The Ghosts of Junes Past

Sometimes, in order to see where we're going, it helps to see where we've been. At least, that's what I believe. In my daily handwritten journal, I quite often take a moment to look back and see what exactly I was doing on this day a year ago, to observe what I was thinking about, to read about my worries and laugh at how much things have changed. 

Although I'm not going to share any of those exact journal entries with the whole wide internet (far too embarrassing), I thought I'd take a moment today to take you on a trip down my memory lane to where I was on this date years and years ago. 

I first left home at the ripe old age of 18, so that's where we'll start. 

2007

In mid-June 2007, I had just finished high school and was taking a trip out to Maine for orientation at my new university. I was the perfect picture of teenage angst, having just broken up with my high school boyfriend and feeling like I would never love again. I couldn't wait to be an adult, to kick the dust of the Midwest off my feet, and start all over in a new exciting place, but I was still incredibly annoyed that my mom wanted to take pictures of me in Acadia National Park.

Struggles: Not having a summer job, missing my ex-boyfriend

Fears: That I wouldn't like my new roommate, that my new classes would be too difficult, that I would feel homesick in a new place all alone

Hopes for the next year: That Maine would fill all my lofty expectations, that I would find amazing new friends, that I would finally feel grown-up and independent when I left home

2008

By the time June 2008 had rolled around, I had settled quite nicely into life in Maine...so much so that I almost considered not coming home for the summer! I thought I had made those amazing lifelong friends I'd always dreamed about, my classes the previous year had gone well, and my homesickness had mostly dissipated after the first few months there. Going back to the Midwest for the summer was a slight culture shock, but I made up for it by exploring places in my hometown that I'd never been before, seeing everything with new eyes.

Struggles: Readjusting to a summer of Midwestern life after being away for a year, trying to become close again with my high school friends, starting to learn Spanish

Fears: That my Mainer boyfriend would find someone else while I was away, that my friends in Maine would forget about me over the summer

Hopes for the next year: That I would continue to grow closer to my friends in Maine, that I would find a cool yet cheap place to study abroad in

2009

Summer 2009 found me living in Spain for the first time, glad to escape Maine for awhile after a huge blowout between my boyfriend and my best friend there. After much deliberation, I'd chosen to study in Bilbao. This was because it was close to France, which I thought meant that they would be similar culturally. I was very, very wrong. I was trying to get better at Spanish but having a really hard time. I wasn't alone in my struggles, however, as I learned to do new (also super difficult) things like surfing with my fellow American study abroad students.

Struggles: Not being able to express myself in Spanish AT ALL and constantly mixing it up with French, not immediately loving Spain and regretting not studying abroad in France like I'd wanted to

Fears: That I'd made a mistake in coming to Spain and that studying abroad wouldn't be the experience of a lifetime like I'd always dreamed

Hopes for the next year: To become fluent in Spanish and travel all around Europe

2010

In June 2010, I had been back in the States a few months. Even though I had mixed feelings towards Spain at the end of my time studying there, once I was back in Maine I missed being in Europe and traveling so badly it hurt. I was spending the summer working a retail job that I hated, which really brought me down since I wanted something more for myself. There were only a few bright spots in that otherwise depressing summer, which were watching Spain win the World Cup and finally exploring Portland, Maine. I even went to a cool gay pride festival! 

Struggles: Feeling inadequate because I was the only person I knew who didn't have a cool summer job in their chosen field of study, missing Europe and my life there

Fears: That I wouldn't be able to find a professor to advise the thesis I wanted to write on the translation of poetry, that I would get stuck working retail forever, that the majors I had chosen would make me unemployable

Hopes for the next year: To find a graduate program that would lead me towards a job that I would find more fulfilling than working in sales

2011

In summer 2011, I had just defended my thesis, graduated from university, and left Maine for good. I had forgotten all about going to graduate school. In the end, my desire to go back to Spain won out, and I had been accepted as an auxiliar de conversación in A Cañiza, Galicia. So I went back to Illinois and spent the summer with my family and old friends, waiting to leave. That was a little dull at times, but I did take a couple of cool trips, like one to the rolling hills of West Virginia! There, my sister, her husband, my nephew and I went ziplining with Ace Adventure Resort, which was--in a word--awesome. I loved swinging through the trees like George of the Jungle!

