Never forget

Everybody told me it was a sure thing. I was crazy not to think I'd be accepted. I had just returned from Mexico--my self-given, and, accepted graduation present... To say the least, I was on cloud 9...septimo cielo. I arrived home late with my dad from the airport...everyone else was asleep. Like the maidenly father Ed is, he offered to make me something to eat. (Which, now, appears to be one of the finest luxuries life has to offer. Even as a 21-year-old college graduate, my father still picked me up from the airport and made his little girl a midnight snack). Life in Mexico for 5 days without technology was both a gift and a burden. Therefore, on the web I went. I had a message...from CIEE. "Update about your Teach in Spain application."

Holy shit...this. is. IT. 

Tiny earthquakes shot through the nerve-endings in my fingers. I eagerly hesitated, but the suspense was too much too endure any longer...

"Dear Courtney,

Congr---"

And that was all she wrote. I nearly collapsed from euphoric suffocation. I was confused..my brain didn't know whether to cry, run naked in proclamation down the street, or to smile satisfactorily to myself in my reflection on the computer screen. Following suit of my childhood ways, I ran into the kitchen exulting what I could not verbalize with what can only be described as squealing, celebratory, 5-year old, ijustrodemyfirstpony jumps.

"I'm doing it! I got accepted! I'm going to Spain!!!"

....

That was 9 months ago. If I had ever had the privilege to have studied abroad during college, I would've been back home by now... I would've stopped when I had just began. I have a life here...People keep asking me how I know Spanish so well...they are convinced i studied it in college. And I look at them puzzlingly.. "I don't," I consistently respond. But, once it becomes a daily affirmation from those who have known me since day one to the pharmacist (Who told me on Monday, the words travelled through her warm tunnel of a smile " Your Spanish is much better than the first time we met...your pronunciation has improved greatly." The lady next to me chimed in to comment on how difficult it is to learn Spanish here in Andalucia, to which I quickly responded with, at least I understand it, rather than living in Madrid where I would easily be able to understand everything), you start thinking to yourself, "Am I really doing it?!"

These little pieces of my life are building a mountain in my soul. Our life is this strangely arranged mountain range. Each mountain represents a different experience--the climb, the revelation, and the reflection. My mountains are lush. They have been built on seeds of intrinsic motivation that I was so fortunate to receive as an innate gift. There are so many that never get to travel, and, on the other hand, there are those that travel with unconscious frequency. But, what makes my lone travel mountain so abundant in growth is the appreciation for its existence. Nature is a miracle. Technology is a gift. Nature was here long before I could express nature as a metaphor using a stone tablet, quill and ink, ballpoint pen, typeface, and today, touch-screen. Those things that surpass our beings--that make us feel infinitely small, yet, so immensely ourselves at the same time--originate in the origin of time...in what makes us all human...language, expression, face-to-face contact. Otherwise, your mountains are constructed from 0's and 1's in an alter-universe whose growth, experience, and reflection leaves you without the impressed memory that lives within you, the places you go, the people you meet, and the experiences you have.

g.e.t.

Dear Grandma,

The weight of language, endless conversation, and nightly outings has left me quite tired lately. I have been exploring the life of the pueblo... Which, roughly translated, means, I have been inviting myself places so I can have friends here. It's an interesting concept... living in a place for nine months...entering someone's life and expecting, or seeking, rather, friendship for a set period of time. In addition, take into consideration the flow of the conversation...you speak like a foreigner, you act like a foreigner, and half the time you are either pretending to understand or you are tirelessly repeating the phrase, "como se dice."

The last two weeks have consisted of late nights with friends, lots of drinks, long, lazy Saturday afternoon lunches of recuperation and language immersion (laced with the muddled smell of a hangover), and lots of love. Sunday...we continue in the same manner--lots of food, family, but, less alcohol, because the next day, I have to pretend I can function normally.

