Growin' up

The magic wears off somewhere along the way...

First, its the Tooth Fairy...then we connect those dots to the Easter Bunny (if the tooth fairy isn't real, what kinda bunny hides eggs and gives away money too?)
But, we spare Santa as long as possible to be confirmed as the last lie we've been told throughout childhood.

Our young lives revolve around the stability found within routine--a combination of nurture and nature that allows us to root ourselves in society and develop into the mature, adult trees we will be someday...

Then, we enter high school (the brutality endured during middle school is enough to forego mentioning it here)...

We are star-struck by the giants that own the school...the legends that have paid their dues to finally roam proudly along the grounds stained by their freshman blood, sweat, and tears just four short years ago.

We complete the cycle of awkward and new, to becoming the forgotten middle-child, to being introduced to the stressful world of real-life pressure and competition (SAT's, college), to finally breathing as we embrace the last chapter in our parent's photo albums, already imagining ourselves at our first college party as we park our cars on the first last day of "school."

Independence is that silver lining we all look for.

First, from our parents...
then, from ourselves...

From whatever we have created ourselves to be.

Self-obsessed, self-ignored, financially dependent, lazy, procrastinator, perfectionist, anxious, depressed, worried, doubtful, cynical, optimistic, alone, superficial...

I think my generation is still negotiating who it is. There is so much written these days about the confusion of one's "twenty's..." This epoch has come to confine us more than liberate us. We are overwhelmed because we are one of many instead of many who associate with one idea. We try to highlight our diversity as much as possible in order to get noticed. Then, the man tells us, "you just aren't what we're looking for..."

I yearn to strive for something. My impatience used to interfere with my hunger to conquer and establish myself and what I want...

But, then,

I moved to Spain...where everything closes for a siesta, is closed on Sunday, and I walk everywhere...then,

I moved to the pueblo...
then, I got sick for 5 days in bed, with only myself to care for myself...

I missed Carnaval...a decision that four short years ago, I wouldn't have made. I would have faced the harsh consequences of being sick another five long days in order to be a part of the "party."

I sit here counting down the 4 months I have left until I'm where I'm comfortable... not because of culture, language, customs...no, no, no. Spain has been my home away from home. But, I feel as if I'm stuck in this part of Dr. Seuss's poem:

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to racedown long wiggled roads at a break-necking paceand grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.The Waiting Place...


But, I chose to be here. I am not waiting at all... a bump in the road, then, you're back on your feet:

NO!
That's not for you!

Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored.  there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame!  You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Believe in yourself and figure out who you are. Sometimes the closer you get to yourself, the further you end up being from everyone else.

That's okay....

That just means you're ahead of the game and closer to where you want to be in life.

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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

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