Inspiration is all around me, yet I find it hard to write these generic brag-about-my-life blog posts. The truth is, no matter where you are in the world, no matter how far you run from the reality of your current life, there is no way out of this reality! There may be moments when you feel in sheer ecstasy and as if you have somehow outsmarted a God you don’t believe in, but it doesn’t last forever. No matter where you are, sadness, depression, drama and the typical never-ceasing problems of life will be lurking waiting to make their next cunning move. The only thing is that they come as quite a surprise when you’re current life is one long, mesmerizing lucid dream.
I say all of that to say this year in Spain is proving to be the best year of my life and I find it hard to believe that there could be yearlong spans that surpass this. Yet, amidst all the grandeur and pleasantries that Laredo brings, there have still been some quite surprisingly large problems arise in my life. That is quite all right though, because it is shaping me into the person I would like to be for the rest of my life—the kind of knowledge bestowed upon me is one that one could never gain merely twiddling their thumbs in the back of an Organic Grass Growing Methods as Applied to African Astrophysics class.
The past two months since my last post have each been completely different. January and ½ of February I spent in long hours of contemplation—a top the rocky cliffs of Laredo, among the sandy dunes of la Playa Salvé—reading, writing, inner-discovery, “tiempo con Erika y Dios” (Time with Erika and God as I tell my roommate, David, who does not understand this side of me at all). A lot of things happened after winter break in Nebraska, things I never expected, and it took a lot of time to clarify all of the events in my head and heart and take appropriate action. Now that the big G and I have come to agree on those aspects, I have felt rather free lately. Not as much time in my strange contemplative modes, rather more time in my social butterfly Erika mode. I am completely 100% confident in my Spanish at this point and it gives me no anxiety whatever to make my crazy Erika remarks, be sarcastic or just to be my normal self in this language. That is something that I am extremely proud of and something I never thought could truly happen.
My friends here are absolutely fantastic. I have begun to feel very close to my roommate as of late, and I am really grateful for his friendship—as I am extremely grateful for the friendship of Johanne and Sandrine, the other two girls with whom I am very close. I am realizing that just as I begin to get comfortable with my life here, just as I become confident with this, God is only giving me a few more months to enjoy it and then it will be stripped away from me—from all of us. I fear going back to Nebraska and starting over once again (new car, new place to live, my best friend is going to Scotland next year, everything will be completely different). I have no desire to finish with the accursed university system; I just want to go on with my life. I love the way I learn right now. I feel that just because I am not at a university right now does not mean that I am not gaining an incredible amount of knowledge—and it’s the kind of knowledge that actually interests me.
A typical day for me consists of teaching my students, I have learned how to be a teacher, how to teach my own language in a foreign language nonetheless. I have learned how to gain the respects of students who are almost my own age and be fun while still being an authoritative figure. Every day here is a new adventure where I learn so many things. In the classroom, I teach my students, and whether they know it or not, they are teaching me. Teaching me Spanish, teaching me culture, teaching me to be a teacher, teaching me confidence, teaching me patience, teaching me a never-ending list of admirable qualities that I could not have gained elsewhere. After my classes, I typically have an evening meeting where I spend 2 hours either with a family or another professor at the high schools where I work. We typically spend 1 hour practicing their English and another hour working on either my French or Spanish. These people started out as strange strangers and me the stranger in the strange land, but they have quickly become my friends no matter how much older than me they are. They teach me the culture they teach me things that I could learn from no one else. I am fascinated by their experiences, by the wisdom of these 50-year-old-ish Spaniards/”Frenchies” and sometimes fascinated by the lack of wisdom someone who has lived so long and experienced so much could have.
What’s quite silly to me is that the most important things to me about this time in Spain and experience are not things to be written in a blog. Things that I could never publish right here right now, however, things that I hope someday I will contain secretly in the novel of the eccentric life I have lead without ever meaning to. It seems however hard I try to veer from drama and adventure, passion and hurt, it finds me—just as it finds every one. Without those experiences, we are nothing. I think a lot of hurt can do a lot of good, and in that, and in God, I find hope for every hurtful situation. Without God I have no hope that there will be good that comes from the bad, but even now as I experience many hurtful and confusion situations, there is still so much good around me. I find hope in the fact that God has brought my growth and joy from all pain in my life. I am living a dream right now, and I would not change a thing.
Recently, I have spent a lot of time soaking up the beauty of my friends here because we all realize the year is quickly coming to an end. I've been going out with them on the weekends in Laredo, saving up my money for spring break, and traveling to nearby little fishing villages like San Vicente de la Barquera or Llanes. I spent time in Pamplona with my good Spanish friend, Violeta, as well.
My other best friend, Paul, is coming to visit me in 13 days! I am so excited to show someone who means so much to me my life here and my friends here…and it’s nice that he speaks Spanish certainly better than I do, so he will have no problem really getting to know my friends and colleagues here. We will travel to Bilbao, Santander, San Sebastian, Barcelona, Madrid and Toledo. Then Paul returns to Mexico where he is currently studying and I will head off to Prague to spend some time with my friends there.
So, as I sit here munching on my favorite creamy spinach-filled pastry from the bakery down the street with my feet dangling over my balcony overlooking the ocean and the mountains, I can safely say, life is good here in Spain, and ya’ll missed out on a lot by me not posting more blogs. But, hey, if you’re as close to me as certain people, you could just read my in-depth diary when I am not looking detailing every juicy detail of my heart and soul—perhaps for you. Nothing I love more than a snoopy friend.
16 March, 2010
14 January, 2010
Here and back again
I completely understand why people who go abroad may have troubles writing in their respective blogs with frequency. I was used to my routine, and although there were so many exciting things that I could have written about on a practically daily basis, at the time the things that I repeated so much seemed too redundant and mundane to mention. However, that’s quite far from the truth! As soon as my monthly update was due in November, I made a last minute decision to return to Nebraska. I decided it was going to be a surprise, at least for most of my family, my mom and my two best friends.
The time in Nebraska was in many ways, exactly what I expected and needed. Chowing down on all the nasty greasy foods I had missed in 4 months—my favorite being the classic Amigo’s cheesy burrito accompanied by a big, fat, icy Dr. Pepper. Also, what the heck, they’ve got “Grown-Up” cheesies now? Out of sheer curiosity and with extreme skepticism, I ventured and tried the southwest chicken cheesy. One might compare Amigo’s decision to do this with Nickelodeon’s decision to make Rugrats: All Growed Up. Epic fail, plus they both misguide children. Rugrats, obviously, teaches kids that you can always play with your Reptar dinosaur toy (Milan, New York, London Reptar’s on the rage…anyone?) and that when you are GROWN up it’s still ok to pretend like you’re a toothless moron and call yourself a “growed” up. I’m sure many companies would love reading and application that says, “I want this job cause mom says I have to be a growed up.” How could you resist that adorableness? The grown-up cheesy, however, goes even farther, by changing the complete morale of children, teaching them to always have to be satisfied with more. Something bigger, something better, something with charbroiled chicken and imported Texan spices. Did I mention Texas is its own country now? I guess soon Obama will call for an embargo and then adopted Cuba as the missing state. Wow, I could write such a sassy opinion article on cheesy burritos, Rugrats or the ever-so-popular Cuba/Texas conflict.