I have been living in the pueblo a little over 2 months now. But, I feel like my life here is just beginning. I don't feel like I'm at summer camp anymore...However, I don't think until my language is more understandable will I be able to feel like I am not a complete outsider. It's very easy to leave the pueblo on the weekends, because, in reality, if I'm not with a family eating on the weekends, there is absolutely nothing to do in the pueblo--no stores, no movie theaters, and all the young people here have boyfriends and families of their own. It leaves you with two choices---be annoying and invite yourself (as ever graciously as you can) into their home or leave to explore Europe. I don't think there is a right or a wrong way to doing this...it's like everything else in life--a learning experience.

But, I'm never scared...I am just still adapting. How can this all be happening? I am ever so conscious of not considering my end date here as definitive...I prefer to think of it as just another possibility...I guess I am so used to being asked as to my direction in life, I am still not accustomed to living in a bubble of ignorance and confusion. I don't know when it will come if ever...All I know is that the grace I experience everyday in the 25 person-large hugs I receive from my first graders, the smiles I receive from my co-workers, and the instantly warm hospitality I experience with the families that live here, I have done something right in my life to deserve this. I am not sure that I will ever be able to reciprocate what they have given me...but, I hope that my presence in their life can be as half as important as theirs is to me.

Un besito.


Mexico-The Staves

Follow your heart

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sj0Ha7Xkw7Y

go where you want.
be who you are.

i will live my life in spanish.
i will have my own garden.
my food will be homemade.
i will bike 100 miles every weekend.
i will play the piano.
i will smile when you look at me.
you will look at me every day
as if each day were better than the last.

and you love your job.
because your job is to live.

love is the life.

it doesn't exist
if you don't look for what you need.

Lo permisa pasar

I just received a rejection to my couchsurf request in Amsterdam. The process goes that you view your "host's" profile and in your written request to stay with them, you explain why you would like to meet this person. I hate this part. I have to make a hasty judgement based on one's self-proclaimed written word--will I get along with this person or not, how do I know they will not shave my eyebrow off in my sleep, and hopefully they don't have any bizarre habits (p.s. bizarre and awkward= two words that don't exist in Spanish and make my life extremely difficult to express). I received yet another rejection letter from Amsterdam, and had posed within they "Why I Want to Meet You" part, why did he say: "I like couchsurfing because I like to make connections with different people"...How is it possible to have a connection with everyone? This was his response:

"It's a good question about connecting with people. This is the answer I've found myself. When you play a guitar string, you hear the sound, it is composed of a base frequency, and many overtones. The base frequency allows you to recognize the sounds, the overtones give it the unique timbre of a guitar. If you play the same note on a piano, the base frequency will be the same. The overtones give it the unique timbre of a piano. When we meet people, often we pay attention only to the overtones: what makes us unique. But, deep down, I think all people resonate at the same base frequency."

Being different and being beautiful is something we embrace. But, sometimes, we forget, that it's okay to just be human.

Adventuring

Querida Abuelita,

Was it like this when you were young? Did you feel invincible? Older than you really were? Ignorant and naiive or aware and conscious? I don't know how I feel about my age or my "youth." Everyone insists on referring to my life here as an adventure... You could say so. But, isn't life in itself an adventure.. Or more of a journey.. Thus far, my journey began with twenty-two years of preparation. During my intensive prep courses of everyday life, the more experiences I had with the abundance of people i have met, I was able to slightly narrow the margin of likes, dislikes, and the unknowns. The best gifts are always decorated in the most unexpected packages...this is what I have learned. When I worked at the hotel, I would meet truckloads of people a day. I was a part of a large corporation funnel system, which causes more people to be overworked in a fixed, toxic environment. The promotions don't make you richer as a human. in fact, you more or less lose your will to participate in society...unless, you consider work a pillar of society. Today, for society to function, your participation in the economic sector is invaluable. But, how this process has changed from a means of survival (to pay for food, clothing, and housing), into a means of identification, I may never understand.

