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.

Mi mujer

A man is nothing without su mujer. I have high standards for women...Actually, more so than men. However, I have always considered myself to get along better with men. Men seem to be better at just accepting situations and appearing more simplistic. I felt that if I could just accept things and move on without living in denial, why couldn't other women? Women struggle avoiding the internalization of their surroundings, whether it be conscious or subconscious. This is not an absolute. Nor are my friends all boys. My best friends are girls. But, I have, subconsciously, denied those women, mentors and peers,  in my life the recognition they deserve as independent, driven, and influential.

These women may or may not have been like me when they were younger. I am not sure if they got mad at the world. I don't know what footprints they left in the sand on the beaches before. But, I met each woman on a different point on their road, likewise, on mine. Some were early, some were later, some were ephemeral, and some have been everlasting. But, I never consciously thanked them. I was too preoccupied with growing up that their special attention to stabilizing my weak roots, pruning my untended limbs, or just offering more support went unnoticed. But, it never went unappreciated.

Frederico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936) is a Spanish poet from Granada, a small, now alternative-bohemian city in Andalusia. I studied his development of the philosophy of duende in the States before travelling here. I understood it very little and convinced myself that I had a grasp on it's broader meaning. But, it is not simple--as any good philosophy is not. I was an outsider to his perspective on his  native scene. He had invited me to read a scene painted with words, but deprived of life. Lorca can hypnotize an audience with melodic prose that hides the drama that resonates in each word independent of the methodic phrase, where he finds true solace. In order to understand what kind of people live in Lorca's works, you need to visit Andalusia.

3 types of people:
1. People who work to live.
2. People who live to work.
3. People who live to be. (more often than not 3 is included in 1)

Here, number 3 is the overwhelming consensus of the people. 1 exists, but during a crisis, it is difficult to find those who can live by number 1. Therefore, many's state of being cannot explicitly be number 3 either because, without work, they are defined by their "lack of work," rather than their forma de ser, which is a perpetual state, inclusive or exclusive of occupation.

Now, having been here, Lorca's description has been clarified. "La Niña de Los Peines had to tear apart her voice, because she knew experts were listening, who demanded not form but the marrow of form, pure music with a body lean enough to float on air. She had to rob herself of skill and safety: that is to say, banish her Muse, and be helpless, so her duende might come, and deign to struggle with her at close quarters. And how she sang! Her voice no longer at play, her voice a jet of blood, worthy of her pain and her sincerity, opened like a ten-fingered hand as in the feet, nailed there but storm-filled, of a Christ by Juan de Juni." 

It is through tragedy, you truly live. It is through harnessing this form and unleashing it when appropriate, you truly live. There are many people who never realize the beautiful form of duende they possess because the strength of this word resides in Spain. Likewise, in the States, you are not given a choice on how to live--the overwhelming consensus there is number 2. It is a rat race. Here, there aren't races; there are obstacles. Obstacles of terrain, of understanding, of attainment, etc. People truly just sit and talk. And eat and, talk some more....then, sit some more. Drink some more coffee. Maybe strike up yet another conversation. The mujer makes dinner. We drink some more. Then, off to sleep, for a short time...only, so we can live again. 

Dear Women, 

Thank you... You saw something in me, stirred it, and it has yet to be put to rest. There are days I resent whatever boils within because I find it to be a burden. But, you stirred it, because it lives within you too. Someone has found you or told you along the way, what you have and the grand capacity that comes with your ability. You all chose different paths, different lifestyle choices, different careers (for the most part), and different personal philosophies. My exposure to all of this diversity has allowed me to draw a little from each that most resonates with who I am to form my own identity...to live in number 3, as an active choice, rather than, by default. I am forever grateful for your endless support of curiosity. Thank you for defining bravery. Actions speak louder than words. 

Love, 

Courtney

aprovechar

My apologies... I have been busy busy busy aprovechar-ing (taking advantage of) my life here in Spain. I don't know how many times I can emphasize the fact that I am living in a surreal state of mind. With each day that passes, it seems to be less and less noticeable that I am a foreigner. Needless to say, walking the streets that crisply freeze my eyebrows during the morning, and, three hours later, melt away all specks of early morning dew, has become old hat.

