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. 

Grateful

I've been in a little bit of a mopey mood recently. There isn't anything in particular that's wrong, but I've been stressed about the future, about money, and about where I want to work and settle down, among other things. I haven't been the most fun to talk to lately as I worried aloud about all these issues.

But just today, out of nowhere, a sense of peace descended upon me. I don't know exactly where it came from. Maybe it's just the knowledge that things have always worked out before, and they will again, even if it takes some time. I'm certainly glad to be feeling less negative.

This sudden calm has left me feeling an immense sense of gratitude. I have so many things to be excited about, both large and small!

The first big one is that just over a week ago, I turned in my Master's thesis. It felt so good to get that weight off my chest! I mean, I do like writing, but by the end I was just ready to turn it in and forget about it. Cheers to a huge accomplishment! Even the roses in Alcalá came out to celebrate my handing in my thesis.

Related to that is the fact that I'm going to graduate with a Master's degree from the Universidad de Alcalá de Henares in just over 3 weeks. I can't believe it! It's been a long road to get here. There have been some good moments, and I've met a few nice people, but overall I'm ready to move on from this. It's been a difficult year. So I'm excited to move onto the next chapter of my life.

Of course, my graduation will also mean finishing my contract at my current school. There have been lots of ups and downs there, but in the end all I can think about is how much I'm going to miss my little students. They've really burrowed their way into my heart!

But onward and upward, as I have so many exciting things coming up in the next few months! As soon as I finish studying and working, my parents are coming to visit for a celebratory trip around the Baltics. Seeing new places with my two favorite people in the whole world, what better?

It's been too long since I've actually been on a proper vacation, so I am super psyched for all the travels I have coming up in the next few months. I feel like I've been caged up all winter, and soon I'll be FREE! I have all sorts of new adventures in store for me. One really exciting one will be visiting my old roommate from when I was living in France last year. I can't wait to see her again!

And feeling grateful wouldn't be complete if I wasn't also taking note of the smaller good things in life. Just last weekend, I took myself on a little adventure when running. I decided to go on a new path and ended up visiting the old Roman village of Complutum. There's not a lot left to look at, but there's still something thrilling about the fact that I can randomly visit Roman ruins on my morning run.

One more little thing--as I write this very post, I'm sitting on my balcony having dinner and watching the sunset. The temperature is perfect, and I'm munching contentedly on olives and jamón. The people in the café below are chattering, and I'm listening to my 60s radio station on Spotify. I feel totally at peace with where I am right now. A perfect moment if I ever saw one!

Photo Post: A Very Spanish Field Trip

This past week, I went on quite possibly the best field trip of my life. There was some stiff competition, since last year I got invited to go with my 15-year-old French students for a day to Jersey, a British island off the coast of France, which was pretty darn cool. But this year, I went on a three-day trip with my 10-year-olds to the school "farm" (in reality more like summer camp). That doesn't sound that cool, I guess, just saying it like that, but it was honestly so nice.

 I think just on the merits of food alone, this year's field trip was the winner by far...not that British food is hard to beat.

My god, look at all that food porn. Seriously, I was served amazing four-course meals made by a Michelin-star-level chef three times a day. I was stuffed until I literally could not move.

Luckily, that was fine, since my duties consisted of nothing more strenuous than taking walks around the camp to see how the kids were doing ziplining and rock climbing with their counselors, talking down a girl who was a little homesick, and dancing like an idiot with my students at the camp "disco."

Working hard holding a bunny for kids to pet...

Checking out a sheep eating some hay off his brother's back...

Other than that, I took naps, read a book for fun, and worked on my thesis. Such a difficult life! But I'd really needed a little time off to get some perspective on the fact that in just over a month, I'll have my master's degree and I'll be unemployed. Until then, it's full steam ahead!

Sometimes I Wish I Weren't an Anglophone

It feels blasphemous to even think this, let alone say it out loud. It's almost like a dirty secret, one that I'm ashamed to admit. Of all of the blessings I've had in my life (and there are many), one of them that has most deeply affected my path in life has been the fact that I speak English as my first language and that I come from a rich and powerful nation. My passport currently opens doors for me with no visa required in around 160 countries, and my native language is the lingua franca of basically the entire world.

And yet I sometimes wish I didn't speak English as my first language. 

I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful brat. I'm aware of how much speaking English has helped me thus far in life, and I do realize that I actually make a living just speaking my native language. (Of course, I know the grammar as well; that helps!) But there are moments when I wish I could trade in the status of "native speaker of English" and just speak it well as a second language instead.