Besides all that, other comforts awaited me. All my old haunts were still there, the cozy little nook on N. Lakeshore Dr. that still felt like home, my mom and my brother who treated me like an angel while I was in town, and the quality time with Rachael and Paul was refreshing for me. Although my friends in Spain and my time here is absolutely magical and I am so glad it isn’t over, it was funny that something so simple as a completely comfortable and natural relationship could bring so much happiness. Even just speaking English and having someone understand EVERY WORD I SAY, and being able to be myself completely without having to explain everything again was so nice. Being here has made me realize who and what things are truly important to me. I got to see a lot of my other friends, too, who are just as amazing, and I was also able to spend a few evenings with my dear cousins.
It was still, however, a bit strange to be at home. It took me 2 weeks to fully recover from my jetlag—usually falling asleep at 9 pm and bolting awake at 7 am. Or maybe that is normal, but Erika really wanted to stay up late and sleep in, you know, like, be a normal 20-year-old and not a 60-year-old. While at home for an entire month, there was a battle going on within my heart for two different worlds, two different ways of living. All I do know at this moment is that people really make a place what it is, and there are people in Nebraska that I would hate to have to be apart from for the rest of my life. I feel that way about my friends in Spain, as well, but you befriend them on the preconceived notion that you must one day give up the intimate relationship you have formed. And to me, it does make it a little bit easier, because I am prepared for the idea of one day having to say goodbye. But saying goodbye to your mother or your best friends is something that feels so unnatural, so unreal and so much like you are leaving a part of you behind—it is extremely hard. No matter how many times you do it, it’s always going to be hard, and I’ve just had to learn to deal with that as I also learn to tame my wanderlusted heart.
The trek back to Spain came at a good time. The voyage back was not the most physically tiring trip I have ever made, but it was definitely the most emotional I have ever been on a voyage. My heart is in a state of confusion right now. A lot of things happened in Nebraska, a lot of unexpected things were said and done, and I found out something right before boarding my first plane that made my heart ache more than it ever had before. The details are too personal for such a general blog, but by the time I got to Spain after 36 hours of not really sleeping at all and having my heart, mind and soul ache for so many different reasons, when I entered my empty, cold, apartment, I just started bawling. Not because I was sad to be back, but because I was confused and lonely.
Thankfully, my friend Johanne came over my first night in town and took care of me and gave me beautiful Christmas gifts, made me dinner, and listened to me (in English, thank God) talk about my life. It was so nice to see her smiling Frenchy face after a whole month! She is ma petite fleur! :) The first night back in my piso was almost eerie feeling, especially because the heating wasn’t working and my roommate wasn’t back from France yet, but it is rather surprising just how quickly I have fallen back into my routine: wake up, go to class, talk with colleagues, go home, lunch, plan activities, do whatever I want to do, God time, reading time, fun time, walk on the beach time, roommate time, whatever, shopping, make dinner, facebook, sleep. It’s def. the life! I can’t believe that Nebraska stressed me out so much in the short amount of time that I was there, and now that I am back here the stress has been lifted once again. Oh, the sweet freedom of Laredo, how I hope I learn from you and never become that high-strung stressed girl from years past!
The classes are fine. I have been doing a lame activity I prepared on the airplane that I can apply to practically all of my classes…I show them a slideshow of 15 photos I took over Christmas & New Years in Nebraska, they have to ask me questions, then I ask them questions about Christmas, New Years and Kings Day in Spain. Christmas is spent with their families and in the Cantabrian region at least they have lots of little “entremeses” or hors d’oeuvres that usually involve seafood (shrimp, crawfish…), followed by soup and then the main event of lamb or some other meat. New Year’s is also a family-centered holiday with more food, and at each 12 strikes of the clock at midnight they are to eat a grape to promote health for the upcoming year. They do not open their gifts on Christmas; they do this on Kings Day on the 6th of January. Some kids will dress as the kings and go and sing Christmas Carols for money, others participate in the city parade. I do believe it is translated as “Kings Day” in English, but my colleagues are often wrong when they tell me certain things in English, nonetheless, the day is in celebration of the three wise men that visited the little babe in his swaddling cloth! And that’s your kind of boring cultural lesson for the day.
I then made them write their own New Year's resolutions (buenos propósitos de Año Nuevo), here are the ones that made me laugh most:
*I pass the asignatures (Spanish for "all subjects")
*Have money, a lot of money.
*Behave better with Cristina and not act like a silly.
*I want don't speak in class.
*I win a lot of money—6,000 Euros o más.
*I pass the French, OK?
So, I am all readjusted to life here again. I’m sitting on the couch, super tired and jet-lagged, too lazy to do ANYTHING and hating the pouring rain and crazy hurricane wind that has blown down 2 metal mini billboards and some smaller trees today. I already know this next year is going to be full of a lot of really good things, but it is going to take a lot of spiritual warfare on my part, because I am being attacked. I’ve already started losing hope on some things that I know have been promised to me. Hopefully, once the rain lifts, so will this heavy weight on my heart. In fact, I just got a text from my roommate saying he will be back in less than 3 hours, so to buy him some beers so we don't lose our good old customs. Hahaha.
The time in Nebraska was in many ways, exactly what I expected and needed. Chowing down on all the nasty greasy foods I had missed in 4 months—my favorite being the classic Amigo’s cheesy burrito accompanied by a big, fat, icy Dr. Pepper. Also, what the heck, they’ve got “Grown-Up” cheesies now? Out of sheer curiosity and with extreme skepticism, I ventured and tried the southwest chicken cheesy. One might compare Amigo’s decision to do this with Nickelodeon’s decision to make Rugrats: All Growed Up. Epic fail, plus they both misguide children. Rugrats, obviously, teaches kids that you can always play with your Reptar dinosaur toy (Milan, New York, London Reptar’s on the rage…anyone?) and that when you are GROWN up it’s still ok to pretend like you’re a toothless moron and call yourself a “growed” up. I’m sure many companies would love reading and application that says, “I want this job cause mom says I have to be a growed up.” How could you resist that adorableness? The grown-up cheesy, however, goes even farther, by changing the complete morale of children, teaching them to always have to be satisfied with more. Something bigger, something better, something with charbroiled chicken and imported Texan spices. Did I mention Texas is its own country now? I guess soon Obama will call for an embargo and then adopted Cuba as the missing state. Wow, I could write such a sassy opinion article on cheesy burritos, Rugrats or the ever-so-popular Cuba/Texas conflict.
Besides all that, other comforts awaited me. All my old haunts were still there, the cozy little nook on N. Lakeshore Dr. that still felt like home, my mom and my brother who treated me like an angel while I was in town, and the quality time with Rachael and Paul was refreshing for me. Although my friends in Spain and my time here is absolutely magical and I am so glad it isn’t over, it was funny that something so simple as a completely comfortable and natural relationship could bring so much happiness. Even just speaking English and having someone understand EVERY WORD I SAY, and being able to be myself completely without having to explain everything again was so nice. Being here has made me realize who and what things are truly important to me. I got to see a lot of my other friends, too, who are just as amazing, and I was also able to spend a few evenings with my dear cousins.
It was still, however, a bit strange to be at home. It took me 2 weeks to fully recover from my jetlag—usually falling asleep at 9 pm and bolting awake at 7 am. Or maybe that is normal, but Erika really wanted to stay up late and sleep in, you know, like, be a normal 20-year-old and not a 60-year-old. While at home for an entire month, there was a battle going on within my heart for two different worlds, two different ways of living. All I do know at this moment is that people really make a place what it is, and there are people in Nebraska that I would hate to have to be apart from for the rest of my life. I feel that way about my friends in Spain, as well, but you befriend them on the preconceived notion that you must one day give up the intimate relationship you have formed. And to me, it does make it a little bit easier, because I am prepared for the idea of one day having to say goodbye. But saying goodbye to your mother or your best friends is something that feels so unnatural, so unreal and so much like you are leaving a part of you behind—it is extremely hard. No matter how many times you do it, it’s always going to be hard, and I’ve just had to learn to deal with that as I also learn to tame my wanderlusted heart.
