Buenos Aires Transcending

I needed a change. This past Wednesday, I had just finished an unsatisfying session with my Argentine psychologist, and the most healthy and least time consuming way I could think of to feel that sharp, clean, exhilarating sense of change was to go have my hair cut. Actually, the idea hadn't occurred to me yet, when I was walking down Corrientes (Avenida Corrientes), in a kind of fog, wondering what to do with the rest of my day, and not putting any pressure on myself to decide. Looking back, I'm not sure why I stopped in front of MarinaLook Salon, the place looked pretty average, and the low price was at the same time enticing and worrisome, but when I snuck a peak at my hairdresser-to-be straightening her flawless, black, Cleopatraesque bangs, I could tell she knew what she was doing, and decided to trust that gut instinct. Upon entering, I was greeted by a friendly receptionist who handed me off to Daniela. As a rule, I always check out the stylists' hair before allowing them to touch my head, often I will leave a salon if I don't like what I see, feigning some excuse like, oh, I forgot I just cut my hair last week. Anyway, I liked Daniela's hair a lot. I wasn't sure it was hers, though, but by the way she was primping and ironing in the mirror before I arrived, I could appreciate her appreciation for nice hair. See, Daniela was very tall, had large, silicone breasts, very tight clothing and impossibly thin, toned arms and legs. She also had quite a pronounced jaw bone, and a way about her that let me know she was in a process of change herself. More frankly, Daniela was transitioning from man to woman. When we met, she immediately began tousling my hair and experimenting with possibly styles. We agreed on a trim with some volume-enhancing layers and side-swept bangs. As she worked away, at times nearly suffocating me in her surgery-enhanced bosom, she explained how she loves to make women feel wonderful and feminine and that she cuts her own hair, which I found out is her own, and is incredibly thick and luxurious. She told me that she studies dance, and offered to give me the address of her dance studio if I wanted to try a class. She was lovely, and left me with a haircut that made me feel that refreshed, renewed satisfaction of change. For some reason, I knew Daniela was going to leave an impact on me, even if only enough to inspire this blog entry, but from the moment I saw her styling her own hair in the mirror, I trusted her, and felt compelled to walk in. Maybe because I could tell from a distance that she was a transgender person and with my own prejudices, decided she would be in touch with female style and psyche. That hunch ending up being quite useful, I love the haircut she gave me, but more than that, she was the medium that allowed me to transform from having a bluesy kind of day, to feeling great. As a person going through many changes myself, I can identify with people, like Daniela, who are in transition, and though for her it was just another haircut for another customer, I was moved by her dedication- to her vocation, to her image, and to her evolution as a person. Daniela is not the first transgender person I have met while here in Buenos Aires, but she was the spark that made me think and feel enough to put thoughts into words. People like Daniela are going through a more visible process of change, making it easier for others to judge or criticize. But all of us, well most of us, those who visit a psychologist of psychiatrist weekly, who can't decide on a career path, or on a vacation plan, or a seating arrangement, or a hairstyle, a hobby, a pet, whether to speak up or keep quiet. Those of us who are looking for a partner, or a friend, or a direction or inspiration, or just trying to understand who we are and why we are here. Gosh. You get the idea, no? Some transitions, changes are easier to see than others. But all of us are on the same journey, and realizing that we're not alone, even if it happens during something as superficial and simple as a haircut, can really brighten your day, and make you wonder- why spend so much money on therapy when a 25 peso 'do is all it takes to do the trick.

Come together, right now. Activism in Argentina is contagious.

march 24 2010

"There are much more people than last year," Ana tells me, as we sway among the multitude of people crowded in Plaza de Mayo, the political heart of Buenos Aires. "People are more mobilized this year, there is a greater feeling of activism, fighting for human rights." Today is the anniversary of the last military takeover in 1976, and masses of people gather each year on this date to remember the thirty thousand "desaparecidos" who disappeared during the oppresive regime. I wanted to see what a march looked like in Argentina, and feel closer to the issues that I hear so much about in the media and in every day life in Buenos Aires. Organizations like Abuelas de la Plaza de Mayo y Madres de la Plaza de Mayo (Grandmothers and Mothers of Plaza de Mayo) are groups that are fighting for justice and working relentlessly to uncover truths about their loved ones who were disappeared, prosecute and punish those who did the dirty work, and reunite the children of victims with their biological grandparents. Since, I had no previous reference of how many people attend the march, I had to take Ana's word for it, but leaving subway station Peru a few blocks from the plaza, you could feel that there was a good turnout to say the least. The noise of drums and chants in the streets was disorienting, I held on tight to my friend and tried not to get swept away by the current of people that surrounded us. Once we were able to maneuver ourselves under the Cabildo building and stand relatively comfortably amid people waving banners for peace or promoting a political party or simply expressing an idea with some colorful profanity, I was able to reflect on the spectacle. Lots of young people marching, sipping the ubiquitous mate between cheeky political chants, laughing, representing a cause or just enjoying the energy of being part of something. Elderly ladies wearing T-shirts or bearing flags with the name of someone disappeared, joined together pumping their fists in the air and singing Olé Olé, Olé Olá, and what I interpreted as the hymn for the Abuelas y Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. The crowd was a mix of people of all sorts- young couples toting toddlers on their shoulders, dreadlocked rastafarians, turists with cameras, vendors grilling meats and preparing sweets- a mishmosh of many colors, sounds, smells and tastes. My friend Ana doesn't agree politically with the majority of the banners and signs we pass, but that's the point. Those who make it to Plaza de Mayo on March 24th go because they believe in something, and no matter what that may be, they are accompanied by thousands of others who are also standing, for their own something. In my home town of Rochester, New York, I have never experienced what I did today. People are looking for change and take advantage of public events like today to voice their opinions, hoping to make a difference, like my friend Ana, who traveled an hour and a half each way to join me. I was overwhelmed, on one hand physically by the sheer amount of human beings sharing my personal space, but also by the positive, moving, contagious activism in the air. Being a part of an event much bigger than myself was unnerving but also comforting, and the feeling of leaving my comfort zone to experience and be part of something strange and new is wonderful. Hopefully this snapshot of my time in Argentina will inspire someone else to go stand in their respective Plaza de Mayo and be part of something.