I've always valued my independence. But, it's not always easy. I went to Granada this weekend alone to sleep on someone's couch for three days. I know you are worried...that's why this revelation is admitted now...after the fact. The person I stayed with is fantastic. He experienced a different prep course than I-- having parents that choose to be international with their children leaves an everlasting impression on many of these types of people... At 24, he speaks 3 languages fluently, has lived in Liverpool for a year and France for two years. He has a position in an international company, with which comes the opportunity to meet more people like himself--an empathetic support group of curious seekers. I met two more of his colleagues, one from Poland and one from the united states, both of whom moved here 5 years ago without knowing a lick of Spanish. Qué cojones. Now, they are fluent, have secure positions in a stable enterprise, romantic interests with people of different backgrounds, and spend their weekends going out with each other until 4am...at the earliest. The conversation covers all social arenas--politics, humor, film, languages, beauty...an aberico of the essence of humanity. I really never thought my times here could evolve and flourish so rapidly in such an impressionable way. I explained to the group, after about 3 glasses of wine and 3 gin and tonics (don't worry, over a span of 5 hours) that I am walking on a cloud. Every. Single. Day. Feeling helpless in a language at times and making mistakes is hard for someone who is hypercritical of herself. But, this is why I'm here. I left my comfort zone. I went to a new city...alone... Only with the positive energy and hope that my host would be just as hospitable and friendly as he was. But, I must admit, he was more. The people that are close to me from home know who they are. But, there has always been a separation of friends and family for me. Until now. This individual has a family of friends... They function as a unit, can spend a whole day together, on the weekend, after 5 days at the daily grind together as well, to remind each other of old memories, while constantly making new ones. This person introduced me to his family...without knowing me. He trusted.

Grandma, you have always taught me this--trust in the good in people. I just couldn't see it in the states. Instead, all I saw was the outline of a human wrapped in money and stamped with Louis Vuitton, orange county, Mercedes Benz, or strings of zeroes. But, all that had to occur for this to be so emphatic...so special. I got to write him a note in his travel book for the people he hosts, but I don't feel like that will ever be enough. I hope I get to repay the favor some day and show him half as good of a time as he provided for me...the unconscious willingness to share good with someone.

My journey is never going to change my relationship with you or how much I long for one of your warm hugs, but, this adventure is going to allow me to be a better version of myself. And if this is only the beginning, I must keep smiling and repaying the favor to all of those who have been so welcoming to me.

I love you.

let it happen

I have heard from various people that I have a small cult of followers (please...if you haven't yet, start referring to yourself as such). How great. Thank you for supporting me and the rantics (ranting antics) of this blog. I wish I had more things to say that weren't so personal... But, I'm a little bit too much Spanish to be living in the states anyway... I mean I like ham, cheese, and wine to the extent that if I never had the option to see a McDonald's, Pick up Stix, or Domino's again...I think I would survive...