The trek back to Spain came at a good time. The voyage back was not the most physically tiring trip I have ever made, but it was definitely the most emotional I have ever been on a voyage. My heart is in a state of confusion right now. A lot of things happened in Nebraska, a lot of unexpected things were said and done, and I found out something right before boarding my first plane that made my heart ache more than it ever had before. The details are too personal for such a general blog, but by the time I got to Spain after 36 hours of not really sleeping at all and having my heart, mind and soul ache for so many different reasons, when I entered my empty, cold, apartment, I just started bawling. Not because I was sad to be back, but because I was confused and lonely.
Thankfully, my friend Johanne came over my first night in town and took care of me and gave me beautiful Christmas gifts, made me dinner, and listened to me (in English, thank God) talk about my life. It was so nice to see her smiling Frenchy face after a whole month! She is ma petite fleur! :) The first night back in my piso was almost eerie feeling, especially because the heating wasn’t working and my roommate wasn’t back from France yet, but it is rather surprising just how quickly I have fallen back into my routine: wake up, go to class, talk with colleagues, go home, lunch, plan activities, do whatever I want to do, God time, reading time, fun time, walk on the beach time, roommate time, whatever, shopping, make dinner, facebook, sleep. It’s def. the life! I can’t believe that Nebraska stressed me out so much in the short amount of time that I was there, and now that I am back here the stress has been lifted once again. Oh, the sweet freedom of Laredo, how I hope I learn from you and never become that high-strung stressed girl from years past!
The classes are fine. I have been doing a lame activity I prepared on the airplane that I can apply to practically all of my classes…I show them a slideshow of 15 photos I took over Christmas & New Years in Nebraska, they have to ask me questions, then I ask them questions about Christmas, New Years and Kings Day in Spain. Christmas is spent with their families and in the Cantabrian region at least they have lots of little “entremeses” or hors d’oeuvres that usually involve seafood (shrimp, crawfish…), followed by soup and then the main event of lamb or some other meat. New Year’s is also a family-centered holiday with more food, and at each 12 strikes of the clock at midnight they are to eat a grape to promote health for the upcoming year. They do not open their gifts on Christmas; they do this on Kings Day on the 6th of January. Some kids will dress as the kings and go and sing Christmas Carols for money, others participate in the city parade. I do believe it is translated as “Kings Day” in English, but my colleagues are often wrong when they tell me certain things in English, nonetheless, the day is in celebration of the three wise men that visited the little babe in his swaddling cloth! And that’s your kind of boring cultural lesson for the day.
I then made them write their own New Year's resolutions (buenos propósitos de Año Nuevo), here are the ones that made me laugh most:
*I pass the asignatures (Spanish for "all subjects")
*Have money, a lot of money.
*Behave better with Cristina and not act like a silly.
*I want don't speak in class.
*I win a lot of money—6,000 Euros o más.
*I pass the French, OK?
So, I am all readjusted to life here again. I’m sitting on the couch, super tired and jet-lagged, too lazy to do ANYTHING and hating the pouring rain and crazy hurricane wind that has blown down 2 metal mini billboards and some smaller trees today. I already know this next year is going to be full of a lot of really good things, but it is going to take a lot of spiritual warfare on my part, because I am being attacked. I’ve already started losing hope on some things that I know have been promised to me. Hopefully, once the rain lifts, so will this heavy weight on my heart. In fact, I just got a text from my roommate saying he will be back in less than 3 hours, so to buy him some beers so we don't lose our good old customs. Hahaha.
29 October, 2009
Shenanigans of September and October Occurrences
From having my purse stolen in Italy, to smoking a Cuban cigar in Germany…From feeling lonely and as if I have too much time to myself here in Laredo to feeling slightly overwhelmed and incandescently happy with what life has to offer. A lot has happened to me since I last wrote in here, which is why it would be completely absurd for me to begin to describe the excitement and emotions behind every drastic moment, and also one of the reasons I have continued to procrastinate. When thinking about writing this blog, a whirlwind of events and emotions flash through my mind; I begin to fume from strange orifices of my body and sweat like a baby trying to wrangle his way out of a dirty diaper because I am so overwhelmed with where to begin. That said, I will do my best to highlight the most important things.
When we last left off, the old stone streets of Italy, in all of its enchanting antiquity, seemed to be whispering quiet words of beckon to my soul, so I picked up my hiking stick and strapped on my walking sandals and I began my trek atop a golden donkey. The donkey actually entailed a 45-min bus ride to Bilbao, another 5-hour bus ride to Madrid, a nearly 40 Euro 1 AM cab ride to the airport because the metro was closed, and 8 eerie hours of attempting to sleep on the cold airport floor waiting for my 7 am flight, I finally arrived in Venice where Zdenek and Christoph collected me from the airport in their typical manner of gallantry. Finding our way through the labyrinth that is Venice was a mystifying experience. Almost as mystifying perhaps was my run-in with David Bowie. Let me explain.
It was a warm Venetian night, and I had enjoyed a Spritz and a large cup of ale, so needless to say the epithelial layers of my bladder were stretched to the max. So, I did what any girl would do and meandered into the bar to wait for the toilette. This toilette happened to be in the darkest, dankest and dirtiest corridor of the bar, and there also happened to be one lone toilet—complete with crusted over puke particles and spots of urine on the seat to serve as a testimony to all the drunkards who passed by this john and tried their best to aim. I said a “bon courage” to the man in front of me in the line as the door creaked closed and took away most of the light, adding to the misty eeriness of this strange place. As the man inside the single stall began his adventure, I turned around at the sound of a strange accent inquiring of me, “Ay, missy, Just where do you happen to come from?” I was caught off-guard, but nonchalantly replied, “Oh, I’m from Nebraska, no big deal.” Imagine my surprise when she said, “I’ve never heard of it! I’m from Australia! I’m here on a school trip.”
“Oh, that’s like some little island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, right? Good thing your country doesn’t matter anymore now that Steve Irwin’s dead.” OK… I only wanted to say that. I pretty much just shrugged, and said, “Ah, crikey! That’s phenomenal…” and I was cut off by my own train of thought because there behind this girl from Australia was none other than Sir David Bowie. I had to know for certain, and the Spritz and ale gave me an unsurpassed confidence, “Sir, are you David Bowie?” he shuffled his feet and laughed nervously, letting his shaggy hair cover his squinty eyes. “Noo, ha ha, but I do get that a lot!” I was sure he was lying. “Oh, are you sure? Cuz you REALLY look like David Bowie. Where are you fr…?” Before I finished the question he nervously interrupted me, “No, no, I’m just a normal dude from Austria, I promise.” WELL. That was what did it for me. “Austria…sounds a lot like AUSTRALIA. Bowie, is that the best cover-up you could think of? Well, deny it all you want, but I KNOW you’re Bowie and I want you to know, I love you!” Then the bathroom door opened and I made my way inside the small cell to relieve my bladder and increase my chances of getting an STD via toilet seat by 75% (thank you Mrs. Jackson for freaking me out about this in 8th grade health class). When I made my way back into the corridor, Australia was still standing there looking an awful lot like a dingo ready to pounce on its next baby, while David Bowie was nowhere in site. One of two things had to have happened: 1) I blew his cover and he had to find a place where no one recognized him 2) he was recognized and hurried into the celebrity bathroom.