Being a native English speaker, especially in Spain right now, means that I am a hot commodity. Spaniards are desperate to learn English, the one thing that they all seem to agree will protect them against the country's current staggering unemployment. Well, either that or it will allow them to move to some other country to work, whichever happens first. Professionals want to learn English to get a better job, and parents want their children to learn English so they will be employable someday too. And all of these people agree that there is no one better to learn from than a native speaker. After all, our pronunciation is perfect, right?

A few weeks ago, in the shared car on the way back from Galicia, we were all talking about our careers, and one of the university students in the back mentioned that he was trying to learn English. The driver threw out the idea that he should try to find a language exchange partner to improve. Unimpressed with the idea, he said "ya tengo un nativo," I already have a native.

Something about that sentence really rubbed me the wrong way, although I kept quiet about it in the moment. He has a native already? Not a friend who helps him with English, not a conversation partner, a native. As though all native English speakers were different models of the same device. What are we, like the latest bit of technology, a talking English machine? A walking interactive dictionary?

It's frustrating enough that just about every time we go on public transit, the people around us are really obviously eavesdropping to see if they can understand a little of what we're saying, as though we were a live-action roleplay for their English exam. But of course, I've learned the hard way that trying to make new friends here when you're a native English speaker can be a minefield as well. Whether it's online or in person, it's really annoying to be talking with someone in the language of the country I moved halfway around the world to be in, only to mention where I come from and have them palpably brighten.

"Oh, you're American!?"
"Yes."
"Wow, I've always wanted to travel to New York City! I'm trying to improve my English, you should help me! Let's get together again sometime!"

If they haven't already, cue them switching to (usually terrible) English on me and me plastering a fake smile on my face and saying "yeah, maybe..." while thinking to myself "NOT!"

Rereading that exchange, I know I sound like a real jerk for not wanting to help these poor people who just want to learn my native language. But is it so wrong of me to want people to be my friends because of who I am, and not what language I speak? Am I a jerk for being annoyed that I've had that same exact exchange, almost word for word, hundreds of times in my five years in Europe?

And most of all, is it a crime to not want to teach English for free when I know I could get paid to do so? Helping people with their English is my job; I do it all day every day with my preferred age group for good money. When I get off work, I just want to relax and think about other things besides explaining when to use the present perfect versus the simple past. I want to talk with people and just have fun. I really do not want to give free English lessons to adults! The way I see it, people asking me right off the bat to help them with their English is like if I were to meet a shopkeeper and immediately ask him if he could give me things for free from his store. No, probably not, right? So why should I have to feel bad about not wanting to help everybody with their English all the time?

 And the thing is, I've been on the other side of the whole 'trying desperately to learn a language' thing, and there have been lots of kind souls who have helped me. So I do often feel guilty for not wanting to return the favor with everyone I meet.  But doing so makes me feel used, like a tool rather than a human being with interests and feelings. I don't mind helping my friends occasionally with their English, but that's because our friendship is based on things other than my native language and their desperation to learn it.

The other annoying part about these people switching to English on me like this is that I feel like since I'm the one who moved halfway around the world to learn another language, I should be allowed the chance to practice that language when I'm not at work. I do often tell people this, and most people are gracious enough to take the hint that I would prefer to speak in their language with them, but some others are really persistent about always trying to practice their bad English on me, and that's when I start to get really annoyed.

There are, of course, ways to practice languages that are of mutual benefit to both parties, like language exchanges. That way, I would be helping the other person with their English, and they would be helping me with French or Spanish or even Galician. I've done a fair amount of these, and they used to be really helpful. In French or Galician, they still might be. But in Spanish, as conceited as this sounds, I feel I've moved past the point where I really need to have someone correcting me all the time. My Spanish is at a level of C1.4 according to the Common European Framework (one microstep away from C2, or totally bilingual, argh), which I know since I took the practice test put out by the Cervantes Institute just the other day. So, I really feel like I'm on a tier where I don't really need language exchanges, because the benefit to me is much smaller than the effort I would need to put out in helping others with their English. Maybe I just need to find partners whose English is at the same level as my Spanish, but those are fairly thin on the ground in Spain. Anyway, I'd rather just have regular conversations in Spanish with people here, without worrying about giving equal time to both languages. Does that make me selfish? Maybe. But like I said, I moved halfway around the world to speak Spanish, so that's what I want to do!