I don't just admire the blunt commentary that comprises daily life...I participate in it. I am not shy about my poor Spanish skills... I say "repite," about 3 times every 3 sentences... They have accents here and whoever tells you that they are fluent after only two months is a liar...I am sure of it. Everyone wants to know if you have a boyfriend...because they have all known each other since they were 5 years-old and married the first person they started dating when they were 15...They don't hate the United States, but don't necessarily care to know more. First, because we are all over the TV. I think the people here knew more about the candidates than I...No, they didn't. They just knew they wanted Obama to win...because he is a democrat. And secondly, because, more likely than not, they will lead the rest of their lives here...Content and happy with the route their life has taken and will continue to follow. There are absolutely no young people...None. Zero. It is more like a large retirement home that takes place outside on the streets. Some of the older citizens choose to wear their dentures, and others...well, they elect otherwise. I've heard that gazpacho actually goes down easier without your teeth. There is one type of beer and two types of wine...There is no menu...Don't order without other Spaniards...Otherwise, you will be charged way more than is required. There is a "crisis" here..So, you are always reminded at least once or twice that "there is a crisis" during conversation...Normally to describe why one thing is different now than in the past. Food is so unbelievably cheap...I think I would stay here just to never have to spend $30 for one dinner of an appetizer, a drink, and a sandwich again. What a rip-off. Plus, the food here actually tastes so much better. Whatever you vegetarians think when you come here...like your life is about to end...or that all these Spaniards are going to vegetarian-hell for not respecting your way of life...you are crazy. Omg, the fish! The MEAT--pig. It's all about the pig. The cheeks, the hands, the stomach, the liver, the tail...They are thrifty here...I mean, com'on. It's a crisis. But guidi knows...guidi knows she is receiving the best food ever. A language tutorial that is incomparable to any other. But, I want to stress that living in a pueblo is not Madrid..not Barcelona... This is not frou-frou, city-life with bars on every corner (that's a lie too..there are bars, but not cafés or fancy shmancy institutions), discotecas, and whatever else exists in Madrid (I still have yet to visit...don't worry...I will...when I get my Spanish boyfriend to drive me there...so, I'm going to take this moment to propose my indirect plea to please channel some prayers my way to get me that Spanish boyfriend and donate to the cause...because all the Spaniards think it's so weird that I am so tall...or, that I don't have a boyfriend...they could be related....) But, so I have heard, the streets are covered in gold and all your children that studied abroad there I'm sure had fabulous experiences. And many people here have respect for the cities in the north. But, the life of Spain lives in the south. It lives in the campo...because, it is where traditional life continues. So what you don't have teeth? I've known you since I was born...and you didn't have teeth then either. No judgement passed. You are not one in a billion here. You are someone everyone knows, or has seen at least once a week during their walk to the grocery store. It is small. To get to the train, you take a bus that is the size of the vans that take your kids to away games in middle school. The train only has 5 available times to take you to the train or pick you up from it. Yes, they are very spread out, and, no, it is not convenient. The train also has 6 inconvenient times to take you an hour away to the nearest city. Oh, by the way, between 1:30-5:30, you can't do anything because everything is closed. So, you might as well go somewhere after 5:30 (IN THE AFTERNOON..night doesn't start until 8pm...because you don't eat dinner until 11pm). These are observations...not complaints. I deal with it...Either I'm really awake and get my ass up to the bus stop...Or I don't. It's that simple. 

Spanish life. Aceitunas, vino, ham, and cheese. Siesta. Work to live...never, live to work. 

rain, rain. go away.

The art of practicing simplicity.

Blossom in the rain.

Fear inhibits our ability to be artists.
To paint our thoughts with our words.
An interpretation expressed through deliberately spontaneous action.

Reaffirmed by comfortable compassion.

The absolution of the storm outside
with an epicenter originating within.

Demasiado corazón

Paella, rain, babies, Spanish.

I was listening to this today: http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/wnycheresthething/~3/8cc6_wLxGdE/.
And sometimes I read this: www.goop.com.

Yesterday, I learned how to make paella. Ate a family lunch. Took the longest siesta of my life. Skyped with my mom. Then, went to the hospital to see if Jose Luis' friend, whose wife given birth to their first child, wanted to go for a walk to get some fresh air. Marco had been born just two days prior. They welcomed me into their room to sit and talk, amidst the fetus-sized (seriously, so small) Marco- beautiful and delicate. With unapparent shame or an impalpable sentiment of an encroachment of privacy, I settled into good company with new acquaintances during the post-game recovery of one of the most important days of their lives...

Paella, rain, babies, SPAIN.

In the podcast, Andrew McCarthy--actor, director, travel writer--discusses what he has learned from traveling and his evolution of vulnerability as an actor into a solo traveller. Even he emphasizes the power of the question to open the doors into the hearts of humanity.