Anyway, so no one believes me, and that pretty much sucks, however, me, my heart and my memories all know the real truth, and in the end, that’s all that matter. This sole experience culminated into the climax of my life, and I knew it was all going to be downhill from there, but could I have realized just how abrupt and steep the downhill incline from this high point would be? Never, in a million years.
The next morning was spent winding through the streets of Italy with Christoph and Zdenek listening to absolutely terrible music loud enough to cause an old man’s hearing aid to explode, but it made me so happy nonetheless. I was in Italy, I was with two great friends, I had just met David Bowie, I had not a worry in the world, I was letting God take the reigns and it was so fabulous. I remember sitting silently in the back seat and Zdenek sang, “Don’t know much about history, don’t know much biology…” (well, actually, he didn’t sing the lyrics correctly, but he never has to know that) and as I sat there I sat and thanked God for how beautiful my life was, for sculpting me and changing me into the person I finally am, for blessing me so incredibly much for such an undeserving soul, for bringing me so much wisdom from all the pain I had experienced, and for finally bringing me to this moment.
We parked the car at a lake on the outskirts of Milan, got out and picnicked. Upon our return to the car, we realized that due to my negligent behavior of leaving my purse on the floor of the car, some AWESOME Italian dude decided it would be a really great welcome gift to steal my (favorite) purse that contained about 300 Euros ($450), my iPod, my passport, my visa to Spain, my cell phone all of my paperwork to apply for my Spanish resident card, all of my other important papers, all of my makeup and many other things that were useful to me. I couldn’t understand why any of this had to happen to me, but Christoph and Zdenek were very calm and nice about everything and really helped me to stay calm in the situation, when otherwise I would have had a nervous breakdown. Although it caused a lot of stress and a lot of money to finally put all the pieces back together, as of last Thursday (nearly 1.5 months after this incident) I can finally say that I no longer have any burdens remaining from this experience. So, let’s leave it in the past. It taught me to not worry about things and also taught me to let other people do things for me, because I had no choice.
Christoph’s family was so incredibly kind to me and helped me while I was waiting for my passport and treated me so well, and I could never fully express how grateful I am for that. God was still taking care of me even though he allowed something bad to happen. While I was waiting at the US Embassy in Italy with no money, no cell phone, nothing, I realized they were not going to give me a new passport without 80 Euros. There were a lot of people sitting in the waiting room for the same reason, yet all of them had compassion on me and felt sorry for the poor little girl here by herself with nothing, and they all chipped in one by one and gave me MORE than enough money to buy my passport, the passport photos and money to help me out after the embassy—“just in case!”
Afterward, I spent a little over a week with Christoph in Munich and in his hometown of Beilstein (pretty close to Stuttgart). I rather enjoyed myself in Germany. Munich (and Germany in general) is a very clean and well-organized city and I would definitely love to return someday. This part of my journey in Europe seems so far away already and so much has changed, that I will leave all the little details for my own personal journal and get down to business with the major things going on lately.
Once all of this was over, the amazing moments and the bad, I was more than ready to return to the tranquil haven that I knew awaited me in Laredo. I had another week to spend there familiarizing myself with the little town of 14,000 people, to acclimate myself to the Spanish language and to begin feeling at home before beginning my career as a teacher. At first I was somewhat lonely and I rather despised myself for feeling this way, because that quiet solitude was something for which I had so desperately longed in Nebraska. I have never wanted to become one of those people who only sees the green grass growing on other people’s prairies and not their own. I spent time praying and reading and walking and discovering my town and a life of solitude…and as soon as I become ok and happy with the quiet and the solitude, in walks David, the crazy beautiful surfer from France. When he first moved into my apartment with me, upon first appearances I quickly judged him. Seemingly unkempt blonde hair (that he actually washes and conditions daily, much to my surprise), a Thrasher tattoo boldly covering his left arm, a couple of ear piercings and rather typical skater attire. We could hardly understand each other at first (although this has drastically changed), and my first thought was, “Oh, wow, he is a nice person, but I guess we are completely different people and will have completely separate lives here in Laredo. Roommates and nothing more. He is a boy! A skater/surfer/punk rockaaaa…I bet he never washes dishes and this is going to be weird…but I need money, so OK.”
I couldn’t have been more wrong. He is the sweetest little soul in the entire world, with piercing blue eyes and a smile to kill. Aside from his love for surfing, skateboarding and rock of all kinds, he enjoys cooking and photography and is quite possibly even more of a clean freak than I am, and I love it. Our mutual language is Spanish, although every now and then we throw in some French or English. We have a pretty down-pat routine of going to our classes, lunch, siesta, errands, fun, cook dinner together, wine, talk, goodnight. Sometimes throw in going out for a coffee or a beer or going to the beach or him going to the skate park while I finally sit here and complete my blog. Whatever.
As for my teaching career, I am working at two different institutos (high schools) that are right down the street from each other. Although I only teach 12 hours a week, it takes up a large part of the day preparing the activities and waiting for my next classes and meeting with the teachers to discuss students and the topic for the week. During one month of work, my schedule is the same the 1st and 3rd week of the month and then the 2nd and 4th weeks are completely different. It was rather confusing at first, although I am catching on quickly. The main qualm I have with my schedule is that it does not allow me to get to know any of my students well. During a week I have more than 240 students, and the next week, it will be 240 completely different students (all in all I have about 550 students); thus, it would be rather impossible to learn the names of all of them.
It has been somewhat of a shock working at these high schools after my experiences at Westside High School and the University of Nebraska-Lincoln where we have access to an abundance of technology and other resources. Here I was not even able to give a powerpoint presentation to all of my classes because they don’t have the proper resources to do that in many classrooms. The students are usually very amicable, however rowdy and rude they may be at times. It is very difficult for me to make an assessment or judgment of the Spanish education system because within all of my classes I have come to the conclusion that the behavior of the students completely depends on their level of respect for their teacher and how the teacher handles the students and their learning experience. Some days I come home from teaching and I think, “Wow, I absolutely love my job more than anything in the world. I would love to be a teacher.” Then there are almost just as many days where I say, “Holy crap. I did not know that kids could be so inherently malicious! Respect to teachers, because I could never ever in a million years do this.” I am excited to see where the year goes though, and I will *hopefully* keep this blog updated on what happens with my students and my time here.
I was in Ireland last weekend. Halloween party. Amazing friends. Lovely countryside…I dressed up as David Bowie. Not much more to say except that I was exhausted when I got back to Laredo. :)
This weekend I have a long weekend and do not have to work Monday or Tuesday. Somehow, all of my friends here are French and they are coming to mine and David’s piso tomorrow night for a Halloween party potluck. I have to speak in French all night because one of them has a friend coming from France who doesn’t know English or Spanish, so…. Here we go.
When we last left off, the old stone streets of Italy, in all of its enchanting antiquity, seemed to be whispering quiet words of beckon to my soul, so I picked up my hiking stick and strapped on my walking sandals and I began my trek atop a golden donkey. The donkey actually entailed a 45-min bus ride to Bilbao, another 5-hour bus ride to Madrid, a nearly 40 Euro 1 AM cab ride to the airport because the metro was closed, and 8 eerie hours of attempting to sleep on the cold airport floor waiting for my 7 am flight, I finally arrived in Venice where Zdenek and Christoph collected me from the airport in their typical manner of gallantry. Finding our way through the labyrinth that is Venice was a mystifying experience. Almost as mystifying perhaps was my run-in with David Bowie. Let me explain.
