Xenophilia

At long last, I've identifed my malady.

In Europe, there's a lot of talk about xenophobia—fear of foreigners. The immigration rate has skyrocketed and it's literally changing the face of Europe. In the US, our demon, and an old one at that, is racism. In Europe, their demon, a somewhat new one, is xenophobia. It's less race as in color, and more race as in nationality.

Anyway, I have the opposite problem. I am hopelessly drawn to anything foreign. Foreign customs? Cool! Foreign accents? Wow! Foreign languages? Ooh! Foreign countries? Ah! Anything that approaches the new, different and exotic automatically has me nearly enraptured.

That can become a problem.

Especially when the, er, object of supposed enrapturement has a Y chromosome that I'm proud to lack. Now, I'm not saying I'm enraptured. At all. All I'm saying is that I recognize the danger of being taken in by things that are, in the end, superficial. At the end of the day, a Cuban guy with jet black hair, a husky voice, and a sexy accent is only that, if that's all you know about him and that's all that attracts you to him. (And, okay, I did meet a really hot Cuban guy that fit that description, but he was just a friend of a friend, and, according to Spanish custom, the only interaction I had with him were greeting and goodbye cheek kisses. And, okay, I had to fan myself afterward when he walked away.)

So anyway, all I'm saying is that I'm aware of my propensity and am trying not to let the shallowness of it cloud my judgment. But I must confess that right now, I curse my malady. Going back to the US, however, (which I will do in about a week and a half) will definitely cause it to go into remission, thank God.