To each his own.
I like to eat, talk, and do. Practicing Spanish is a full-time job. My body is confused-- it rained for 5 days, then, is uncontrollably sunny for 2. I am always in a new place for undetermined periods of time, eating different food, wending through different terrains. But, what I already knew, that has been reaffirmed, to travel is to live in a place as a local. And that one trip, that one moment, when you are completely vulnerable develops into a blossoming new friendship that crosses all boundaries of who you used to be and who you are going to become.

Ask questions
Never say "no."
Always smile...and say "thank you," though it's very rarely received.

Because...

If only for today, seize it while it lasts.

Getting lost

Dear Abuelita,

Sorry its been so long. You know what it's like... Going from place to place, and sometimes, all you want to do is to sit down and relax...but, then, you become restless with that too. Right now I'm finishing up my trip in Cádiz. It has been such a reinvigorating respite from pueblo life. Pueblo life is quiet and mapped. Here, I have gotten lost in a forest, trekked through another forest in the rain, and taken a leisurely, nostalgic stroll along the sand in a blanket of humidity that reminded me of what it must be like at home. I don't think about home often... But, I do think about you and how much you would love every nook and cranny of every experience... I pay a bit more attention than you to detail-- the way someone smiles, their most common phrases, etc.. But, here, I don't have to. Via an osmotic transfer of mentality, I have absorbed this universal acceptance of just being and allowing others to just be. It's so much easier to label and categorize everything so we can compartmentalize our feelings, and, therefore, our relationships. But, why? Because people think life is already hard enough? Because we are scared? Or because we are too comfortable in known territory that maybe a vacation suffices as a measure to escape our fears, even if just for a week...?

The multitude of reasons is a shelled seed at the the root of a fertile tree of problems we call "life." The more excuses we give, the stronger our roots cling to the soil, less likely to uproot and more dependent upon the worry and fear as fertilizer to keep it "healthy and strong."

I don't think stripping this seed of its protective layer is easy, or even humanly possible. Because we all have a shell, but, what's beautiful in life is when you meet people that live outside their shell, and outside themselves.

I have been received into this family in Cádiz by a mutual connection from the United States. The last three days have been some of my favorites because for the first time I feel like I belong here. Mostly because of the nature...Jose Luis leads an orienteering league in Cadiz. Orienteering is when you have a map and run through the forest to stop at 11 different checkpoints to report your time. Whoever returns to base first, wins. Well, it was my first time playing and it was just a practice route...but, when you put two girls together in a forest, who have both never played this game before..what happens? They get lost... But, not just lost... Terribly misrouted...to the point where Ingrid and I were peeing our pants when we got to a pueblo outside the forest because we had walked way too far in the opposite direction... 4.5 hours lost in the forest on my first day in Cadiz. Jose Luis didn't know me that well yet and felt absolutely dreadful, like he allowed me to get lost by placing me with Ingrid. Amidst my laughter, I explained how much fun I had... I made a new friend, spoke broken Spanish for 4 hours (Hell, I was hot, tired, and I didn't know any forest words...), and got to be in one of the most beautiful forests I've ever seen.. Without paths made by people, without, even, other people... A mountain from where you could see the ocean and then mindlessly get lost, and find cows grazing, and the boxes where they cultivate honey..untouched, resting in the middle of the forest...but, what was even more chuly (cool) is that the girl that I was lost with was just as captivated as I was.

I knew we had to get back because we had a responsibility to the 30 other people waiting for us, but, I wasn't ever worried I wouldn't get back. It's about the journey. I'm here. And to live in fear and settle in to my burrow in the pueblo is easier than offer friendship and explore new terrain with new people. It's about being fearless - the first step is hard, but, the end result is liberating because you create your destiny.

My dad always taught me, "It never hurts to ask. The worst someone can do is say no."

Querido....

Querido a Mi Abuelita,

Low-maintenance week. Not much to show...Living in a pueblo has brought a sense of unassured anxiety. There is all this free time, and what am I to do with it? I may try a painting class...and then, a flamenco class...I give some English classes on the side during the day, but, it's very difficult to go see things outside, if not on the weekends. Since I don't have a car, and the trains leave and come infrequently, and at very inopportune times, I am sentenced to the interior heartbeat in a skin coat of oranges.