It was a warm Venetian night, and I had enjoyed a Spritz and a large cup of ale, so needless to say the epithelial layers of my bladder were stretched to the max. So, I did what any girl would do and meandered into the bar to wait for the toilette. This toilette happened to be in the darkest, dankest and dirtiest corridor of the bar, and there also happened to be one lone toilet—complete with crusted over puke particles and spots of urine on the seat to serve as a testimony to all the drunkards who passed by this john and tried their best to aim. I said a “bon courage” to the man in front of me in the line as the door creaked closed and took away most of the light, adding to the misty eeriness of this strange place. As the man inside the single stall began his adventure, I turned around at the sound of a strange accent inquiring of me, “Ay, missy, Just where do you happen to come from?” I was caught off-guard, but nonchalantly replied, “Oh, I’m from Nebraska, no big deal.” Imagine my surprise when she said, “I’ve never heard of it! I’m from Australia! I’m here on a school trip.”
“Oh, that’s like some little island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, right? Good thing your country doesn’t matter anymore now that Steve Irwin’s dead.” OK… I only wanted to say that. I pretty much just shrugged, and said, “Ah, crikey! That’s phenomenal…” and I was cut off by my own train of thought because there behind this girl from Australia was none other than Sir David Bowie. I had to know for certain, and the Spritz and ale gave me an unsurpassed confidence, “Sir, are you David Bowie?” he shuffled his feet and laughed nervously, letting his shaggy hair cover his squinty eyes. “Noo, ha ha, but I do get that a lot!” I was sure he was lying. “Oh, are you sure? Cuz you REALLY look like David Bowie. Where are you fr…?” Before I finished the question he nervously interrupted me, “No, no, I’m just a normal dude from Austria, I promise.” WELL. That was what did it for me. “Austria…sounds a lot like AUSTRALIA. Bowie, is that the best cover-up you could think of? Well, deny it all you want, but I KNOW you’re Bowie and I want you to know, I love you!” Then the bathroom door opened and I made my way inside the small cell to relieve my bladder and increase my chances of getting an STD via toilet seat by 75% (thank you Mrs. Jackson for freaking me out about this in 8th grade health class). When I made my way back into the corridor, Australia was still standing there looking an awful lot like a dingo ready to pounce on its next baby, while David Bowie was nowhere in site. One of two things had to have happened: 1) I blew his cover and he had to find a place where no one recognized him 2) he was recognized and hurried into the celebrity bathroom.
Anyway, so no one believes me, and that pretty much sucks, however, me, my heart and my memories all know the real truth, and in the end, that’s all that matter. This sole experience culminated into the climax of my life, and I knew it was all going to be downhill from there, but could I have realized just how abrupt and steep the downhill incline from this high point would be? Never, in a million years.
The next morning was spent winding through the streets of Italy with Christoph and Zdenek listening to absolutely terrible music loud enough to cause an old man’s hearing aid to explode, but it made me so happy nonetheless. I was in Italy, I was with two great friends, I had just met David Bowie, I had not a worry in the world, I was letting God take the reigns and it was so fabulous. I remember sitting silently in the back seat and Zdenek sang, “Don’t know much about history, don’t know much biology…” (well, actually, he didn’t sing the lyrics correctly, but he never has to know that) and as I sat there I sat and thanked God for how beautiful my life was, for sculpting me and changing me into the person I finally am, for blessing me so incredibly much for such an undeserving soul, for bringing me so much wisdom from all the pain I had experienced, and for finally bringing me to this moment.
We parked the car at a lake on the outskirts of Milan, got out and picnicked. Upon our return to the car, we realized that due to my negligent behavior of leaving my purse on the floor of the car, some AWESOME Italian dude decided it would be a really great welcome gift to steal my (favorite) purse that contained about 300 Euros ($450), my iPod, my passport, my visa to Spain, my cell phone all of my paperwork to apply for my Spanish resident card, all of my other important papers, all of my makeup and many other things that were useful to me. I couldn’t understand why any of this had to happen to me, but Christoph and Zdenek were very calm and nice about everything and really helped me to stay calm in the situation, when otherwise I would have had a nervous breakdown. Although it caused a lot of stress and a lot of money to finally put all the pieces back together, as of last Thursday (nearly 1.5 months after this incident) I can finally say that I no longer have any burdens remaining from this experience. So, let’s leave it in the past. It taught me to not worry about things and also taught me to let other people do things for me, because I had no choice.
Christoph’s family was so incredibly kind to me and helped me while I was waiting for my passport and treated me so well, and I could never fully express how grateful I am for that. God was still taking care of me even though he allowed something bad to happen. While I was waiting at the US Embassy in Italy with no money, no cell phone, nothing, I realized they were not going to give me a new passport without 80 Euros. There were a lot of people sitting in the waiting room for the same reason, yet all of them had compassion on me and felt sorry for the poor little girl here by herself with nothing, and they all chipped in one by one and gave me MORE than enough money to buy my passport, the passport photos and money to help me out after the embassy—“just in case!”
Afterward, I spent a little over a week with Christoph in Munich and in his hometown of Beilstein (pretty close to Stuttgart). I rather enjoyed myself in Germany. Munich (and Germany in general) is a very clean and well-organized city and I would definitely love to return someday. This part of my journey in Europe seems so far away already and so much has changed, that I will leave all the little details for my own personal journal and get down to business with the major things going on lately.
Once all of this was over, the amazing moments and the bad, I was more than ready to return to the tranquil haven that I knew awaited me in Laredo. I had another week to spend there familiarizing myself with the little town of 14,000 people, to acclimate myself to the Spanish language and to begin feeling at home before beginning my career as a teacher. At first I was somewhat lonely and I rather despised myself for feeling this way, because that quiet solitude was something for which I had so desperately longed in Nebraska. I have never wanted to become one of those people who only sees the green grass growing on other people’s prairies and not their own. I spent time praying and reading and walking and discovering my town and a life of solitude…and as soon as I become ok and happy with the quiet and the solitude, in walks David, the crazy beautiful surfer from France. When he first moved into my apartment with me, upon first appearances I quickly judged him. Seemingly unkempt blonde hair (that he actually washes and conditions daily, much to my surprise), a Thrasher tattoo boldly covering his left arm, a couple of ear piercings and rather typical skater attire. We could hardly understand each other at first (although this has drastically changed), and my first thought was, “Oh, wow, he is a nice person, but I guess we are completely different people and will have completely separate lives here in Laredo. Roommates and nothing more. He is a boy! A skater/surfer/punk rockaaaa…I bet he never washes dishes and this is going to be weird…but I need money, so OK.”
I couldn’t have been more wrong. He is the sweetest little soul in the entire world, with piercing blue eyes and a smile to kill. Aside from his love for surfing, skateboarding and rock of all kinds, he enjoys cooking and photography and is quite possibly even more of a clean freak than I am, and I love it. Our mutual language is Spanish, although every now and then we throw in some French or English. We have a pretty down-pat routine of going to our classes, lunch, siesta, errands, fun, cook dinner together, wine, talk, goodnight. Sometimes throw in going out for a coffee or a beer or going to the beach or him going to the skate park while I finally sit here and complete my blog. Whatever.
As for my teaching career, I am working at two different institutos (high schools) that are right down the street from each other. Although I only teach 12 hours a week, it takes up a large part of the day preparing the activities and waiting for my next classes and meeting with the teachers to discuss students and the topic for the week. During one month of work, my schedule is the same the 1st and 3rd week of the month and then the 2nd and 4th weeks are completely different. It was rather confusing at first, although I am catching on quickly. The main qualm I have with my schedule is that it does not allow me to get to know any of my students well. During a week I have more than 240 students, and the next week, it will be 240 completely different students (all in all I have about 550 students); thus, it would be rather impossible to learn the names of all of them.
