Thursday, September 13, 2012
Always Gold to Me.
I try really hard to do everything the parents ask me to do with their children. But when it is just the kids and I for a time, I sometimes go behind their backs and let them pick out any outfit they want to. I quickly become the girl of the hour. Wednesday I had them to myself almost the entire day. Before we went out to the carnival I let them choose their outfits. After all, this was probably the last time I would be able to do so. M of course chose her Athletic jersey. L was in red head to toe, even put her red checkered shorts on underneath the skirt. J was giving her tips throughout the choosing process as he smartly put on his best matching shorts, shoes and cardigan. Were they a little goofy looking? Maybe. Would their parents be dissatisfied with it? Most likely. Was I proud to go out with them as if they were mine? Absolutely. They looked wonderful to me and always would.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
My 'Holiday in Spain' Recap.
Moving
across the world with 200dollars to my name was probably not the smartest thing
for a 20year old girl to do. But I did it. I did it without knowing the people
I would spend the next 5 months with. I did it without knowing more than a
basic college level Spanish. I did it anticipating eating tacos and rice. I did
it thinking I would be surround by people dressed in white and red who liked to
play the guitar, dance, and run from bulls.
The first morning in Spain I woke up, jet lagged, to children running around on a creaky wood floor and the bright April sub shining harshly through my un-shaded window. I felt like crying. It was an otherworldly feeling. As if this must be a dream. Questioning in my head over and over again why I thought this was a good idea. Thinking to myself there is no way I can make it through these next 5 months.
1 month later there was no question as to whether or not my life as real. I had made some friends in the church. I had gotten used to the schedule of things. I had used the 200 dollars I had on film and lenses. I realized that caring for children is really, really hard. I was humbled. So humbled. For one, I was treated like the dirt of the earth by these children for the most part. 2, I was so separated no matter how hard I tried from everyone around me because of this language barrier. I was enjoying the experience though one day at a time, and happy about it.
2 months in and I am keeping up a good blog with my funny experiences with these children. They still drive me crazy, but we have good moments. My life is like a sitcom. I have made friends outside of church who speak English and have traveled with them. I relate my life to that of Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises. The life of going to bars, drinking slow, talking, really talking. And spending the rest of the night bar hopping, drinking and enjoying the company of others.
3 months later I finally feel good. The kids and I are close, are comfortable. I realize that I love them, woah, I really do. I laugh and have fun with the parents too. I feel good with the language, enough to have a conversation with someone. I am saying goodbye to these friends I naively hope I’ll see again. It’s an odd feeling, being such good friend with someone for such a short time, each knowing it’s not bound to last. I take my first big trip and experience a lot. I get to fiesta. I have my first day of being a little “homesick”. I realize that I really am getting fatter.
I’m at month 4. Getting comfortable-again to a new town and people. Beach bums and English class. Dietas and daily walks to the lighthouse. I have planned 3 trips: Sevilla, Dusseldorf, and Rome. I’m now at the point where my dreams are haunted by visions of home. Some good, some not good at all. In the beginning I would randomly get hit by the realization that this is my new life, and it’s almost unreal that I’m here. Those thoughts eventually went away. Now they have returned but with a different take. All that I’ve experienced…it’s unreal. It’s unreal that in 4 ½ weeks I will be home and thrown into the college life with people who most likely won’t care where I’ve been and what I’ve done. It’s unreal that I am feeling anxious, so anxious about it all. I have fiesta’d a lot. I have seen a lot. I have had great conversations with people I will never, ever see again. I need to leave here with no regrets, with makes me even more anxious. But I need to take it one day at a time. Enjoy each one. Make people happy, serve them. Be happy. Make a difference. Know, Conocer, this place, the people, the family. Take pictures, Do it all.
