Semana Santa

There are times when I wish I could write in Spanish because I want to write for people who speak Spanish as their first language. I feel certain things and experience them in Spanish and it has a certain poetic quality that English does not hold for me. But even memories made in Spanish still translate themselves to English in my head and when I want to write something personal it only makes sense to do so in my mother tongue. So if I could write this in Spanish and say what I wanted- I would. In fact, if I could always say what I meant when speaking Spanish, well, I would do that too. But, for now, English will have to do.

"Have you written about us yet?" - Lucas asked me (in Spanish).

"Yes"

"What did you write?"

"Ummm"

"Ah! You've written so many things you don't remember"

"Ha."

I hadn't yet but here goes- we all met in the hostel in Sevilla on the rooftop terrace when Lucas invited us to sit down and share some drinks. Two Argentine boys and an Italian girl traveling together and then us three girls- British, Italian and North American. The next day we made plans to meet up and went to to the river to drink mate- my first mate since I was in Argentina. I suddenly remembered sitting in Centro Conviven- passing around the mate cup- the fall sun shining through the open windows. Was it really so long ago? And was it so surreal to be in Sevilla- a place I never thought I'd go to- drinking yerba mate with new friends in a new country? From then on it seemed from there on out we were like a family on vacation. We stuck together.

"Can I try some?" I wanted some of Lucas's empanada- I was already so full from the best empanadas I've had in Spain but I wanted to try a caprese one.

"Just take a piece- as if we were friends our whole lives instead of for just two days" he said. That's how easy he is to get along with. I would like to be more like that. I would like the ability to just let people be my friend so easily instead of thinking about the last time I got hurt or worrying about whether I talk too much and if people like me. It must be easier to be that relaxed and it's a more beautiful way to be- welcoming.

Or be more optimistic like Panchi- who seems to have a positive word for everything and a balanced perspective. He seems to have the ability to just take it in and then give it all back. These are the two guys who will dive into the ocean with you and your crazy friend when the weather couldn't be any less beach-like just because you are there.

Then there are the girls, of course, who are so easy to just be with and make me revel slightly in the fact that we can have much-needed girl talk in our second language (with Italian and English thrown in). It's a bit miraculous if I think about it.

I wish I had more time to get to know Silvi better because she has an undeniable and obvious depth combined with a fantastic sense of humor. She is the kind of person you look across the table at and you both know what you are laughing about without saying anything.

The girls I came with who are some of the first people I met here in Madrid and I can really be myself with them. Pepa, my British girl- so sweet and intelligent and Maria- my faithful theater class friend- who looked at me when we are shivering in the sea and said "Who would have thought that when we met in Madrid that we would be here now together?" I don't think I did but at that moment I felt so happy and so grateful.

Meeting people is one of the best possible reasons to travel and I am blessed to have had both the opportunity to travel and really wonderful people to meet. It's other people who allow you to move past yourself and open up your mind to new ways of being and thinking. Sometimes people are the ones that hold up a mirror and make you realize you need to give others the second chances you wish to receive. The guys made me rethink the way I'm not really fair when I'm mean about Argentine men or say that they are too "pesados" because my experiences are and were limited and I'm generalizing too much. I set my standards for the world so high that I forget to let people exceed them, meet them, surprise me. I leave out the positive as if everything good doesn't count but it does. It counts for a lot. I have a lot to learn. It's humbling. And yet, the fact that people have the patience to let me learn along with them in the same way they don't seem to mind bearing with my broken international mess of Spanish means a lot.

Maybe we'll all travel together again or run into each other in some other corner of the world but for now I'm just happy to know that I have these people to add into my memories of this year. Because when I remember Sevilla I'll remember the narrow streets and tiled bars, the flamenco music playing on the radio and when I think of Malaga I'll think of the cold gray sea and clouds but mostly I'll remember the joy in being with this unexpected group and the feeling of new friends.

Perfection

Buenos Aires, Argentina 2009

Deciding to come to Buenos Aires was not an easy decision for me. So much seemed to rest upon this experience- whichever country I chose was going to influence my Spanish more than any other place yet. After I saw Italy I thought I would choose Spain. Europe was so beautiful and inviting. It was like being dropped in a post card. After two summers in the Dominican Republic and three months at language school in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, it seemed to be a logical choice.