Struggles: Being single again for the first time in nearly four years, leaving behind all my friends in Maine, trying to gather together ridiculous amounts of paperwork for a Spanish visa

Fears: That I would hate Spain again, that I had forgotten all my Spanish, that teaching would be a nightmare

Hopes for the next year: To travel a lot more around Europe, to finally have Spanish friends

2012

After my second year in Spain, by June 2012 I was feeling very comfortable there. I had no desire to go home for the summer when I had the legal right to stay, so I took a position as an au pair in a suburb of Madrid. Before I left Galicia everyone told me I was going to asar (fry) in the capital, but I had no idea how much! The heat was unbearable. That coupled with being stuck in the suburbs was a bit difficult, but I was able to spend some time exploring Madrid and learning more about day-to-day Spanish family life. My Spanish also improved quite a bit!

Struggles: Feeling lonely because I knew no one my own age in Las Rozas, getting broken up with in Spanish via text message, dealing with the summer heat of Madrid

Fears: That I would never make close Spanish friends in Vigo, that my living situation would be as miserable as the year before

Hopes for the next year: To join a weekly Couchsurfing meeting and make friends there, to live with Spaniards, to become more integrated at my work in A Cañiza

2013

The summer of 2013 found me leaving Spain again, this time with a very heavy heart. I didn't want to leave behind the amazing life that I'd built for myself in Vigo, with fun activities, great friends, and some incredible Spanish and German roommates. But I also realized that opportunities to realize your life goals (like living in France) don't come around every day. I knew that if I didn't go to France, I would always regret it. So I reluctantly said my goodbyes and faced my destiny. But before heading back to sweet home Chicago to get my French visa, I got to go on an awesome Eurotrip with my parents to gorgeous places like Lake Bled, Slovenia! That made the pain of leaving Spain lessen ever so slightly, and I was glad.

Struggles: Saying goodbye to my wonderful friends and life in my favorite city in Spain (Vigo), packing two years' worth of possessions into one suitcase

Fears: That I would hate living in France and regret leaving Galicia, that my French was awful and no one would understand me

Hopes for the next year: To become fluent in French and have a year in France that would fulfill the fantasies I'd been having since I was 14

2014

At this time last year, I was doing some final little trips around Brittany (like to Brest) before leaving France. I had incredibly mixed feelings about leaving, as I'd had a real rollercoaster of a year. I didn't feel quite finished with France. It seemed like there was still more to learn, and definitely room for improvement with my French. But at the same time, Spain (like the jealous ex-boyfriend it is) wouldn't let go of its firm grasp on my heart. So I was going to be heading back to the States soon, a pitstop on the way to my fourth year in Spain. I was starting to feel super nervous about being a graduate student and was a bit uncertain whether teaching was actually for me. I'd just finished a year working at a really difficult school, and wasn't sure whether my struggles were a reflection of my inadequacies as a teacher or just the result of a hard situation. 

Struggles: Feeling sad over a relationship that was about to end, already missing the friends I had just said goodbye to, getting tired of changing countries just as I was beginning to feel comfortable

Fears: That it would be really difficult to get a Master's degree, that everyone else would know more about teaching than me, that I would hate living in Madrid

Hopes for the next year: To feel integrated and fulfilled in my new teaching job, that my Master's classes would be interesting and informative, that a graduate degree would make me more employable

2015 (The Present Day)

So here we are in mid-June 2015. I'm spending my time saying goodbye to all my favorite people and places in and around Madrid, because as far as I'm aware, I'm leaving Spain for good this time. Of course, I thought that two years ago, and six years ago as well, so one never knows. But that's the plan. I'm working on finding a big-girl teaching job without the title of "assistant" attached to it, in a place I can legally live for more than one year at a time. I've just finished my very last Master's class and I'm getting ready to graduate next week. Then I'll be off on (perhaps my final) big European Vacation with my parents! Getting ready to (I think) end my years in Spain is a big step for me, but my heart isn't quite so heavy at the thought of leaving this time. It feels like the right decision in order to further my teaching career and accomplish my life goals, so I'm going more or less without regrets. 