Funnily enough, this was almost never a problem in France. Maybe it's because they're so stereotypically snooty about speaking any language other than their own. Or perhaps it's because they're embarrassed that they have the worst English in Europe (apart from Russia, the Ukraine and Turkey, which...are not really Europe, not to me). Hardly anybody ever forced me to speak in English, although they made an awful lot of mean comments about my French at first. But at the same time, they love to take English words and franglais them because c'est cool. I don't know, France is bizarre. But at least I got to practice a helluva lot of French while I was there!

If I weren't a native English speaker, I like to imagine that I wouldn't have these problems. People wouldn't give me so much unwanted attention for my native language. I would probably be really happy to speak English, because it would be a chance for me to practice too. I could feel proud of my English, as something I'd worked hard on, rather than something I was basically born with. Alas, earwax that will never be the case. For better or for worse, English is and always will be my first language, and I can't escape the fact that the downsides come with the enormous advantages. I guess I'll just have to learn to concentrate more on the benefits of it, like the fact that when I go to Prague for two days, no one expects me to learn Czech, and I get to just speak my first language the whole time with no problems.

I do have to say, as well, that even as I was writing this I was feeling the obnoxiousness of my privilege. "Waaah everyone wants to learn my native language to improve their lives, and I just want to either be left alone or make a profit off of them and they won't let me!" Also, "Waaah people won't let me practice a second language that I'm only learning because I think it's fun, when in truth I have no real pressing need to learn any foreign language because I'm a native speaker of the world's lingua franca!" I know, poor poor me.

But I would love it if people would see me for who I am, instead of as an English machine. That would be pretty awesome. Just sayin'.

My Lately

I've been super super superrrrrr busy lately. As usual, I guess, but I feel as though my free time has been down to almost zero, what with one thing and another. It's that time of year when everything is beginning to come to a head--my students are about to take their official English exams, my master's thesis is due in less than a month, I'm searching for jobs for next year and doing interviews, and the weather is starting to be nice and I just want to sit around outside!

April flowers bring May...I don't know what!

I also want to make some plans for the future, but that's very difficult to do when I have no idea what the future holds after I graduate and finish my current teaching contract at the end of June. Maybe I'll find another job soon, or maybe I'll have to keep looking for a while. I don't know how many times I've talked about how I'm tired of this uncertainty. I really want some more stability in my life, to not be constantly jumping from one job to another! Still working on making that a reality.

In the meantime, here are some things that have been running through my head and my life lately.

Recently, I've been...

Reading: De tempête et d'espoir: Saint-Malo by Marina Dédéyan, which is a novel in French about the town where I used to live in France and a girl living there in the 1700s. I got it from the English coordinator at the school I used to work at, and I've been trying to finish it since about September. It's really good, but reading in French is so haaard, waaah! It probably didn't help that I took a break to start also reading the After Cilmeri series, by Sarah Woodbury. This series is right up my alley, as it's about some contemporary Americans who time travel back to Wales in the 12th century and end up involved in local politics. I read 6 books in two weeks, I got so hooked!

Listening to: Kendji Girac's Andalouse, which, yes, is awfully mainstream for what my taste usually is, since the singer comes from basically the French equivalent of The Voice. But it's in French AND Spanish, and it just makes me wants to dance! Good danceable music is hard to come by, and I'm not too much of a snob to listen to anything that gets my toes tapping.

Worrying about: Where I will be living and working next year. Applying for jobs is incredibly stressful, and I will be relieved when I have this all figured out! Then I can start planning some more fun stuff in my future, like trips!

Writing: The final draft of my thesis. I just want to finish this and turn it in already. I'm so over dedicating my weekends to writing and editing this one paper!

Trying: To stop drinking coffee and to meditate before bed every night. I recently decided that I wanted to reduce my intake of milk and sugar, as well as caffeine, so during Lent I gave up "necessary" coffee (meaning I only drank it on the weekends, for pure enjoyment, rather than when I was tired during the work week). I noticed that I actually started to feel MORE alert after awhile of reducing my caffeine intake, and so I've developed the theory that caffeine depletes my energy supply even faster because it makes me super energetic for a short time, and then even more tired afterwards. I'm back to drinking coffee occasionally now, but toying with the idea of going back off it again. I've also started meditating before bed every night, which has multiple benefits, like making me think more positively, appreciate the small things around me, imagine a great future, and also relax and fall asleep more easily. The one small glitch with this is that sometimes I fall asleep before I finish the meditation, but at least I'm no longer laying awake at night worrying!

