Gaugin

I see fleshy white men strutting through the mall, armed with young filipinas against modest, suburban retirements. I find myself embarrassed by and for these men, and I mistakenly assume their lack of eye-contact is a guilty acknowledgement that they know I know what they're about.

My white body is valued here in more explicit ways than I'm used to. Were I in southern Mindanao, my body might literally be a commodity for Abu Sayyaf rebels who've taken hostages with the hope of ransoming them for more money than they could make in their lifetimes. Here, the attention is far more benign - I am greeted by 'sir' whenever I shop; schoolgirls giggle out of passing jeeps; older men and women smile; and young men, well...

Almost every day I pass a sculptor whose shop is by the side of a busy road. The impossibility of having a sculptor working out of a shack on a sidewalk is something I've gotten used to and as I pass we exchange hellos and I pause to look at what he's working on. Sometimes he works with a young man whose expertise is carving marble headstones, though most often he's working by himself on an image of the virgin, jesus, or once, saint george. I've contemplated asking him how much it would cost to make me a statue of saint sebastian pierced with arrows (i imagine the arrows would break off in my luggage, though it's not the arrows that I want). I'd ask him not to paint it, but to sand and polish it, leaving the garish colours of the madonna or the obscene pink of christ in the small, broken cups that line the shelf of his workshop. I imagine my sebastian's colour (smooth, naked wood) enriched by the sweat and attention of the man who formed him.

People often ask how long I'm here for and when I tell them that I'm here for a three-month internship, I notice a subtle shift in the way their body responds to mine. I claim my length of stay as a badge that differentiates me from a tourist, a cano. Despite that, as I walk down the street, my body betrays me. I long to be brought into the fold of this city - to surreptitiously insert myself into the fabric of the space: I want to be as invisible as water on a sweaty neck.

I've taken to introducing myself as Matt Damon - sometimes Josh Hartnett, Ryan Reynolds or Superman [yes, these comparisons have all been made, much to my embarrassment and the delight of the person making the comparison]. If I can't be invisible (really, do I really want that?) then I work it to my advantage and threaten to sign autographs.

We all know that I'm not Superman, but we like the joke - my perverse height and expensive teeth are beacons for the beggars and vendors who rightfully see me as an easy target and beg or sell, respectively. I don't like souvenirs and I don't carry much money on me, so as far they're concerned, Superman's a bit of a letdown. What I will take with me though (my gaudy, tourist bauble), is a promise to myself to continue smiling and waving at strangers as I walk down brusque Toronto streets and a commitment to occasionally rescue handsome young men from evil villains and towering infernos.