Struggles: Trying to plan a big vacation while also doing 2-3 interviews a week, saying goodbye to all my beloved little students

Fears: That my Master's degree will be very difficult to validate in the USA, that I'll never find a job because of my lack of American teaching certificate, that I'll really miss living in Spain and struggle a lot with culture shock wherever I end up

Hopes for the next year: To have a more permanent job working with the age group I prefer in a place I could see myself living happily for several years, to feel more stable in life, love, friendship, and everything else

So what have we learned from this exercise?

One, I should be incredibly wary of romantic relationships in summer. I have literally never broken up with anyone significant at any other time of year. Weird, huh?

But more importantly, the real value of seeing the things that haunted me in Junes past is noticing how insignificant they seem now. We humans sometimes get lost in the all-consuming concerns of the present. We forget that our worries of today are our silly anecdotes of tomorrow. 

It's hard to remember that the things I'm so worried about now will eventually resolve themselves. It seems impossible to imagine a world in which I have other things to think about. But looking at my past problems and knowing that everything worked out just fine makes it easier to know that the fears gnawing at my soul today will seem funny on this date in one year, five years, ten years. 

Does that mean I can forget about them now? No, of course not.

But maybe it will help me to feel just a little bit less scared of the unknown. And every time I feel a little less worried and afraid, it makes it easier to move forward. 

In the end, that's my biggest hope for all future years: to know that qué será será and to learn to embrace that with open arms. 

10 Times When Foreign Languages Felt Impossible

I think most of us who have ever tried it can attest that learning to speak a foreign language well is no easy task. Even just making mistakes in front of our peers in school is pretty embarrassing for most language learners, let alone us few brave (crazy?) souls who have moved to a foreign country and look foolish speaking another language every single day of our lives. 

So innocent, if only I'd known what was in store for me...

Of course, it gets easier with time and a great deal of practice, but unfortunately foreign language learning is a lifelong process. Even after years of practice, when you think you know what you're doing, little things can surprise you. You still make mistakes. Silly ones, yes. Things that you thought you should have down by now. Things that will forever give you away as a non-native speaker. 

 Even more annoyingly, there are certain moments when speaking a foreign language is SO MUCH HARDER than it is at others. It's these moments when you feel like everything you've learned has been a waste, when you're completely lost for words. The times you trip up seem to always be at the EXACT moment when you need to sound your best. 

What I've learned is that strong emotions and making sense in a foreign language do not mix. 

I've had a LOT of these uncomfortable instances, some worse than others. To give you an example of the types of moments that make my ability to speak a foreign language go right out the window, here is my list of the top 10 moments when speaking a foreign language felt utterly impossible.

At First:

Getxo

1. I'd just arrived in Spain for the first time, ready for 9 months of studying abroad in Bilbao. I was reasonably confident in my Spanish skills, having taken a few semesters of it before leaving. So the very first day in town, I'd been told by my study abroad program that I needed to make my way to my new apartment on my own and sign the paperwork with my new landlord. I was a little annoyed at not being given more help (even the address indicated on a map would have been nice!), but I thought I knew enough Spanish to figure it out. So I hailed a cab to take me to the little town of Getxo. Except the cabbie didn't know the address I'd told him, and couldn't find it on his GPS. He ended up dropping me near Getxo's main square, telling me to try calling someone to help me. Yes, great idea, if I had a phone OR the landlord's phone number! So, dragging my heavy suitcases behind me, I started walking until I found someone to ask about the street. One terribly annoying thing about Getxo at this time was that all the names for everything had recently been changed into Basque on the street signs, but none of the people in town actually used those names when referring to said places, they still used the old Spanish names. So, almost no one knew what street I wanted. But finally, one little old lady knew where I needed to go, and was happy to give me directions. One problem though. I had no idea how to say the words left or right. So...her directions made absolutely no sense to me. Pretending I'd understood (being too embarrassed to say I hadn't caught a single word), I went off in the direction she'd pointed, hoping for the best. After dragging my suitcases around what felt like half the town, and following several more pointing fingers, I did eventually make it there. And later that night, I looked up "a la izquierda" and "a la derecha" and committed them firmly to memory!

