Into the swing of things...

These recent weeks have flown by and crept along simultaneously, as although certain tasks (like reading and writing in Spanish) continue to remain tedious and time consuming, it always seems to shock me when the weekend comes again, so quickly. There have been a few firsts - my first potluck party, my first political rally, my first time crying in a bathroom stall after class.

The content of the coursework is challenging. Most days I feel as if I have to lay out all my beliefs about gender and sexuality on a table, take a step back, and begin to analyze where exactly this particular belief came from, how it has changed and why, if am I willing to defend it or wanting to transform it (slightly or completely), etc.

The rally that I attended was on the International Day of the Women. A small group of 30-35 individuals protested outside of the judicial building and I learned a few interesting things. One, there was a law passed last fall in Costa Rica to protect victim's of domestic violence that included psychological violence. Recently, four judges challenged this law and it was been declared unconstitutional because it was decided that psychological violence (or violence that does not leave a physical wound or mark) is rather subjective; therefore, it is unconstitutional to put a specific penalty on an act that is difficult to prove or categorize. Basically, it is unconstitutional to penalize someone based on the victim's verbal claim of abuse, one person's word against another's (usually a women's word against a man's word). What this means is: if your partner is verbally abuse, you have no recourse. If your partner is physically abusive, but careful not to leave any visible marks (also quite common), you have no proof. If your partner abuses you, leaves marks, but you are scared to go immediately to the authorities (which is also quite common) and happen to wait until you don't have visible marks anymore, you have no proof. I am also fairly certain that individuals who have been incarcerated over the last year under this law will be released. One of my professors had printed off the names and ages of all of the women who have been killed by their partners over the last year to hang on the building with flowers. Most of them were my age, or younger.

On a brighter note, the potluck-party was a success! It was a wonderful intersection of the folks I met at the meditation center and the women from my program, and the laughter, food, and dancing helped wash away any residual anxiety that sparked a solitary sobbing episode a mere four days earlier in the fourth floor bathroom of the Universidad Nacional.

My friend Fadrique (love the name) is headed to his mother's eco-hostel on the Caribbean coast this weekend and invited me to tag along. I am going to take him up of the offer, as reading on the beach sounds a lot more appealing that reading in my apartment. Plus, it has been over almost two months since I have been able to work on my tan. Until later...