It has been somewhat of a shock working at these high schools after my experiences at Westside High School and the University of Nebraska-Lincoln where we have access to an abundance of technology and other resources. Here I was not even able to give a powerpoint presentation to all of my classes because they don’t have the proper resources to do that in many classrooms. The students are usually very amicable, however rowdy and rude they may be at times. It is very difficult for me to make an assessment or judgment of the Spanish education system because within all of my classes I have come to the conclusion that the behavior of the students completely depends on their level of respect for their teacher and how the teacher handles the students and their learning experience. Some days I come home from teaching and I think, “Wow, I absolutely love my job more than anything in the world. I would love to be a teacher.” Then there are almost just as many days where I say, “Holy crap. I did not know that kids could be so inherently malicious! Respect to teachers, because I could never ever in a million years do this.” I am excited to see where the year goes though, and I will *hopefully* keep this blog updated on what happens with my students and my time here.
I was in Ireland last weekend. Halloween party. Amazing friends. Lovely countryside…I dressed up as David Bowie. Not much more to say except that I was exhausted when I got back to Laredo. :)
This weekend I have a long weekend and do not have to work Monday or Tuesday. Somehow, all of my friends here are French and they are coming to mine and David’s piso tomorrow night for a Halloween party potluck. I have to speak in French all night because one of them has a friend coming from France who doesn’t know English or Spanish, so…. Here we go.
10 September, 2009
La Feria, Algodón de Azucar y la Noria
A feather just drifted onto my bed in a crisp morning breeze through the open door in my new piso (apartment) here in quaint little Laredo. Perhaps the only evidence left of a duckling that decided to fly away home…and was shot on the way up. I shall cherish this feather and it shall lay alongside my other precious memorabilia here in Laredo—my mini lawn gnome, my mini homies and my pin of Michael Jackson and ET during their duet performance in 1992.
Do I already digress in this first paragraph of my first entry here in Spain? Hmm…Well, I can honestly say that all things here have been almost identical to what I expected, except for the feelings in my heart to go along with these occurrences.
Saying good-bye to my mother at the airport in Chicago could have potentially been one of the most difficult things I had done in my entire life, but as soon as I began to cry I felt an unfamiliar arm on my shoulder and an excited voice say, “HEY! You’re from Nebraska!” I turned around to see an acquaintance of mine who was also going to Spain to do the same program as me, and he was on the same flight. We sat together and he was so nice and energetic that it kept my mind off of all the rather depressing or scary things I could have been thinking about on that 8-hour flight to Frankfurt.
I finally arrived in Madrid, after 8 hours of in and out lucid dreaming in the Frankfurt airport atop of my suitcases. Little Tamara picked me up with her aunt, and I then slept for a good 12-14 hours. The next few days were filled with excitement and a constant surrounding of the Spanish language and culture. I went to Ponferrada to stay with Tamara and her abuela for two nights. I went to la feria (fair), as Ponferrada was having its yearly festival. I met Tamara’s friends, which was overwhelming at first because I learned most of my Spanish in Mexico and was still very unaccustomed to Castellano (Spain Spanish)—especially all the colloquial expressions, extremely fast-paced and loud speech mixed with an accent that I am still getting used to (and a lisp that I at first refused to adapt, yet now find myself saying “grathiath” instead of gracias and “thtaluego” instead of hasta luego). I got to watch some fuegos artificiales (fireworks) that were quite impressive and at la feria I got to try Spain’s version of churros. Deliciosa!
It wasn’t much different from a carnival here at home from first glances, but venturing around inside was quite an inexplicable experience for me. The cool night air, the smell of churros and algodón de azucar (cotton candy), Spanish language and music all around me, the different tómbolas (raffles/booths where you play those silly games to win a goldfish that will die in 2 days) and the little differences in rides and names of things and smells and colors that made the experience so unique and different from a visit to a down-home Nebraskan carnival. I learned a lot of new words just being there and taking it all in; it was a very memorable first night out in España.
The next day, Tamara’s abuela made paella, and although my taste buds had once before ventured into the paella world, they had never experienced the maravillosa pleasure of a homemade Spanish abuela’s paella. Tamara showed me around the enchanting city of Ponferrada where I visited the ayuntamiento (city hall building) and a castillo (castle) that was more so a fortaleza (fortress). So far, the weather here in Spain has been doing its best to appease me. Seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit beautiful nubes (clouds) and warm sunny breezes that tempt my nostrils with the scents of sunflowers and the delicious food that lie just a few steps away. I went out that evening once more with Tamara and her friends and experienced the barhopping tapas experience. We went from little bar to little bar trying mini cervezas (beers) and vino (wine). I experienced a lot of tapas topped with jamón seranno (a pungent-tasting typical ham in Spain) and I am beginning to enjoy that just as much as the Spaniards who swear they couldn’t live without it. The next morning, off on a bus once again to my new hometown.
I have moved all over the place the past couple of weeks, and was so looking forward to having a place to myself and getting to unpack and have a home again. My new colleagues at one of the two schools where I will be working came and picked me up from the bus station, and the REAL rapid-fire Spanish began. My few days with Tamara were a godsend because otherwise, I would not have understood a word these ladies were saying to me. At this point, I am able to understand about 80% of what people say to me; at the beginning it was more like 40%. It is becoming more and more natural to me and I can watch TV in Spanish without having to think about it too much. My main trouble at this point is that something happens when I begin to speak. I have perfect sentences formulated in my head. I can picture it and say it in my head so eloquently, and then I speak and the nerves kick in and I sound like I’m in Spanish 101 again. I’ve only been here for a week though, and I am sure it will continue to get better.
I have met the teachers at both of my schools—I will be the instructor of the oral and conversational English classes. I am a little nervous about coming up with lesson plans as I have never taught before, but they gave me some books and I’ve taken a million foreign language classes, so I hope that helps. They learn British English. Perhaps I shall have to adopt a British accent while living here. Niños, repeat after me, “Yes, I would fancy a spot of tea and a dollop of haggis.” ¡Muy bien!
I finally found an apartment and it is beautiful. I love the town here and I really love all the people I am working with. I really missed my friends and family the first few days here—to an overwhelming and crushing extent. I was so incredibly lonely and scared. I am not afraid to admit that I was even moved to intense tears a couple of times because I felt so alone and freaked out by my decision to live here by myself for a year. But it was this that I wanted, and I am beginning to enjoy it quite a bit. I have time for myself for the first time in my life. I can walk by the ocean. I can write in my blog. I can read a book. I can make a delicious eloquent dinner for one. I can go shopping at all the amazing millions of shops in town. I can write a letter. I can watch a movie. I can dance. I can sing. I can pray. I can laugh. I can do whatever I want, and it’s going to take some getting used to, but I realize I should cherish it, because never again will life be this pace for me.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I leave for Venice tonight to meet up with two beloved friends! I will spend two nights in Venezia, 2 nights in Milano and then off to Germany and the Czech Republic for a while. I will then come home to Laredo where I will hopefully find a roommate and begin my work. The adventure continues!
Do I already digress in this first paragraph of my first entry here in Spain? Hmm…Well, I can honestly say that all things here have been almost identical to what I expected, except for the feelings in my heart to go along with these occurrences.