3 weeks left. I have lots of goals and plans, ways to make sure I have no regrets when I leave. I have to make the most of it. I still have moments where I swear this has all been a dream. I’m terrified of waking up. It’s surreal that it happened, is happening, and in just 3 weeks I’ll be doing the same thing I have for 3 years, in the same place, with many of the same people as if it never happened. It's true, tengo ganas para estar en mi país, but just as well it makes me anxious and I can’t believe it’s almost over. I know I’ll wish I was back real soon after arriving. I know these will go by soon because of my travels (Bilbao fiestas, Germany, Rome), which heightens my anxiety. But mom told me it’s all in my mind, and can control that anxiety, stress or whatever. And it’s true. I really want to make the very most out of the rest of my time here. I’m grateful for it. I will miss everything about it. The kids…oh man… Here it goes…
2 Weeks left. I am very very happy. Happy with how far I've come, what I've experienced, the progress I've made, what awaits me back home. My heart is what some people call, very full. Midnight I am sitting on the edge of the world thinking... What an odd thing to do, to let a random girl into your home and take care of your children, sleep in your house, eat your food, and be with you all the time. And what a strange thing for a 21 year old girl to do. Travel across the world and live with people you have never met, can hardly communicate with, agree to be part of their family through thick and thin. We are strange people. What an experience. I can’t believe its almost over. I was very sad. Yes I want to go home, yes I want to see my friends, family. I want to do things I haven’t done, eat things I haven’t eaten, watch movies I’ve missed in these last 5 months. But knowing that I might not ever see this place, these people, or experience anything like this again is a really hard feeling. Whoa…2 weeks.
The journey back home. I have 3 breakdowns today. #1, I finally take a breath and sit down in my seat on the plane leaving Bilbao. I just about missed that flight. I look out the window as we are taking off and see the beautiful misty rolling hills I've called home these last 5 months. I can't bear thinking I might not see this again. #2 Rushing in the Charles de Gaulle airport from my arrival place to the departure. I have my passport and ticket checked. I step onto the plane and hear a thick southern accent, "hello!". As I walk down the isle to seat 36B I hear nothing but English and top 40 radio songs. It really hits me. This is it. I drop my stuff off at my seat and walk briskly to the airplane Bathroom. I switch the door to occupied and burst out in hard tears. #3 Whilst watching the 2nd movie on my 9 hour flight a little boy says to his future-self "I guess you never know if the last time you see sometime will be the last time you ever see them." Oh brooottthhher. Nobody look at me.
Being back. I think the strangest thing of all is not that my home and things in it surprise me, as they are much different from Spain, but the fact that everything is so... normal. Nothing has changed here. It is as if I never left. And that is the scariest thought of all. I am happy to be back. But there are parts of me that are all unsettled still. I am changed. And I'm happy that Spain could be the one to do it.
The first morning in Spain I woke up, jet lagged, to children running around on a creaky wood floor and the bright April sub shining harshly through my un-shaded window. I felt like crying. It was an otherworldly feeling. As if this must be a dream. Questioning in my head over and over again why I thought this was a good idea. Thinking to myself there is no way I can make it through these next 5 months.
1 month later there was no question as to whether or not my life as real. I had made some friends in the church. I had gotten used to the schedule of things. I had used the 200 dollars I had on film and lenses. I realized that caring for children is really, really hard. I was humbled. So humbled. For one, I was treated like the dirt of the earth by these children for the most part. 2, I was so separated no matter how hard I tried from everyone around me because of this language barrier. I was enjoying the experience though one day at a time, and happy about it.
2 months in and I am keeping up a good blog with my funny experiences with these children. They still drive me crazy, but we have good moments. My life is like a sitcom. I have made friends outside of church who speak English and have traveled with them. I relate my life to that of Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises. The life of going to bars, drinking slow, talking, really talking. And spending the rest of the night bar hopping, drinking and enjoying the company of others.
3 months later I finally feel good. The kids and I are close, are comfortable. I realize that I love them, woah, I really do. I laugh and have fun with the parents too. I feel good with the language, enough to have a conversation with someone. I am saying goodbye to these friends I naively hope I’ll see again. It’s an odd feeling, being such good friend with someone for such a short time, each knowing it’s not bound to last. I take my first big trip and experience a lot. I get to fiesta. I have my first day of being a little “homesick”. I realize that I really am getting fatter.
