Do what you want

8 months ago I used to dream of being somewhere else. I fantasized about Europe--open plazas, recycled movement of people, that creates a comfortable loneliness. I wanted to sit where Hemingway sat and penned stories about reality...about people to reveal the bittersweet truth.

I knew I was going away and eagerly awaited my final days. I ate breakfast outside everyday and practiced--studying the testimonials of other authors, where they drew their inspiration, etc. But, I couldn't relate--the way they described their lives seemed so harsh and depressing. Withdrawn from, but connected to their studies of society.

In the pueblo, as a foreigner, you have a lot of time to be alone, if you want. Everything here is centered around family. It's hard to be expected to be invited everywhere; people want their alone time with their own families. Therefore, it's not a place where someone easily feels comfortable alone--everyone knows who you are, watches you, and talks about you. They spend more time together socializing than working, etc. Therefore, the range of topics of conversation expires after about an hour and a half with the same 3 people you see everyday. The different daily stimulus surrounding them generates the fresh material to replace the stale.

Yesterday, I went to one of my student's futbol games with his parents (and yes, I did invite myself). Being a sport aficionado, I had to inquire if there was a league for girls...Of course there wasn't. We had an hour before the game began, so, I charlared with Matti. Matti is a procurator and a mother of 3. She balances her 10hr/day work schedule with the duties of being not a caregiver, but a role model. I think I'm so drawn to her energy because she reminds me of my mother. This silent refinement of a strong woman. Her eyes and smile are tired, but, when around the people she cares most about, her soul warms and she radiates genuine love. (Plus, like my mom, she thinks I'm funny, so that always gains you points in my book).

We started to discuss what I'm going to do when I get back, etc. etc.

This is something that is hard to admit because I've been ignoring it for a while. I keep telling myself to try other things because it's more "practical" or "you'd be good at this."

Ya, know? The safe road...

But, by living in the pueblo, I've realized that human judgement is never going to go away. It is a part of human nature. By accepting that, I no longer feel the need to make public opposition expositions (using my hair as my method of protest).

I have learned that doing what you want is the most liberating act of them all. Graduating early from UCSD, cutting my hair, quitting my job, and moving to Spain without contacts have all made me grow stronger. Then, I went on a 14-day excursion alone, amidst a cloud of worry from my family and friends. A cloud that originates in being a female that is 22-years old. Sometimes, it's not fun. But, I walked along the historical path of Europe. The presence of the history was company enough for me to feel impacted without a companion to share every moment with.

I can't be a writer in the vain of Hemingway because I want to show and express what I feel-- I want to live the written word. When I am in front of my classrooms, I can be a certain way to derive a certain emotion out of them--angry to make them quiet, silly to make them laugh, or calm to make them listen. I like to command a room and I like to utilize the spectrum of human emotion because when it comes down to it, all of this technology and modernity is founded upon the idea of a machine. Standardized components and universal function.

We are flawed, but have the capacity to generate a universal energy known as love.
Begin to believe in it and there you may find the strength to do what you truly want.

"In order to find the treasure, you will have to follow the omens. God has prepared a path for everyone to follow. You just have to read the omens that he left for you." - The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo

This life...is great.

For me, there are days that just absolutely suck. I am scatter brained, it's bad weather, my hair looks worse than I did when I made the wise choice to cut it all off...

And then, there are these beautiful days... magnificent... touching. Everything fits. Everything is in its place. Smiles are warmly responded with a harmonic hola.

I am in this place right now where I'm looking so hard for something that I can't deduce which is a sign and which is just an innocent happening--a daily insignificant occurrence. I have a routine here now. I have my vacations planned. I have a ticket home. There is closure. There is a clear and visible end date.

But, then, I walk down the street. The rain has just cleared and the confident Andalucian sun radiates through. I stroll down my camino to the frutería. People are buzzing--Friday means the kids from college are coming home for the weekend. There will be fiesta, family, and friends. I stand in line at the frutería always mentally preparing my speech and exactly what I want. If not, I buy way too much that I never use. Today, I chose to impulsively indulge in artichokes and proceeded to ask the attendant how she cooks them, since I don't have an oven. She kept asking me if I knew how to clean them and proceeded to teach me how to take off the leaves. I smiled--we eat the leaves. We work our way into the center, receiving more of what we want as we pull away each layer. The Spaniards go straight for the goods-- quita las ojas y luego tienes la tierna...esssoooo. Quieres essooo.

Life is beautifully simple--family, friends, food--vida. I have developed una mania for cooking. I have made a homemade meal everyday this week. I have ran everyday almost everyday.

Then, I go to work. I teach English and science in English to 12 classes---almost 400 students. And like me, they have their days. The days when they choose to talk during my whole 20 minutes of classtime to each other, then sporadically scream the wrong answers, all strewn with incessant confirmation questions spoken in Spanish about what I had just repeated three times in Spanglish (sometimes you just give in...).

Then, there was today. I told my sixth graders that they would receive a point for each correct sentence they told me--there were 3 possibilities for them to elaborate upon (3 point max.). If they reached 50 as a group, I would bring in something special. It proceeded mechanically amongst the first 6 novices--sticking to the formula. Then, I came upon one of my dearest students (her family hosted me and my roommate during our first day here...took us to see 9 apartments...that's dedication, no?). She took my response challenge to the next level--using her own set of vocabulary aside from shopping centre, bowling alley, and the restaurant...