Saying good-bye to my mother at the airport in Chicago could have potentially been one of the most difficult things I had done in my entire life, but as soon as I began to cry I felt an unfamiliar arm on my shoulder and an excited voice say, “HEY! You’re from Nebraska!” I turned around to see an acquaintance of mine who was also going to Spain to do the same program as me, and he was on the same flight. We sat together and he was so nice and energetic that it kept my mind off of all the rather depressing or scary things I could have been thinking about on that 8-hour flight to Frankfurt.
I finally arrived in Madrid, after 8 hours of in and out lucid dreaming in the Frankfurt airport atop of my suitcases. Little Tamara picked me up with her aunt, and I then slept for a good 12-14 hours. The next few days were filled with excitement and a constant surrounding of the Spanish language and culture. I went to Ponferrada to stay with Tamara and her abuela for two nights. I went to la feria (fair), as Ponferrada was having its yearly festival. I met Tamara’s friends, which was overwhelming at first because I learned most of my Spanish in Mexico and was still very unaccustomed to Castellano (Spain Spanish)—especially all the colloquial expressions, extremely fast-paced and loud speech mixed with an accent that I am still getting used to (and a lisp that I at first refused to adapt, yet now find myself saying “grathiath” instead of gracias and “thtaluego” instead of hasta luego). I got to watch some fuegos artificiales (fireworks) that were quite impressive and at la feria I got to try Spain’s version of churros. Deliciosa!
It wasn’t much different from a carnival here at home from first glances, but venturing around inside was quite an inexplicable experience for me. The cool night air, the smell of churros and algodón de azucar (cotton candy), Spanish language and music all around me, the different tómbolas (raffles/booths where you play those silly games to win a goldfish that will die in 2 days) and the little differences in rides and names of things and smells and colors that made the experience so unique and different from a visit to a down-home Nebraskan carnival. I learned a lot of new words just being there and taking it all in; it was a very memorable first night out in España.
The next day, Tamara’s abuela made paella, and although my taste buds had once before ventured into the paella world, they had never experienced the maravillosa pleasure of a homemade Spanish abuela’s paella. Tamara showed me around the enchanting city of Ponferrada where I visited the ayuntamiento (city hall building) and a castillo (castle) that was more so a fortaleza (fortress). So far, the weather here in Spain has been doing its best to appease me. Seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit beautiful nubes (clouds) and warm sunny breezes that tempt my nostrils with the scents of sunflowers and the delicious food that lie just a few steps away. I went out that evening once more with Tamara and her friends and experienced the barhopping tapas experience. We went from little bar to little bar trying mini cervezas (beers) and vino (wine). I experienced a lot of tapas topped with jamón seranno (a pungent-tasting typical ham in Spain) and I am beginning to enjoy that just as much as the Spaniards who swear they couldn’t live without it. The next morning, off on a bus once again to my new hometown.
I have moved all over the place the past couple of weeks, and was so looking forward to having a place to myself and getting to unpack and have a home again. My new colleagues at one of the two schools where I will be working came and picked me up from the bus station, and the REAL rapid-fire Spanish began. My few days with Tamara were a godsend because otherwise, I would not have understood a word these ladies were saying to me. At this point, I am able to understand about 80% of what people say to me; at the beginning it was more like 40%. It is becoming more and more natural to me and I can watch TV in Spanish without having to think about it too much. My main trouble at this point is that something happens when I begin to speak. I have perfect sentences formulated in my head. I can picture it and say it in my head so eloquently, and then I speak and the nerves kick in and I sound like I’m in Spanish 101 again. I’ve only been here for a week though, and I am sure it will continue to get better.
I have met the teachers at both of my schools—I will be the instructor of the oral and conversational English classes. I am a little nervous about coming up with lesson plans as I have never taught before, but they gave me some books and I’ve taken a million foreign language classes, so I hope that helps. They learn British English. Perhaps I shall have to adopt a British accent while living here. Niños, repeat after me, “Yes, I would fancy a spot of tea and a dollop of haggis.” ¡Muy bien!
I finally found an apartment and it is beautiful. I love the town here and I really love all the people I am working with. I really missed my friends and family the first few days here—to an overwhelming and crushing extent. I was so incredibly lonely and scared. I am not afraid to admit that I was even moved to intense tears a couple of times because I felt so alone and freaked out by my decision to live here by myself for a year. But it was this that I wanted, and I am beginning to enjoy it quite a bit. I have time for myself for the first time in my life. I can walk by the ocean. I can write in my blog. I can read a book. I can make a delicious eloquent dinner for one. I can go shopping at all the amazing millions of shops in town. I can write a letter. I can watch a movie. I can dance. I can sing. I can pray. I can laugh. I can do whatever I want, and it’s going to take some getting used to, but I realize I should cherish it, because never again will life be this pace for me.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I leave for Venice tonight to meet up with two beloved friends! I will spend two nights in Venezia, 2 nights in Milano and then off to Germany and the Czech Republic for a while. I will then come home to Laredo where I will hopefully find a roommate and begin my work. The adventure continues!
01 September, 2009
Crafting of a Soul
The sensation of my heart at this moment is completely inexplicable; however, a few adjectives may suffice: full, peaceful, excited, nervous, nostalgic and free...my heart has been filled with the kind of peace for which I have always longed, and because of God's great love, I am now able to accomplish a dream I have had since age 4 of living abroad.
When I look back on where I came from, on where I was a year before this, I can hardly believe I made it to this point. My heart and soul were in crumbles. After the death of my dad, the multiple heartbreaks (unworthy of my mentioning) that ensued, the rape, the further heartbreak and numbness that followed and the abandonment of my closest friends I then also had to deal with the harsh realization that my pure selfless qualities were quickly leading to my destruction. My finances were in shambles (from giving too much...honestly) and however untrue, I felt as if I had no real friends to turn to. This was perhaps because I had been abandoned so much so quickly and perhaps because I did not want to burden anyone with the unbearable weight which I was carrying. I felt as if I had been an abnormally gracious giver and lover my whole life and that God must be punishing me for the few mistakes I had consciously made.
There was a point in October of 2008 where I sickly realized that for the first time I understood why some people opt to opt out of life and just throw in the towel then pick it back up, tie it around their necks and end it. As cliché/emo as this sounds, I felt truly hollow. I often looked at myself in the mirror and wondered where the real me had run off to, yet was so emotionless (or too overwhelmed with emotion?) to go venture and find myself. I would wake up in the middle of the day with my head under the covers and no desire to get out of bed. What was wrong with me? For years I was an over-involved straight-A student, and yet, at this point, nothing seemed to matter. Nothing had purpose. You wake up, you eat, you sleep, you die. There seemed no point to love, it always left you giving too much and receiving nothing but a humiliating pile of crap at your door. Yet love was all I craved. I searched. My friends failed. My money failed. My family even failed. As much as I love all these people, none of them offered the unconditional merciful love which I needed.
Because I am no longer this girl, I will openly admit to the fact that I was smoking and drinking and doing whatever I could to escape from the harsh reality that was my life. I went to the Bible study I joined my first semester of college because I loved the girls and I also wanted to appease my mother and let her and the rest of the world think I was ok—that I was the normal Erika from before Mexico. I even slowly stopped going to my Bible study as my depression began to overtake me completely. One Monday evening when I was going to smoke and watch some crappy TV and try to find something to laugh at, I was phoned by multiple girls in my Bible study asking if I was coming that night...I was secretly a bit annoyed, yet felt some obligation to attend. I went. I just remember the extreme amount of care in my two friend's eyes as they looked at me and asked me how I was. "Oh, I'm fine!" But they wanted to know how I really was...something inside them told them I was anything but fine, and when they tactfully divulged this information to me, my immediate thought was, "Crap. I don't want to unload all this crap on anyone. I'm just going to have to make up some stupid crappy sappy Christian story about how I was hurting and then God came to the rescue and now I'm just fine and dandy...whatever.." So, I started my interweaving of truth and deceit, yet, in the end, the truth of my pain began to flow out of my inner soul and from the deepest depths of my heart.
