Ecuador: La Alta

So here's the deal. To all those chicas who have ever wished they could add a few inches to their height...

That's what heels are for.

There are those of us who always stand in the back of the group photo. Who were stuck on the bottom of the human pyramid with the boys. Who never got picked in Red Rover because there was no stopping five feet of nine-year-old charging through the other team's line. Who have had the unfortunate experience of crushing on guys who are shorter than us, which is more or less like placing a bouquet of your hopes and dreams into an H-Bomb.

Or watching Cuenca Bus 15 drive away with your debit card.

But us tall girls know how to deal. When we attend Verbo Church, turn around during the service, and realize we are taller than all of the two hundred people seated behind us, we simply smile and imagine what it will be like to be the tallest nun in the nunnery. We are women of flat shoes and hard hearts. We put make-up under our chins and quietly cackle at your bald spot. They're not really "short shorts" unless we're wearing them, and what you call a "dress" is actually just a shirt.

The Galápagos was especially interesting. One night a group of us went to an ice cream shop. As I stood in line, a small child must have seen me (or my knee) out of the corner of her eye. She did a double take, after which she spent five terrifying seconds lifting her gaze up to my face. I felt like the first specimen in the Caucasius Altas zoo exhibit. Her expression was one I will never forget. I believe it was the same way I looked at the large Goofy-costumed man during my 1998 trip to Disney World.

But there are definitely pros to being tall. For instance, when your host mom accidentally sets the microwave on fire and can't reach the circuit breaker to flip off the power, she will call for your help. Whether or not you are able to help is irrelevant. You are needed. When the Spanish prof needs to erase the board, you will be there. People will always complement you when you look like a model; they'll keep good and quiet when you don't. And when you walk down the streets of Cuenca, you get honked at by d-bags, but not approached. They're not stupid.

In all honestly, I'm content being nearly six feet tall. It's just that here, I stand out even more than in the states. I'm not just white, I'm white AND tall, and I can feel the stares as I walk down the street. So I moan and complain to whoever is lucky enough to hear, and will probably continue to do so until I a) marry Goliath or b) finally get it through my head that it doesn't matter. I can just see God rolling His celestial eyes and
saying, "Oh Libby, my beloved daughter... shut up."

  "O LORD, you have examined my heart
      and know everything about me.
  You know when I sit down or stand up.
      You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
  You see me when I travel
      and when I rest at home.
  You know everything I do.
  
  If I ride the wings of the morning,
      if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
  even there your hand will guide me,
      and your strength will support me.
  
  You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
      and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
  Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
      Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it."
  

~ Psalm 139:1-3, 9-10, 13-14 ~