I am patiently waiting/actively seeking (as much as I can) companions of the sort. I know good companions are hard to find and I remain positive. My embrace is all-encompassing and ready to be received, but, I don't think finding friends is one of those things you can wish for...just like finding a mate, or the right shampoo...with so many choices, do you just buy every single one until you find the one that smells the best?

However, you can understand that despite my personal longings--things many people, such as I, take for granted--I am content. I have been given a position to learn a foreign language in a place that was much different than the place I grew up...

I go from teaching English food bingo, to describing the nervous system to 9 year-olds, to playing monstruo durante recreo con los chiquititos. On my English classes on the side, I have two sisters, 7 & 10 years old, that are taking English classes in school, yet don't know the alphabet. Then, I have a pair of sisters who are 14 & 15, who read "Where the Sidewalk Ends" with me. Then, we interpreted the poem through creating our own drawings about the poem...Within that same family, I also give English classes to the father, and, afterwards, we have an intercambio for two hours. Un intercambio is when we trade our languages--I speak for an hour in Spanish, and he repsonds in his native tongue, and then, he speaks for an hour in English, and I respond in mine. It's very helpful to my language development to speak with people who aren't afraid to tell you what is correct, what is slang, and what doesn't make any sense at all...

I think I have a bout of the clouds, because it has been pouring for three days without end... Watching ceaseless rain makes me tired... a fit of the gods...or a fight among them...

My favorite moment this week was in one of my second grade classes. Jose Garcia raises his hand to answer EVERY question. When I look for other hands, there are none to be found...Jose is the only one who truly a) listens and b) can understand English...or can deduce what it is that I am saying. One of the rowdy boys who sits by the teacher's desk was complaining in Spanish about how he didn't understand... Jose piped up and said, "Tú estás aqui para aprender ingles. Si tú hablas en español, tú no aprendes ingles." After, Jose threw his hands into the air and maintained this stern look of condescension plastered upon his face. I couldn't help but laugh...actually, roar. This 7-year old not only understands English, but told off his classmate that was acting like a dufus, that he should listen if he wants to understand...and since he doesn't listen, obviously he isn't going to understand...It's moments like that when young minds can sense so little, yet, understand so much.

What a gift this is.

*arriba: This is the sala de profesores. Pepe--my pseudo 50 year old Dad/co-worker. He LOVES to talk to me about old Hollywood movies, loves for me to pronounce words in English, loves his wife, misses his daughter who is on erasmus in Dublin, and is all around a goofy old man that offers a chispa taste of home.

sin título

I have something to say, so I'm going to say it. (c)

My backyard.
120-year old Spanish tiles.
White, plastic TrueValue chair.
A sky filled with doubt.
Uncertainty clouds an overwhelming world, purposefully left behind.

22-years old.
Brave?
(No)
Adventurous?
Maybe...

There is always room for speculation.
(No)
It's transparent.

There is more room for change.
A glass half-full--add, mix, grow, shake, repeat.

To what end would you go to measure the likelihood of the same result?

The air smells like home.
The nostalgic home of my parent's oversized leather couch.
A familiar waft of Sunday morning maple syrup mixed with morning breath discussion.
The buzz of cartoons in the background.
The dew drenched newspaper harshly awakens the table.

Here, the air appears the same.
Yet, the smell clears clogged passages.
You miss something intangible and unattainable.
A memory.
Not a place.

I change.
I have and I will.
My glass is half-full--an abstract amalgam of reminiscence.

Yet, in the loneliness of understanding
only the arms of my memory
can embrace and assuage the glimpses
of familiar clouds that stalk my present.

In knowing the intricacies of your past,
you erect mnemonic filaments in honor of your present(ce).

22-years old. My past.
22-years young.                                   I've. got.                        room.