American Woman

Everyday living here in Lima is an adventure. Everyday my intercultural encounters make me laugh, angry, frustrated, hopeful, appreciative, and countless other adjetives. There are things that I just denote as being the "Peruvian way" or people here who resemble people I know back in the states the "Peruvian version". But one daily (well at least 5 times a week) encounter that constantly reminds me who I am (American woman) and where I am (Latin America), is when I'm running.
Running is not that big of a sport here, and even less among females. So it's natural for Peruvians to stare in bewilderment when they see this abnormally pale American woman, with jet black hair (it was a security precaution) sweating profusely, while trudging along Malecon drive (tourist boardwalk basically). During my adventures, I pass by couples, tourists, vendors, security guards and other pedestrians all eyeing the white fantom. But instead of feeling awkward or insecure from the constant stares, I feel powerful. I feel powerful because I'm an American woman.
I have thought about this a lot, why me being an American woman makes me feel powerful. And I've concluded that if America is the most powerful country then it's women must be the most powerful among their gender. Then I thought about all the powerful women in the world and how many are Americans - I estimate it's a good number but honestly I haven't conducted an investigative study on this topic this is just what I think about while running.
Anyway, all this powerful American woman thinking brought me to the conclusion that if we're really that powerful then we have a great responsibility to project an image mirroring that of greatness. Therefore, when I pass by other women and expecially young girls while running, I'm conscious to project an image of strength and power; as if I'm saying to them you are powerful and can do or be anything you want.
Yesterday my projected self was interpreted when I passed by this little girl who couldn't have been more then 5 years old. After a 1.5 hour run I was drenched in sweat, face red, and visibly exhausted. A little girl walked out of her house holding her father's hand, looked at me and stopped. Mouth agape, eyes wide, motionless and unresponsive to her father's petitions to move, she starred. She starred at me as if I were unhuman, as if I were a fairy princess and a superhero all in one. Her stare told me that she didn't have the words or perhaps words didn't exist to describe what she was seeing (me). As her father pulled her across the street to get in the car, her stare and facial features maintained, fixated as if she were catonic. Her face said everything. In her eyes I was powerful, strong, and a woman.
I don't know if the image of me will stay with her but her stare will forever be ingrained in my mind. Reminding me of the great responsibility we have as women to project the image we want younger generations to follow.