I see people---a LOT of people. My place is small, dry, and strewn with a person on every street corner--not impacted, rather, laced. Laced with the elderly who remember a time when rivers of wine filled the streets and they rode their worries away on boats of cheese, driven by legs of ham. Now, the up-and-coming new families of my small space have escaped the toxic distance of metropolitan air to settle within the comfortable edges of this quaint town. The overwhelmingly dry air (a facet I am slowly adapting to, while my allergies find it difficult to follow suit) is compensated for by the sweet aroma of oranges and the vibrant green trees that enliven the picturesque scene around me. It is difficult to see where the farm ends and the rest of the world begins...

But, that being said...My students are nothing but intelligent, eager, and beautiful. Those I work with are nothing but caring, helpful overly helpful, and genuine. I can't help but smile when I walk into the room upon faces beaming with grace and sunshine. Children who didn't know where the United States was...who only know colors, food, and random processes, such as, photosynthesis, digestion, and nutrition in English. Nevertheless, they are no different from you or I. In fact, they are luckier. They are  immersed in a language in a way that I never received. But, for this, I do not lament. Because, now, I am here to help them by applying all that I have learned, while, unintentionally, they teach me an endless amount...Things I could have never learned as a 5-year old in a Spanish immersion classroom...

I spend twenty minutes with each of my 12 classes...two-times a week in science and once a week in english.

Yes, I just said twenty minutes...

But, poco a poco, I am learning how to breach the gap between a standardized U.S. education and apply all that I have learned as student to assume the role of teacher.

"Teacher, may I use the toilet?!"

"Teacher...aldkfjdalkfjdaosfj (something indiscernible in Spanish in a soft, timid voice...)"

"Teacher. Ah! No me entiendes! Tú no entiendes español! Ay. Madre mía!"

But, then, I get to teach my 1st grade science classes...There, the flashcards hold the power to elicit one of the most simplistically enjoyable twenty minute classes life can offer. As I switch quickly between a picture of butter and a picture of sausages, the timbre of the class escalates quickly to a frighteningly loud chorus of spanish pronounced english...

 "BUDDEAR!!!" and "SAWZEGES!!!"

Then, as I quickly run down the stairs, and 25 paces across to the next building, I approach the silent class of 8-year olds sitting upright and attentive and follow the proper English cues. They are learning about muscles (yes, muscles--involuntary AND voluntary) and joints. My lesson plans is no plan. I am given the same worksheets as the children and that is my guide to information and enlightenment...as how to proceed for a 20-minute session...in a foreign language...while they learn words like "masseter," and "The heart is an involuntary muscle because you cannot control it."

Just last year, they were learning the word "dairy" and phrases like " I have a fever..."

Giant steps between 7 & 8.

But, all it takes is that one student to remember "biscuits" when I hold up the corresponding ambiguous flashcard or the child that pensively stares at the blackboard when I ask them to circle where the bicep is on the diagram. And, after 10 seconds of silent gawking, they gradually approach the upper arm and circle the bicep.

The more I am here...the more I learn the importance of my teachers...the importance of my role...and the importance in not placing importance on everything. Just doing what comes natural. I was afraid at first to enter into a room without the guidebook, the prompt, the lesson plan. In the US, school always teaches us to play by the rules. In Spain, no hay reglas. Five-year old girls run around with their t-shirts revealing their stomachs, while teachers comment: "Que linda! Que guapa, chica! Tu eres famosa, no?" You don't need a bathroom pass to go "to the toilet"...Yet, you do have to ask. Nothing is formal...however, it is far from a chaotic mess. A lax attitude vive aquí. Hay maestras que creen en stimulating all students and expecting more. Y hay otras que solamente quieren a recibir salario y enseñan los básicos. It is simple--children are left behind.

But, in the US, we pride ourselves on instilling difference. Everyone is good at something...just find your talent. Here, it is why do you have to be good at something? There is no competition...there are no grand expectations, besides the bare minimum. Just, be happy. Meet your friends, eat good ham, and do whatever you feel is your calling--go to university, if you wish, or stay on the farm if it suits you. You choose what you want--pressure-less and equally as rewarding.

I am readjusting my form of thinking...Although, I am sure I will never lose my competitive bone, break it, or what have you, the slow departure of the pressure is more natural than the relentless sensation of constant impact.

We have the power to choose.

Never forget that.

¿por qué no?