But I found myself drawn back to Mexico. I went to Tijuana twice with my college on two incredible trips. For a long time I had hoped I could find some way of returning. My freshman year at Gordon, Professor Lutz set up a Spanish table once a week in Lane. Anyone who wanted to practice was welcome but they might have been a bit discouraged as I used it as a chance to argue over the fact that Spanish majors aren’t actually allowed to chose Mexico as a study abroad location. I remember asking her if the department would let me study in Tijuana. I like to think she enjoyed these interactions and my rather theatrical pleas. I still knew I had to go to Latin America even if it was not Mexico and began sifting through programs, cities and countries. I tried to weigh my motives and reasons for going to Latin America. It began to feel trickier when I began to lean towards the Paris of the South, Buenos Aires.

As my time here begins to fill in and form into an actual experience I am not completely sure why I chose Buenos Aires. Sociology played a role, peoples’ recommendations, opportunities, the chance to do something different, to stretch myself, etc. I do not tell many people this but I actually considered dropping my Spanish major and heading of to South Africa. However, when I really thought about it I wanted to keep chasing this dream of fluency. The most concrete reason, however, is fulfilling the remaining quota of Spanish credits. I would like to think it to be more profound than that but there it is in all of its honesty.

I do know I am being stretched, first and foremost linguistically. Mexican Spanish continues to be the easiest for me to understand. When Mexican telenovelas are on television here it’s a refreshing break from the Buenos Aires accent. I love Mexican accents. Once I was told that I sounded “like we do” by a Mexican. I was on top of the world. Last year when I was in Guatemala on a sociology seminar with Gordon, I made friends with our driver, Oliver. We bonded over our shared love for Latin music. He’d always look back at me in the rearview mirror to see if I knew who the artist was when a new song came on over the van’s speakers. When he told me I spoke like I was from northern Mexico I was giddy with happiness at the idea. He may have been lying or trying to please me because it’s obvious I do not speak that way anymore. Not even close.

Mostly people tell me they can’t identify where I am from, that is, if they cannot note right away that I am American. They tell me my accent is a combination. For anyone who has never learned a second language, imagine combining four accents- a New York accent with an Alabaman accent, and then mix in a few words that only the British use with the pronunciation of a Canadian. I imagine I sound that bizarre at times. I say “yo” like a Dominican and then throw in “ahorita” like a Mexican all while trying to make the “sh” sound when I make the “ll” sound like the Argentines then I slip up and lisp like a Spaniard (blame it on all those Almodóvar films). I am also sure this is amusing but one grows tired of not just talking but striving constantly. I quickly get irritated with patronizing smiles and try to resist speaking in English “just because.” One of the people who strongly recommended Buenos Aires to me told me not to be deterred by the accent. “Your accent will always be a mix” he said. I knew that was true but I did not want it to be. My host mom, Claudia, says she likes the way I talk. She added that the most important thing is that they understand me. So is it just vanity then that I want a pure accent- fully one country or the other?

I had this idea that I could develop into a fully bilingual human being with two complete identities in both English and Spanish. When I was seventeen this was incredibly much more plausible. Now, I’m twenty-one and not to be all fatalistic, but I am getting older. It is not nearly as easy as it once looked to my big blue eyes.

I am desperate to move beyond the typical and comfortable topics like the weather (yes, New York is cold and no, I do not like it) and music (no, I am not a huge Charly Garcia fan and yes, I like reggaeton). But I want to sound intelligent when I talk about politics or someone asks me to explain what we are studying in my Latin American social thought class. I do not want to talk in haltering sentences or look to someone else in search of the word I need to make sense.
My identity is more English than Spanish. I knew this but adjusting to the weight of this statement takes something out of me. I’m running up against a wall. There are things that I cannot ever change about myself. Even if I looked Argentine I will never sound Argentine. I am a native English speaker. I am not Hispanic by any means. Even if my cultural understanding was superb and my people skills were excellent, I am American. When I put my pen to the page or my hands to the worn out keys of my computer my instincts are in English. When I aim to understand a thought or an intellectual idea my perspective is American. My political understanding, my social norms, my spirituality, and my way of being are inherently American.

I do not know that I will ever feel like I fully blend into this country or even this continent. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I am being taught a deeper empathy than I have yet to know. You cannot know the difficulty of moving from one place to another until you do it.I am beginning to know deeper parts of my being- some of them beautiful to me and some of them more painful to assess. I have come to no concrete conclusions but that I still want to be here. That is the most important at the moment. I would like to be here and have answers to all of my doubts. I am not yet halfway through my time here so I daresay I will at least have a few erased. Perhaps the other questions and doubts will stay with me- there to remind me that I am only human, and that purpose does not always require perfection.