I deserved a nap though, for real. Well, kind of. It was my fault. Conference presentation Saturday morning in Atlanta, didn't finish self-translating (since I originally wrote the paper in Spanish and planned on presenting it in English) until late, late Friday night. Well, early Saturday morning. So late, that I got chained into the parking lot. I had to honk down the campus police to unchain it when I saw one of them roll by. I should really put their number into my phone.
So, presentation went okay. My major professor even came, which was very sweet of her. I need to get better at answering questions afterward, though. Ugh. It brings out the nervous rambler in me. Don't ask me a question that it would take me writing a paper to answer. Dude. And then this girl gonna come up after it's all over and begin a "question" she had for me by telling me, in sum, that she wanted to ask it during question/answer, but didn't because she didn't want to call me out. As if to say, "I could have embarrassed you, but I didn't." I get it. How could I say that a character in a Peruvian novel followed a Yoruba herbalist tradition when there is such a strong herbalist tradition in indigenous culture, particularly in a country like Peru with a strong indigenous element? Point well taken. However, the purpose of the novel, written by an Afro-Peruvian writer, was to highlight the African element in Peruvian identity that is often overlooked. If we're talking about Peru, the indigenous thing is kind of a given, isn't it? The things I don't think of to say until afterward.
There was a young professor who presented in the panel with me, who, in retrospect, I think was trying to holla at me. I was honestly intrigued by his presentation and we were chatting about it afterward and I mentioned I was going to Cuba this summer. He went to Cuba as well and gave me his card to contact him if I needed any info on researching, places to check out, etc., in Cuba. His interests include Jewish identity, but when discussing my presentation he mentioned that he was also interested in black female sexuality (part of my paper talked about sexual exploitation of female slaves). Really? Is that like a nerdy way of telling a black girl you wanna see what's up?
Afterward, I met up with a friend who now goes to the university where I gave the presentation who I met when we were both studying abroad in France. It's always so good to see her. When you go through the experience of being foreigners together in another country, there's something about it that makes you feel like family.
There was something about the dreary drive back that made me want something comforting. Something like home. Something akin to an Italian panini sandwich with olive oil. (Yes, the paninis at Panera Bread are fake.) I realized something. What we used to call prosciutto piccante is actually sopressata. It's like salami, but isn't. It looked close enough, so I bought some along with a baguette and cheese. When I got home and opened up the package and smelled it, I knew it. That was it. It almost brought tears to my eyes because it was a part of that idealized life on Via Mare. That life when I used to go across the street and order from the deli at the alimentari in Italian.
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