Tú sabes cuando tú estás mirando una pelicula, y tú piensas a tú mismo "qué guay! yo quiero eso a ser mi vida..." Yeah...That's kinda happening.

Afortunada in every way, shape, and form.

Por eso, I smile. Every time, every place, and every moment that happens through the grace and human electricity the universe conducts. When I went to Italica, I couldn't fathom what medio ambiente I was entering into... A civilization from 206 B.C., with structures still standing, that established societies to come However, they were not aware of what they were doing, what they were starting, and all the information they possessed that we still utilize today--an antiquated sense of living. But, life got complicated. We began to learn more, discuss more, with the opportunity to become more distracted, as well as, distance ourselves from one another. We rid ourselves of commun(al)ity. We provide ourselves with this illusion of openness, togetherness....más o menos...the facade of union.  When, en verdad, living in denial does nothing but perpetuate this mentality... It is a change that is very simple to accomplish.

Mañana, I went to the beach with my compañera and her Spanish friends. A normal everyday activity... Everyone can relate. But, what's ironic (cómico) is you truly can't. I am from the incomparable area of Southern California...a mezcla of sorts that is lined by the timeless ocean that serves as a constant reminder of the grand immensity of el mundo. I encountered another piece of this giant puzzle at Matascalañas, this beach on the Mediterranean.

I relish the mundane, the everyday...Not for redundancy...(I let that control aspect of my personality free before I came here). A firm horario is comfortable and breeds settlement, not community. Allow me to expand. The beach is my home, when I am around water, I am instantly put at ease by the organic crash of a wave, a sinking step into wet sand, and the simple joys the beach has to offer...a long walk, a crisp, deep tan, salga the embrace of an old friend, the sun. But, I don't speak the same language as my companions. However, we enjoy the same things, such as, futbol on the beach, wading in the lukewarm water, and sharing apertivos and tinto verano on the sand over spontaneous conversation. We spend time searching for common words for sea animals and determining what I am trying to say about whales, sharks, and seals (ballenas, tiburones, focas). There is patience in the air, while I struggle to express the most simple of things on the ground because I don't know one word...

"No te procupes..."

No one writes me off because I have to use eight different words to describe the one word I am searching for to describe the most simple of things. No one ceases with trying to help me or walks away from listening to me. The intentness across the boys' faces are warm and easy... Sigue, tómete tu tiempo.

I have support...but, more importantly, I have time. In order to learn anything, it takes time. That is life. You have been placed here to teach, to influence, to show, and to try. And, if you get really good at it, to expand... your boundaries, dismiss your fears as worries, and take advantage of the time. Así, I am here participating in customs that appear to be the same as home...and they are, but I appreciate all of the particular differences that make every day different from those before and those that have yet to occur... And when you get really lucky, you find the people that underline and highlight the microscopic nuances for you along the way. Because there is one language that is universal--love.

la vuelta a escuela

para mi abuela--le encantan rosas

niña

so much to do

My previous post was not intended to be a substitute for my witty and entertaining prose that you have been accustomed to consuming. When I initially read it as a friend's Facebook status, I felt as though it had been written about me. My state of mind, before Spain was put into action, was: "create your own destiny." We have the power to choose: good or evil, right or wrong, boy or girl, etc. I will never forget when I would come home from ten-hour days of mental and physical exhaustion, too deflated to even put a fork to my mouth, much less a pen to paper...I also remember when I quit that position, which I had believed was the source of my internal angst and perpetual worry. I figured that my problems and malcontented feelings would dissolve into a gaseous cloud of happiness that floated around my head and carried me along a path of rainbows and smiles...But, that isn't exactly how it went...nor should it have been...or should ever be. Because that is false hope... lo no es actual. 

I have a culpa of things I want to do to better myself in this lifetime...I don't call it my bucket list...it is an anonymous amalgam of activities I want to aprovechar while I can. One of them being learn Spanish and speak it fluently.

"Why,"do you ask?

Pardon the only French I know...

"Why the fuck not?"

The stress that brews within me here are remnants of a poisonous cycle that I taught myself how to function within. I convinced myself that I was powerless until time had presented an open window that white doves flew through, where the sun shone a path that began on my feet, and I knew exactly what I was meant to do next. But, that mentality felt funky. (I like the word funky because it is awkward to say...Onomoeatapeia...). Why had everyone accepted this world of stress, worry, and economic success/failure as a value scale?

