Laura was late for class. She was never late. In fact, until now, she was always the first one there. When she finally arrived she was wearing a thick, white hoodie over her raven long hair. She kept her eyes down, her usual, easy smile missing. I was concerned but couldn’t do much more than look at her encouragingly and questioningly during the first half of class. She gave me a quick look but then kept her eyes lowered and stayed silent throughout the lesson. During the break, with language assistance from another classmate, she told me of a terrible encounter the night before with young men at a cultural gathering at a local bar and restaurant. They were from the United States and trying to engage her. She was expressing to them that she didn’t speak English, and was essentially doing the normal thing of nodding her head and saying sí as they were speaking to her in English over the music and the crowd noise. Things started to take a turn that she couldn’t understand. Thankfully her multi-lingual friend caught the gist and intervened, as one the young Americans was basically asking her to fuck, and becoming more brazen and insistent. 

I was furious. 

She was telling this story with shame and embarrassment. All I wanted to do was scoop her up and tell her that she is not the one who should feel shame in this encounter. Hoodie still on, cheeks flushed on her otherwise pale complexion.  She is a young girl. Nineteen. A good girl. This child attends church regularly, for fuck’s sake. She is here studying Spanish for her university where she will be studying medicine. She is physically beautiful. Stunning, actually. She is very intelligent, very studious. Very shy, very quiet, and so very, very kind. 

I was frustrated that I could not express in a common language how sorry I was that someone from my country made her feel this way. All of my maternal mama bear rage was rendered impotent by the Japanese-Spanish-English barrier between us. But I felt it. I think she felt it too. 

Even though I’ve never seen the movies and despite the fact that I try very hard not to feel hate or perpetuate violence, for a split second I envisioned myself accompanying her to this establishment and confronting those boys in the style of John Wick.  

Three weeks of Spanish did not prepared me to communicate the feelings I was experiencing. I started to teach her the phrase of “go fuck off!” should this type of thing happen again. Her friend liked that phrase a lot. Powerful, vulgar, fricative.  But Laura made me understand doesn’t curse as she blushed prettily. Plus, I realized that could possibly enrage an inebriated, aggressive asshole, and could cause more harm, especially one that could not be sorted with a common language. In the end, I managed to communicate basic mom advice to this young woman who is the same age as my youngest child, and to her friend. Stay with your friends. Stay safe. Stay safe above all else. I’m sorry. On behalf of my country, I am sorry. They do not represent us. They do not represent me.

How dare they send this kind of impression? How dare they?!?  Well, I know how they dare. It’s a tale as old as time. Expats, young, foolish, horny, selfish. Traveling in a foreign country and feeling that the world is theirs and that rules don’t apply. Eager to have all kinds of cultural exchanges. I get it. But for the love of all things good and sacred, do not target people who cannot truly give consent, and do not take advantage of situations in that way, fuckers. It’s 2024. I’m sure you were raised better. Don’t  make me track you down and tell your mother. Because you better believe I will.