don't feel that inexplicable itch to write?  How do I fight the instinct that says not to write unless I feel I have something important or interesting to say?

With those questions in mind, I'll just mention a few things about the second half of my first week at the Casa.  Things are a little slow here right now as it is the end of the summer season, and after what appears it have been an incredibly busy few months, the volunteers are taking a well-deserved breather.  This means that my training has been a bit sporadic, and I've had more time to just form relationships with my fellow volunteers and explore the city.  The difficult part is that I am the only new person until another volunteer named Clay comes on September 1st.  I'm learning how to stick my neck out and be sociable when everyone else has already established their Mexico City social lives.   I'm learning to go with the flow and trust that things will fall into place when September arrives.  Here are some comical tidbits about this whole settling-in process:

My name: "Heather" is a difficult name to pronounce in Spanish.  The "th" combination that is so prevalent in English is lethal in Spanish as the sound does not exist.  When I go to introduce myself to someone, their reaction is usually a blank stare followed by several attempts to repeat my pronunciation.  I smile and nod after about the 3rd time, defeated and wishing that I could take my roommate's classic Latina name, "Maria."  Another problem about "Heather" is that it does not have a direct translation in Spanish.  There are many names that easily translate between the two languages (John/Juan, Charlie/Carlos, Christina/Cristina, etc), but the translation for "Heather" is not for the name but for the flower.  "Brezo" means Heather flower in Spanish, but the kicker is that female names end in "a" not "o"... so even if I thought "Brezo" were a pretty name to go by (which I don't), it wouldn't be quite appropriate.  And finally, there are no names in Spanish that I have found that even sound similar to Heather.  What's a gringa to do?  

I have made the bold decision to go by a new name for the time that I am in Mexico.  I half-kidded about changing my name while I was in Ecuador and even introduced myself to a few people as "Rebeca" (one who turned out to be a good friend and still jokingly refers to me as that).  I've decided it will just be easier all around to go by "Erica."  Why Erica?  Well, when I was in elementary school, the teacher gave us all embroidered bracelets with the supposed Spanish translation of our names, and "Erica" was what she came up with.  At least it maintains the "er" at the end of Heather... However, attempts to assume this new name have been difficult.  I feel as if I am lying half of the time that I say that I am Erica, and the other half of the time I forget and introduce myself as Heather.  It strikes me that our names really form a huge part of our identities.  Don't they say that people tend to like you more when you use their name frequently in conversation?  I also don't know whether to tell English-speaking guests at the Casa if my name is really Heather?  How complicated would it be to have a dual-identity?  The thing is, many other volunteers have changed their names here; in fact, we are sort of famous for it.  There are 2 Merediths, and because of that tricky "th," they go by "Merida" and "Mariana."  

My health: Although the cuartito that I am staying in until Friday is indeed lovely, there are a few minor disadvantages that come with living here.  One of them is that there seems to be a mosquito problem.  The first few nights that I stayed here, I was hourly terrorized by mosquitos charging toward my head with a menacing buzz.  I would dive under my covers in desperation and swat with a half-hearted, drowsy hand, but the next morning the damage was evident.  I have a constellation of mosquito bites on my neck.  Don't worry, Mom and Dad, Mexico City is not a malarial zone!

I've also been bothered by some stomach issues.  It's my experience that when traveling and settling into a new place, some tummy trouble is normal as your body gets accustomed to new food, flora, and fauna.  However, my problems were amplified as I went out to my first Mexican party last night.  I drove with 3 other volunteers about an hour across Mexico City and stepped into a definite cultural experience.  Urban dictionary will help me explain.  The party was a media fresa (half-fresa) event.  In Spanish, "fresa" means strawberry, but in Mexico it is also used to describe the young preppy crowd.  This party was unlike any that I've been to in the States.  When we arrived, the first thing I noticed were the taco stands.  Taco stands with delicious looking tacos made from meat shaved off of a rotating centerpiece, attended by an employee of the host.  There was a dance floor lit with neon lights and about ten television sets scattered around the room.  The wealthy guests were outfitted in red, yellow, and green as this was a "stoplight" birthday party- green if you're single, red if you're taken, and yellow if you're not sure.  Anyway, by the end of the night, between the tacos and the tequila, my poor stomach was overwhelmed and when I woke up this morning, I thought it would never recover.   I spent most of the afternoon in one of those intense, heavy sleeps that you only have the pleasure of experiencing when you're sick.