Watching: Not a whole lot besides rewatching How I Met Your Mother in French, but I'd like to get caught up in Mad Men so I can watch the rest of the final season as it airs!

Eating: Loads of fresh asparagus and strawberries. It's crazy to me that what I consider "early summer" (June) foods are already in season in Spain! Not complaining though, especially at low low Spanish prices!

Craving: A Chicago-style deep-dish pizza. This isn't even something that I eat that often when I'm home, but my GOD do I want one right now, probably simply because I can't. There are tons of types of other pizza, but nothing that compares to a good deep-dish.

Missing: My family. This is constant, of course, but I just saw some lovely pictures of their trip to Florida a few weeks ago, and I really wished I could have been there. And visiting my friend's family in Galicia made me think about how nice it is to see the people you love, and how it's been a really long time since I have!

Wishing: The (free) food at in the school's cafeteria were more varied. I shouldn't bite the hand that feeds me (literally, ha), but I do wish the menu in our school's lunchroom featured more than the same couple of meals repeated over and over ad infinitum.

Feeling: Mostly content, as I try to not get caught up in the little annoyances of life and try to just appreciate the ride.

Grateful: That I just had a visit from a dear friend from Germany. It had been over a year and a half since I'd seen her, and it was great to catch up. Plus we're both kind of in transitional phases of our lives right now, so it was nice to talk about that to someone who totally gets it!

Waiting for: My four-year-olds to finish recording their CDs of the songs we've been practicing all year, so I never have to hear those songs ever again! I'm pretty sure being made to listen to the same ten children's songs in bad English at least 3 times a week for 9 months constitutes psychological torture. They may be forever stuck in my head!

Excited about: The fact that there are only 10 weeks until graduation. Only two more master's classes, handing in our thesis, and that's all she wrote! I'm excited, and of course a bit nervous to see what's next and if I'll be able to apply everything I've learned in the real world.

Loving: My students. I've really loved getting to know them on an individual basis this year, since I've been able to spend so much more time with my classes than I ever had in any of my jobs in the past. I'm so proud of them every time I notice them making progress, and I love that feeling.

Notes like this don't hurt, either!

Wanting: Time to both speed up and slow down at the same time. I can't wait to be done, and yet afterwards there is a big question mark, and that's more than a little terrifying. I know things will work out as they always do, but sometimes I worry anyway.

Hoping: This transitional stage is one of the last major ones I have to go through in the next few years. All the stress is starting to give me wrinkles!

Planning: A trip to Catalunya in a few weeks for my first-ever blogging conference!


What's your lately like?

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???

My Changing Feelings About Spain

I think my feelings about Spain have run the gamut. I've hated it, I've loved it, I've wanted to leave tomorrow and I've wanted to stay forever.

When I first got here, more than anything else I was bewildered. I had no idea what this strange country was that I knew basically nothing about, where I all of a sudden found myself living, out of the weirdness of circumstances. 

Over the course of that first year, I learned more and more about the country, and more than anything else, I compared it with America and found it lacking. The service was slow, the prices were high, and I hated jamón. I was often miserable, homesick and feeling trapped with the host family from hell, who screamed at each other in front of me and criticised my Spanish until I cried.

I was so happy to leave at the end of my two semesters in Bilbao, and having my flight cancelled due to inclement weather and being stuck in airport limbo in Madrid for four days was the cherry on the cake. When I arrived home, I was thrilled to no longer be stuck in Spain.

However, following that was one of the most stressful years of my life thus far, as I was tirelessly writing my thesis, working towards graduating from university, and slowly ending things with my (then) boyfriend of four years. And during all of that, I often found myself daydreaming of Spain.

I saw Spain as the solution to all my problems, the escape to which I could get away when I graduated. I yearned for another opportunity to do a year in Europe (which I'd been dreaming of since I was a preteen) the right way. I craved another chance to realize those childhood dreams, and so I decided to go back when I graduated.

The second year, I was still culture shocked by many of the same things as before, plus being thrown into teaching in the Spanish system with no training whatsoever. I debated for the first half of the year whether I would just go home like I wanted, or whether I would be optimistic and renew for another year and hope things would improve. In short, I was once again pretty unhappy, and felt like it was all Spain's fault.