Hell no.

This tía went to Cordoba to visit her cousins with her family.

I excitedly wrote a 6 upon the board and did my native American celebration dance. The kids surprised me...they know a lot more than they lead on, but there is no intrinsic motivation. There is no need to surpass this level of what's expected, solely, to please themselves.

But, my day flourished from there...
I was being funny with the teachers in the sala de profesores during recess (which btw, believe it or not, rarely happens in Spanish. I'm too busy focusing on my meticulously articulated response to have the capacity to also include my brilliant sense of humor).

Then, I went to 2A...my second-graders.

Oh, no...I'm sick. I don't want to yell...I just wish they could color in silence...

But, today was different. They must have all received the prescriptions for adderall that I sent their parents. There was an unprecedented level of participation--eye contact, smiles, amidst Spanish 7-year old accented English phrases about liquid water and vapor water. As I say my good-byes, Andrés, my roley-poley, bi-focalled, cutie-pie student lept out of his desk to squeeze me before I left.

That...is why I can do this.

In Steve Jobs' speech, "How to live before you die," he discusses destiny and passion for what you choose to do in life. He discusses how at this age, I am searching for answers and that's normal. But, I can't connect the dots until the future has passed--connecting the dots is post-analytical. Sometimes things happen that cannot be explained now, but will be made clear ten years later or even more.

His speech was inspired by this philosophy driven by passion--passion for what you do in life.

I believe in this.

I am passionate about children and about my language, but, honestly, this form of passion is a cultural product that has been trademarked by America.

Satisfaction via gratification. Self-motivation. Success. = American Passion.

I still don't know where that leaves me. I guess I won't know, like Steve Jobs has said, until I look back at my life 20 years from now and understand the significance of all these moments that are flying by.

So, I refuse to worry about that and shall carry on cooking, running, drinking (that's okay, right?), smiling, and having fun. Something a 22-year old should distract herself with...

the rest will come.

Where I run. 

What I eat: Crepe with spinach, gruyere, potatoes, and onions.

Detox salad: brown rice, pumpkin, dried cranberries, walnuts, avocado, salmon.

Beer battered onion rings.

Homemade chocolate truffles. 

Quintessence

Dear blog,



Happy 2013. I think it is going to be a happy year. I had a solid 2012-a lot of endings and new beginnings with chapters left unfinished, and with minor characters removed all too quickly (as it had seemed.) Blog, you have been approached as a journal...I guess. Maybe it is just because I find it so boring when people recount the minute details of their lives in written form...it really wasn't that interesting when it happened, yet, they spent twice the time recounting it, writing and rewriting witty sentences, to make their readers envy their immersive, cultural experiences abroad. (I guess some of my disparaging inclinations will never be subdued). Rather, I tell you what I think and what I feel. I have a personal hierarchy of reasoning...number 1 most evidently being that my opinion matters more than 90% of the population's (snarky mood today... I'm making note). Furthermore, how much more interesting is it to read a 22-year old girl write so highly about herself and her formulated theories when she has very little to show for it. I'm not a tycoon, a force, a symbol. I'm not 16 and started a blog when I was 11 that now features guest contributors such as Lena Dunham, Sarah Silverman, and Paul Rudd... I didn't stand up for my rights on a bus...nor wil, I ever... Both the bus and the metro simulate perfect platforms for rebellion--for both the passionate and the peculiar. I have seen do crack, give awful renditions of jingle bells in a foreign tongue with only the accompaniment of a harmonica, etc.. Its like this one place that allows you to do all the things wish you could do when you re driving...but can't...because you are driving. So, now, here's your chance! Please, it's more of an invitation. Being reminded that the majority of the general public is not only crazy, but more correctly defined as mentally unstable makes me feel safer and motivated to instigate friendly banter....

I recently returned from 14 days of solo travel to Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, and Brugge (insert applause here).

"oh my god! You're just a girl!"

" yeah and she's only 22!"

"oh my god! Do your parents know?"

" yes. They even know I couchsurfed..."

"what's that?"

"it's a website that allows you to stay on a strangers couch for free."

"you should be careful"

"oh! THANK YOU! that's the ONE thing I was forgetting to pack....my common sense"

"you seem kinda on edge...I think we should go"

"unless you have a crack pipe...that's a good idea. Cuz some loon just looted me of my two most important trinkets: that and my harmonica"



But, on a higher note of sincerity, I have to say thank you. First, to God (insert controversial gasp here). I wouldn't be who I am or where I am without the rough sketch that has been given to me. Every turn I make and over every crack I stumble, I find a new route, meet new people, and through it, learn something new about myself and the world.



Thank you family. Thank you for believing in me and supporting me and not having enough money to visit...or being able to fund my trip home. I miss you every single day, but, I survive, and prosper, because you always have taught me to do and learn on my own and for myself.



Stories will be sprinkled throughout my next 5 months here. This is my prologue and introduction. And for your visual stimulation, some pictures.

Survival Kit

One Day- Asaf Avidan