The double RR in Calle Gobelaurre didn't help my cause, I'm sure!

2. A few days later, my new roommates and I were trying to order a pizza over the phone. In general, speaking a foreign language on the phone is utter torture, although I didn't yet know this at the time. But I was about to learn how the absence of body language and hand signals makes a HUGE difference in comprehension. I started ordering the pizza, thinking everything was fine, but the girl on the other end had no idea what I was saying and was getting increasingly agitated. My Spanish was so bad that the worker at Telepizza thought I was a prank caller and hung up on me! 

3. I had lots of problems eating at first! Another day not long after that, I was starving and wanted a chicken kebab. However, I couldn't remember if the word chicken was masculine or feminine in Spanish, so I just took a chance and said one to the worker at the kebab shop. But of course, I picked the wrong one. Pollo means chicken, but change that last O to an A, and suddenly you have a slang word for penis. So yes, I asked for a roasted penis kebab, and the look on the man's face was priceless!

Bilbao

4. My second semester in Bilbao, after many situations like these and realizing that my Spanish needed some serious help, I decided to change from living in an apartment with other Americans to a homestay with a Spanish family. I imagined them taking me in like one of their own, teaching me about the Spanish language and their culture at the same time, like my own parents had done when we had exchange students when I was little. However, that was not to be. I was soon introduced to the world of people who host foreign exchange students mostly for the money said students pay them. I barely saw my host parents in the first few months I was living with them, and we rarely talked. 

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I wanted to try to rectify the situation and get closer with them, so I asked them if I could try to cook them some traditional American Thanksgiving foods so we could have a little celebration, and they seemed excited about the idea. I'd never cooked Thanksgiving dinner before, so I decided to give myself plenty of time and start in the morning. I was making my way pretty blindly, following directions my mom was giving me on Skype. Around 2pm I'd just taken a squash out of the oven, and my host mom came home, upset. "What are you still doing in the kitchen? My husband will be home any minute wanting his lunch, and you can't still be in here! He's going to be really angry! Finish this up, fast! What do you still have left to do?" 

Surprised, I tried to explain that I was going to pick the seeds out of the squash, then leave it to cool while I made the pie crust, then put that in the pie pan, then I needed to mix the rest of the ingredients together with the squash, and put them in the crust, then cook it all. O sea, not a quick task. I offered to take a break while her husband had his lunch and continue later. But she wasn't having any of that. I'm pretty certain than my explanation of what I had left to do had left something to be desired, since she picked up the bowl of squash, seeds and all, and dumped it into the pie pan. "Finished! Now move it!" Frustrated, I tried once again to explain just how many steps I had left to complete, that there couldn't be seeds in the squash. But now she was angry. "Your Spanish is awful. You don't make any sense. You're not improving at all, and no wonder, you're always on Skype with your American boyfriend and your parents," she yelled. "And what is this nonsense, 'cups, tablespoons?' This is Spain, and if you want to be here, you need to use the metric system!" She went on and on. 

Holding back tears, I continued trying to work and explain to her what I needed to do, but it soon became impossible. I'll never forget the helplessness I felt in that moment, when I just wanted to explain myself, defend myself against my host mom's attacks, and the words simply weren't there. Even if I HAD known the cooking vocabulary I needed, the strong emotions brought up by all the yelling made thinking about verb conjugations and the gender of nouns seriously impossible. All I could think about was not letting her see the tears in my eyes, and how the lump in my throat made it feel like I was choking with even the smallest attempts to talk. Eventually, I had to tell her I was going to stop for awhile. Then I went to my bedroom so I could cry about the whole situation on the phone to my mom. This remains, to date, the hardest time I've ever had speaking Spanish, and that awful feeling will probably never fade from memory completely. 