But the last half of that second year and all of the third one, improve things did. Those were probably the happiest 18 months of my life so far. I felt settled in Vigo, I had stable friends that I cared about, I was speaking Spanish almost all the time, and I had plenty to keep me busy. I was learning to understand my work, I was earning plenty of money, and I was traveling somewhere new almost every weekend. I fell in love with Spain in that time, deeply and unexpectedly. By the end, I had even decided that I could see myself living in Spain forever. I laughed at those small things that had once annoyed me (like Spain's notorious inefficiency), and decided to see them as the price of admission for being in a country where people work to live, where relaxation and being social are celebrated parts of daily life, where wine comes with a tapa, and where I had come to feel at home.

At the end of the third year in Spain, I wanted to stay and keep living that happy stable life, but I also felt like if I didn't take the opportunity being offered to me to realize my preteen dream of living in France, I would forever regret it.

As is common, however, upon finally realizing my 13-year-old wish, I realized that it wasn't going to be all croissants in chic cafés, living the life of Amélie. France wasn't the same in reality as it had been in my dreams, and it took me a long time to adjust to the reality of the country. And during all of those first few difficult months, I clung to Spain like a security blanket. I talked of almost nothing else, to the extent that several people thought for awhile that I was actually Spanish. I fell even deeper in love with Spain, or my rose-colored memories of it, anyway.

I did eventually begin to assimilate to life in France, just in time to have to leave, but I had a plan: get back to Spain, through hell or high water. Spain was where I belonged, I figured, and things would work themselves out if I could make it back. So I accepted a spot in my current Master's program in Alcalá de Henares, and came back.

At first this year, I felt justified in my choice to move back to Spain, what I had been told was "the love of my life thus far." I was once again enjoying all those things that made living here worth it, like tapas and siestas. But as the year has gone on, my feelings have begun to evolve once again, towards negativity. Part of it is probably living in the province of Madrid, which I've never liked as well as Galicia, but I think there are two other factors that play a much larger role.

The first one is spending more time with other English speakers than I have since my study abroad days in Bilbao. This time around, it's not because I don't understand Spanish, but because we work together and we study together, and I haven't had a lot of free time to find quality Spanish friends in Madrid (other than an old Galician one who lives here now). Being around other Anglophones means having people to complain with about those little annoying parts of Spanish life. Every time we're given a random task to complete that seems utterly pointless and yet is required of us in order to stay legal here, every time something seems to have been organized bass ackwards, and every time we disagree with Spanish teaching methods, we have each other to turn to. That is wonderful, and it's a great stress reliever, but it's forcing those small annoyances to the forefront of my mind. Things that I learned to ignore during my 18 happy months in Galicia have begun to bother me again. I've remembered that there IS another way, one that makes logical sense and is efficient. This irritation is compounded by the fact that I'm so busy this year that I don't have the time to take advantage of the best parts of Spain--the food, the people, the sunshine, the cheap flights to interesting European destinations.

That brings me to the second factor in my current negative feelings toward Spain. This year, I'm working full-time as an assistant in a Spanish school. I'm there as much as the regular teachers are, and I share many of their responsibilities. But yes, I am STILL an assistant. This is the fourth year I've worked as an assistant, and some of the realities of the job are starting to make me crazy. I think to myself, if only I had my own classroom, if only I could run things the way I want to, if only I could plan my own classes. I could handle those realities when they came in exchange for a life full of free time, friends, and travel. But now? I work all the time, I get paid half of what a Spanish teacher does, and I have no life, no freedom to enjoy all those things I once loved about Spain. And that's fine for right now, but someday soon I'm going to want something more.

And the problem with Spain is, it can't offer me that. I can probably find a way to stay here indefinitely, yes. As an assistant. Moving regions every year or two. But can I ever have stability, a decent salary, and enjoyable working conditions? No, no and no.

Spain for me is starting to become like that boyfriend you have when you're young, who you love so much and you think you'll be with forever, until you realize he can't offer you any stability.

And so what happens? You break up. I'm starting to wonder if a breakup between me and Spain is in the near future. I've had so many ups and downs with Spain and still stuck with it that I really did think it was true love...but I'm starting to grow up now. I'm starting to want to put my things away and not have to worry about packing them into a suitcase again 9 months later, and that's how things will always be for me in Spain, I think.

My emotional journey with Spain isn't quite over yet, but this is the direction it's headed in for now, and although that makes me sort of nostalgic and sad for days gone by, I think it's what's right.

So I'm probably going to be in the market for a new country to fall in love with soon, and hopefully it will be THE ONE, and not just another ex-love writing sweet nothings in my passport. Any ideas?