Tears—real, genuine tears—flowed from my eyes, I tell you, I was practically hyperventilating. I was embarrassed, I'd never learned to cry, especially in front of PEOPLE! I was showing weakness, and it was incredibly scary, but I felt safe and something in me proved it necessary to let it out. And these girls were there, and God, whom I had grown to hate, still proved to love me, even in my depressing mess of rebellion. I went home that night and for the first time in years I sat in my room and I wept, I practically screamed. I had emotions pent up from the time I was 12 years old that I had never let out, and I finally did. And I did what any normal girl in my situation would do...write a letter to the big G. I told him I was angry. I said I was sorry. I said I felt hated. I said I was sick of doing things my own way and that if he were really up there and really existed and really loved me, that I was ready to do things his was because obviously I was terrible at controlling my own life.
It truly worked. The next day, I woke up feeling refreshed, whole and purposeful. I spoke with my teachers, I got As in all of my classes, I began paying off my debt, I began making REAL friendships, God taught me to be more assertive and take care of myself...in the past year I have learned how to love and who to love, I have learned how to trust again and who to trust, I have gained wisdom, purity and been taught the ever-so-important lesson of humility. I have purpose, I am happy, and because I have learned to be faithful to my "unseen god" I have been blessed beyond belief.
I have the kinds of friendships you read about or see in fantastic movies. I made three very best friends in the past year, and if you are one of them, you know who you are, and I do not know what I would do without you, the three of you are the light of my life and the most amazing gift I've ever received in my life—and I can say that in full truth. But besides these three people, the other friends I have in my life are also so incredibly wonderful and warm and giving. I would do anything for them, and they the same for me (which I could never say in full faith about my past friends).
Now I am off to Laredo, Spain. I will be surrounded by the beautiful sea and mountains, I will be close to all of the amazing international friends I have made, I will be experiencing a laid-back and colorful culture of which I have always dreamed. I will have time for myself! I will have time to read and write and sing and dance and take hikes and best of all, to let God change me even more. To have my heart and soul purified and draw closer to his heart. If you have read this far, I hope you would continue to stay updated on my life via this blog and in whatever other means you would like.
Ven conmigooo as I delve into the depths of my beloved Europe! :)
When I look back on where I came from, on where I was a year before this, I can hardly believe I made it to this point. My heart and soul were in crumbles. After the death of my dad, the multiple heartbreaks (unworthy of my mentioning) that ensued, the rape, the further heartbreak and numbness that followed and the abandonment of my closest friends I then also had to deal with the harsh realization that my pure selfless qualities were quickly leading to my destruction. My finances were in shambles (from giving too much...honestly) and however untrue, I felt as if I had no real friends to turn to. This was perhaps because I had been abandoned so much so quickly and perhaps because I did not want to burden anyone with the unbearable weight which I was carrying. I felt as if I had been an abnormally gracious giver and lover my whole life and that God must be punishing me for the few mistakes I had consciously made.
There was a point in October of 2008 where I sickly realized that for the first time I understood why some people opt to opt out of life and just throw in the towel then pick it back up, tie it around their necks and end it. As cliché/emo as this sounds, I felt truly hollow. I often looked at myself in the mirror and wondered where the real me had run off to, yet was so emotionless (or too overwhelmed with emotion?) to go venture and find myself. I would wake up in the middle of the day with my head under the covers and no desire to get out of bed. What was wrong with me? For years I was an over-involved straight-A student, and yet, at this point, nothing seemed to matter. Nothing had purpose. You wake up, you eat, you sleep, you die. There seemed no point to love, it always left you giving too much and receiving nothing but a humiliating pile of crap at your door. Yet love was all I craved. I searched. My friends failed. My money failed. My family even failed. As much as I love all these people, none of them offered the unconditional merciful love which I needed.
Because I am no longer this girl, I will openly admit to the fact that I was smoking and drinking and doing whatever I could to escape from the harsh reality that was my life. I went to the Bible study I joined my first semester of college because I loved the girls and I also wanted to appease my mother and let her and the rest of the world think I was ok—that I was the normal Erika from before Mexico. I even slowly stopped going to my Bible study as my depression began to overtake me completely. One Monday evening when I was going to smoke and watch some crappy TV and try to find something to laugh at, I was phoned by multiple girls in my Bible study asking if I was coming that night...I was secretly a bit annoyed, yet felt some obligation to attend. I went. I just remember the extreme amount of care in my two friend's eyes as they looked at me and asked me how I was. "Oh, I'm fine!" But they wanted to know how I really was...something inside them told them I was anything but fine, and when they tactfully divulged this information to me, my immediate thought was, "Crap. I don't want to unload all this crap on anyone. I'm just going to have to make up some stupid crappy sappy Christian story about how I was hurting and then God came to the rescue and now I'm just fine and dandy...whatever.." So, I started my interweaving of truth and deceit, yet, in the end, the truth of my pain began to flow out of my inner soul and from the deepest depths of my heart.
Tears—real, genuine tears—flowed from my eyes, I tell you, I was practically hyperventilating. I was embarrassed, I'd never learned to cry, especially in front of PEOPLE! I was showing weakness, and it was incredibly scary, but I felt safe and something in me proved it necessary to let it out. And these girls were there, and God, whom I had grown to hate, still proved to love me, even in my depressing mess of rebellion. I went home that night and for the first time in years I sat in my room and I wept, I practically screamed. I had emotions pent up from the time I was 12 years old that I had never let out, and I finally did. And I did what any normal girl in my situation would do...write a letter to the big G. I told him I was angry. I said I was sorry. I said I felt hated. I said I was sick of doing things my own way and that if he were really up there and really existed and really loved me, that I was ready to do things his was because obviously I was terrible at controlling my own life.
It truly worked. The next day, I woke up feeling refreshed, whole and purposeful. I spoke with my teachers, I got As in all of my classes, I began paying off my debt, I began making REAL friendships, God taught me to be more assertive and take care of myself...in the past year I have learned how to love and who to love, I have learned how to trust again and who to trust, I have gained wisdom, purity and been taught the ever-so-important lesson of humility. I have purpose, I am happy, and because I have learned to be faithful to my "unseen god" I have been blessed beyond belief.
I have the kinds of friendships you read about or see in fantastic movies. I made three very best friends in the past year, and if you are one of them, you know who you are, and I do not know what I would do without you, the three of you are the light of my life and the most amazing gift I've ever received in my life—and I can say that in full truth. But besides these three people, the other friends I have in my life are also so incredibly wonderful and warm and giving. I would do anything for them, and they the same for me (which I could never say in full faith about my past friends).
Now I am off to Laredo, Spain. I will be surrounded by the beautiful sea and mountains, I will be close to all of the amazing international friends I have made, I will be experiencing a laid-back and colorful culture of which I have always dreamed. I will have time for myself! I will have time to read and write and sing and dance and take hikes and best of all, to let God change me even more. To have my heart and soul purified and draw closer to his heart. If you have read this far, I hope you would continue to stay updated on my life via this blog and in whatever other means you would like.
Ven conmigooo as I delve into the depths of my beloved Europe! :)
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