Yes, the pie did eventually get made, thank god, and I gave most of it to my friends instead of my awful host family!

At Work:

5. A few years later, I was getting off the bus from the airport in Vigo, ready to start working as an auxiliar de conversación. My new boss came to pick me up from the bus station and take me to A Cañiza, where I was going to be working. I'd seen on the internet that the place was remote, but as we headed off into the mountains, I began to realize just how far from everything it really was. He got me all checked into a hotel and told me he'd see me the next day, at the school, which was just next door. "Just walk in and ask for me with the secretary, she'll know where to find me," he said. Jet-lagged out of my mind, I agreed without thinking and made my way up to my room and collapsed into bed. 

A Cañiza

What felt like moments later, I heard a knocking on the door. Confused, I saw the cleaning lady poke her head in. "Son las 12, tienes que irte." It was already noon the next day! I quickly got dressed and checked out, leaving my things at the front desk, and headed over to the school. The secretary did indeed lead me to the director, who quickly introduced me to my new colleagues. So many new people! My head was spinning with all the names. I was quickly led off by the head of the English department, who wanted to know what types of lessons I had planned for the high school students I'd be working with. Huh?? I thought I was just an assistant?? When it became clear that I had never taught before and had no idea what I was doing, she led me back to the staff room, where people suddenly started asking me where I was going to live. "Uhhhh....I don't know," I said, completely overwhelmed. I had thought about it, of course, but I didn't really know what I should do, and I'd been hoping there would be people there to advise me. Soon enough, there was a group of teachers gathered around me, arguing about whether Ourense or Vigo was better, while I tried desperately to follow the conversation through my jetlagged fog, unsure whether I was actually going to get any say in where I'd be living or not. I couldn't figure out how to break into the conversation to give my opinion since they were speaking so fast (not that I was really sure what my opinion was anyway). Finally, it was decided that I would get a ride from one of the English teachers back to Vigo. So that was where I ended up living! 

As we drove 45 minutes back towards Vigo, I indexed my mind for topics to chat about. It had been years since I'd had to make small talk in Spanish, and I had forgotten a lot. I felt super rusty, in addition to still being so jetlagged. We covered the basics in about 10 minutes, where I came from and why I wanted to be in Spain, etc. And then? Wanting to make a good impression on my new coworker, not wanting to be known from the very beginning as the "Awkward American," and not able to remember enough vocabulary to talk about more complicated topics, I started rambling about the only Spanish words I could think of at the time--family. So I talked at length about my nephews and niece...for a full 30 minutes. 

Eventually, as we drove an hour and a half together per day several times a week over the next two years, my skills in making small talk in Spanish got better...a little. And my poor coworker learned a LOT of random things about my nephews and niece! 

One of the best views of Vigo

6. When I was working in A Cañiza, one of my coworkers was always trying to convince me to have lunch with everybody in the comedor. I did sometimes, when I was too lazy to pack myself a lunch, but most days I didn't feel like paying to eat school cafeteria food. However, I also had another reason not to eat with them, which was that it was SO AWKWARD. Most of the time at school, the teachers who didn't speak English would talk to me in Spanish, which was fine. I understood them well enough one-on-one, and my Spanish was improving enormously. However, at lunchtime, when talking to each other, many of them would revert back to their native galego, the beautiful cousin to both Spanish and Portuguese spoken in Galicia. I have no problem with galego, I think it's a very pretty language, but back then, especially at first, I couldn't understand a word they were saying. And this was exacerbated at lunchtime, when the cries of the children were mixed with forks clanking on plates, when there was a group of 15 Spaniards all excited to talk to one another and constantly interrupting in increasingly louder voices. I would sit there, trying with all my might to follow along for about the first 10 minutes, until I got too tired and gave up, staring off into space. This isn't the only time I've felt bewildered during a mealtime conversation surrounded by foreigners, but I've rarely felt as lost as I did when surrounded by people shouting and interrupting each other in galego.