Pues, I realized two things.

First, do not wait for the sun to come to you. Rather, you seek out the sun.
Secondly, it is not "what am I meant to do next." Instead, it is "who am I?"

If you seek out the sun, you will figure out who you are along the way. Sometimes it is shining and sometimes there is rain or wind or a muddy puddle that you have to walk through and can't go around. But, seguro, I am happy. I used to walk with my head down, faster than everyone else, too preoccupied with the puddle that I saw ahead in the distance. I would plot multiple strategies about the best route to go around the puddle with hypotheticals subconsciously inserted as a precaution. (ps that sentence does not exist in Spanish because no one in Spain would ever want to a] think about hypotheticals & b] no one talks in sentences longer than 6 words...)

Pero, ahora, I take in everything...While I stroll along the cobblestone, the harsh reflection of the heat encapsulating both my body and face, I dwell in its comfort rather than lament it as an inconvenience. I say hi to everyone I see: Hola, Buenos Días, Qué tal? EVERYONE responds. People enjoy, listen, respond, make eye contact, smile...I met la pandera today.

Me: ¿Tienes pan fibra listo?
Sabtia: No. Pero, lo estará listo en 7 minutos. Cuando tú quieres, me dice y lo haré parati. ¿Venga?
Me: Serio? Fabulosa! Y, ¿Comó te llamas?
Sabtia: Oh, Sabtia. ¿Y tú?
*kiss on cheek, kiss on cheek*
Me: Mi nombre es más o menos más dificil para la gente aquí. Soy Courtney. 
Sabtia: Ay. *shake of the hand with lips pursed, which quickly curves into a smile* ¿Horní?
Me: *smile* Cerca. Cort está bien. 

So many things just happened in a 1 minute interaction that would very rarely occur to me in the States. The open willingness to be friendly, helpful, and curious provides a sunshine-less Andalusian warmth that only emanates from within their big hearts.

But, it starts with you. I came here and put myself in this position. My eyes are not closed and my head is not down, but, very easily, I could do that. I could go to nearby cities every weekend to hang out with other Americans, speak English, and go to discotechas. The road paved with paper green cobblestones and plastic VISA sidewalks are the paths with the most congestion. The air quality is horrible, the people are tired and angry, and the solution to getting what you want is materialistic and synthetic. My road is one that Spanish conquistadores walked along 700 years ago. Mi casa antigua sits on a lot of orange fields (a universe of seemingly endless orange fields) that was built 125 years ago.

My soul lives here, but my body has only just arrived. Once my brain catches up, and my tongue handles all the pronunciation and I no longer need to use my brain so much to translate...I will be the girl that didn't sit and wait and settle. I wended, carved, and yielded all that I want so it is all that I have. Because...it really is just that simple.

mi razon para estar aquí

"Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there…to serve some sort of purpose. Teach you a lesson or help you figure out who you are or who you want to become. You never know who these people may be but when you lock eyes with them, you know from that very moment that they will affect your life in some profound way. And sometimes things happen to you at a time that may seem horrible, painful, and unfair but in reflection you realize that without overcoming these obstacles you would never have realized your potential, strength or willpower of heart. Everything happens for a reason. Nothing happens by means of good luck. Illness, injury, love, loss, moments of true greatness and sheer stupidity all occur to test the limits of your soul. Without these small tests, life would be a smoothly paved, straight, flat road to nowhere. Safe and comfortable but dull and utterly pointless. The people you meet affect your life. The success and downfalls that you experience can create who you are and the bad experiences can be learned from. In fact, they are probably the most poignant and important ones. If someone hurts you, betrays you or breaks your heart, forgive them because they have helped you to learn about trust and the importance of being cautious of whom you open your heart to. If someone loves you, love them back unconditionally, not only because they love you but because they are teaching you to open your heart and eyes to the little things. Make every day count. Appreciate every moment and take from it everything you possibly can, for you may never be able to experience it again. Talk to people you have never talked to before and actually listen. Let yourself fall in love, break free and set your sights high. Hold your head up because you have every right to. Tell yourself you are a great individual and believe in yourself, for if you don’t believe in yourself no one else will believe in you. Create your own life and then go out and live it."

el caballero

el cielo en el campo

higo fresco

mi nueva ser