I’m at month 4. Getting comfortable-again to a new town and people. Beach bums and English class. Dietas and daily walks to the lighthouse. I have planned 3 trips: Sevilla, Dusseldorf, and Rome. I’m now at the point where my dreams are haunted by visions of home. Some good, some not good at all. In the beginning I would randomly get hit by the realization that this is my new life, and it’s almost unreal that I’m here. Those thoughts eventually went away. Now they have returned but with a different take. All that I’ve experienced…it’s unreal. It’s unreal that in 4 ½ weeks I will be home and thrown into the college life with people who most likely won’t care where I’ve been and what I’ve done. It’s unreal that I am feeling anxious, so anxious about it all. I have fiesta’d a lot. I have seen a lot. I have had great conversations with people I will never, ever see again. I need to leave here with no regrets, with makes me even more anxious. But I need to take it one day at a time. Enjoy each one. Make people happy, serve them. Be happy. Make a difference. Know, Conocer, this place, the people, the family. Take pictures, Do it all.
3 weeks left. I have lots of goals and plans, ways to make sure I have no regrets when I leave. I have to make the most of it. I still have moments where I swear this has all been a dream. I’m terrified of waking up. It’s surreal that it happened, is happening, and in just 3 weeks I’ll be doing the same thing I have for 3 years, in the same place, with many of the same people as if it never happened. It's true, tengo ganas para estar en mi país, but just as well it makes me anxious and I can’t believe it’s almost over. I know I’ll wish I was back real soon after arriving. I know these will go by soon because of my travels (Bilbao fiestas, Germany, Rome), which heightens my anxiety. But mom told me it’s all in my mind, and can control that anxiety, stress or whatever. And it’s true. I really want to make the very most out of the rest of my time here. I’m grateful for it. I will miss everything about it. The kids…oh man… Here it goes…
2 Weeks left. I am very very happy. Happy with how far I've come, what I've experienced, the progress I've made, what awaits me back home. My heart is what some people call, very full. Midnight I am sitting on the edge of the world thinking... What an odd thing to do, to let a random girl into your home and take care of your children, sleep in your house, eat your food, and be with you all the time. And what a strange thing for a 21 year old girl to do. Travel across the world and live with people you have never met, can hardly communicate with, agree to be part of their family through thick and thin. We are strange people. What an experience. I can’t believe its almost over. I was very sad. Yes I want to go home, yes I want to see my friends, family. I want to do things I haven’t done, eat things I haven’t eaten, watch movies I’ve missed in these last 5 months. But knowing that I might not ever see this place, these people, or experience anything like this again is a really hard feeling. Whoa…2 weeks.
The journey back home. I have 3 breakdowns today. #1, I finally take a breath and sit down in my seat on the plane leaving Bilbao. I just about missed that flight. I look out the window as we are taking off and see the beautiful misty rolling hills I've called home these last 5 months. I can't bear thinking I might not see this again. #2 Rushing in the Charles de Gaulle airport from my arrival place to the departure. I have my passport and ticket checked. I step onto the plane and hear a thick southern accent, "hello!". As I walk down the isle to seat 36B I hear nothing but English and top 40 radio songs. It really hits me. This is it. I drop my stuff off at my seat and walk briskly to the airplane Bathroom. I switch the door to occupied and burst out in hard tears. #3 Whilst watching the 2nd movie on my 9 hour flight a little boy says to his future-self "I guess you never know if the last time you see sometime will be the last time you ever see them." Oh brooottthhher. Nobody look at me.
Being back. I think the strangest thing of all is not that my home and things in it surprise me, as they are much different from Spain, but the fact that everything is so... normal. Nothing has changed here. It is as if I never left. And that is the scariest thought of all. I am happy to be back. But there are parts of me that are all unsettled still. I am changed. And I'm happy that Spain could be the one to do it.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
That Awful Goodbye.
Last night was my last night with the
family. We had a little fiesta at the house with the kids, made American
cookies, got out the balloon table cover, blew up some balloons, put on some 'Suavemente'. Then for "la ulutima cena" the parents thought it would
be a good idea to eat American food. So we went to the McDonald's in the mall.
(of course) Got a bunch of dollar menu things for the kids. They hated it.
Except M. It was hilarious. Hilarious! The kids hated McDonald's. Oh what a
great last night.