Xa.

7. One morning earlier this school year in Alcalá, I woke up to a terrible text message from my mom. "Grandma fell. Not expected to live." Distraught, and knowing that they would be flying out to Arizona in the morning and I couldn't call until they arrived, I was distracted all morning at school. Finally, at lunch time it was late enough that I could go outside and try to call. Cursing Skype for not connecting me immediately when I felt like I was going to go crazy if I didn't hear something soon, I eventually got some more details via Whatsapp until I had to go back to eat some lunch before my next class. Unable to stop thinking about it all, unable to cover the distress on my face, the second I walked into the lunchroom everyone knew something was wrong. A group of teachers gathered around me as I sat down, wanting to know if I was all right. Although I appreciated their concern so much, trying to explain the situation in Spanish seemed impossible, when I needed technical medical vocabulary that I've never learned. The second the first words left my lips, tears started running down my face. A hug from someone helped more than she probably knew, but I was incredibly grateful when they let me stop talking and eat my green beans in silence, dabbing at my eyes as I chewed. It was so embarrassing to have cried like that in front of everyone, especially when Spanish culture is so much about showing a proper face to the world, but in that moment I was a sad emotional American, and I didn't care. But once again, I learned that speaking another language when you're crying feels almost impossible.

In Love:

8. I wish I could say this has only happened to me once, but it's a recurring incident. I'm single, so most of the years I've been in Europe I've been dating, or flirting with, or had a crush on different guys. Dating is hard enough in your own culture, but add different body language and a foreign tongue on top of that, and you have a guaranteed recipe for looking stupid. Something you have to know about Spaniards is that they touch each other WAY more than Americans do. Most of the time, this overly touchiness just makes me feel vaguely uncomfortable, but there have been several occasions where I got confused and thought that the fact that some guy kept touching me meant he was into me. So, I thought, I would try to flirt back. Except, oh my god is flirting about a million times harder in another language. You have no idea what the typical expressions for flirting are, you want desperately to sound smooth, except that with every word that leaves your mouth, you cringe, knowing you sound like Tarzan. "You boy. Me girl. We date?"And then, it turns out, he was just touching you because he's Spanish and that's what they do. Uffda! 

9. Last year in France, I actually did go out with a guy for awhile. Long enough for him to introduce me to first his grandparents and then his parents. His grandparents were adorable and hilarious, particularly the grandpa, who kept telling me funny stories about fighting in World War II and his American penpal who may or may not have been dead, since he hadn't heard from her in awhile. He immediately put me at ease with his humor and his incessant conversation, which didn't require me to talk very much. Meeting the Frenchie's parents, however, made me infinitely more nervous. Was I supposed to use vous with them or not? Would my French hold up to extended conversation? I was lucky, because I ended up using tu and they weren't offended, and they were very nice. However, sounding good in French with them wasn't easy, especially when they fed me tiny sea snails while we were doing so, which I was supposed to pull out of their shell with a safety pin, put on bread, and eat. Goodbye, any hopes of not sounding OR looking foolish! 

10. A couple of times here in Europe, I've gone out with a guy long enough that we felt ready to say the L word to each other. Except, in a foreign language, it's not the L word. And that's really hard. If expressing your emotions in general in another language is bizarre, because the act of using that other language turns off your emotions and makes you more rational, then trying to express this particular emotion is SUPER difficult. In my experience, having someone tell you te quiero or je t'aime just doesn't, can't, mean as much as if it were in your native language. To me, those words will never have the same impact as saying, in English, I love you. It is what it is, but that doesn't make speaking another language in this situation any easier!

In the end, this is the only solution to sounding like an idiot in a foreign language, whether the situation is happy or sad. Laugh it off, there's nothing else you can do about it!

Please, god, tell me I'm not the only one to have had these ridiculously hard moments speaking a foreign language. Am I???