This morning I watched TV with the kids on the pullout bed. I made tortilla de patata with Joseba. He taught me. Then we made natilla. Then played with the kids, made videos, took pictures. Then we went downstairs to meet Joseba with the fruganeta /multivan. Took a couple pictures. Gave kisses to each of the kids and iciar and joseba a big hug and kisses. As they were getting in the van I couldn't help it and I started crying. I never cry. Last time I cried really hard was days before I bought my ticket to Spain 8 months ago. And when you cry you can't just cry a little. It's either a little glisten to your eyes or crying. And I was crying. Embarrassed. Iciar was too. I got in and gave the kids each big hugs as tears were running down my face. They looked confused, they were worried. Leire told me I have tears. They were good hugs. I told them I was happy. And thanks all of them. The parents were trying to hurry so they wouldn't start crying. It was all a blur. The kind of thing where you aren't thinking, just feeling and doing. I didn't know if i'd cry or not. But when I realized I might not ever see these 3 crazy, wild, horrible and wonderful children again, it just came out. How can 5 months go so quickly when it seems like just yesterday we got in that same van from the airport. Suddenly it didn't matter that people were seeing me cry (no one see's me cry). When I went in for those hugs they were worried and confused (never seen me cry before) but they knew it was serious. Joseba gave me another hug and said "te queremos mucho" As the door was shutting I could see the kids through the dark tinted windows waving at me unsuredly, but lovingly. I saw the silhouettes blowing me kisses, I did the same. I waited till the drove around the corner and immediately turned around and went straight to the house. The tears, the ugly tears kept coming.
That's it. Just like that. A goodbye. I cried really hard from the creaky elevator back to J's room. As I sit down my mind is searching for some sort of comfort.
Now I'm sitting inside this empty house, the faint smell of tortilla with American cookies we made. The balloon birthday table cover still set. Balloons hiding behind the couch. A plate with the lunch they just made all ready for me in the kitchen, and my large overstuffed bags neatly stacked in my miniature room I've called home for the last 5 months. What an end. What an end to a most unbelievable 5 months.
I still am terrified to wake up and this all be a dream.
I am grateful for the kids and the love that I was able to gain for them. And let me tell you, It was gained. Slowly. Progressively. But that's the best and strongest kind of love, right? Love that is learned? I am grateful that as I leave them, leave this place, I feel nothing but joy and love for my time here. I have been so happy these last weeks. Not for going home (Although I had joy for it), but just for where I was in my life. I am so blessed. I hope and pray that I never forget them and this experience. I look forward to the day I see them again, my Spain family.
This morning I watched TV with the kids on the pullout bed. I made tortilla de patata with Joseba. He taught me. Then we made natilla. Then played with the kids, made videos, took pictures. Then we went downstairs to meet Joseba with the fruganeta /multivan. Took a couple pictures. Gave kisses to each of the kids and iciar and joseba a big hug and kisses. As they were getting in the van I couldn't help it and I started crying. I never cry. Last time I cried really hard was days before I bought my ticket to Spain 8 months ago. And when you cry you can't just cry a little. It's either a little glisten to your eyes or crying. And I was crying. Embarrassed. Iciar was too. I got in and gave the kids each big hugs as tears were running down my face. They looked confused, they were worried. Leire told me I have tears. They were good hugs. I told them I was happy. And thanks all of them. The parents were trying to hurry so they wouldn't start crying. It was all a blur. The kind of thing where you aren't thinking, just feeling and doing. I didn't know if i'd cry or not. But when I realized I might not ever see these 3 crazy, wild, horrible and wonderful children again, it just came out. How can 5 months go so quickly when it seems like just yesterday we got in that same van from the airport. Suddenly it didn't matter that people were seeing me cry (no one see's me cry). When I went in for those hugs they were worried and confused (never seen me cry before) but they knew it was serious. Joseba gave me another hug and said "te queremos mucho" As the door was shutting I could see the kids through the dark tinted windows waving at me unsuredly, but lovingly. I saw the silhouettes blowing me kisses, I did the same. I waited till the drove around the corner and immediately turned around and went straight to the house. The tears, the ugly tears kept coming.
That's it. Just like that. A goodbye. I cried really hard from the creaky elevator back to J's room. As I sit down my mind is searching for some sort of comfort.
Now I'm sitting inside this empty house, the faint smell of tortilla with American cookies we made. The balloon birthday table cover still set. Balloons hiding behind the couch. A plate with the lunch they just made all ready for me in the kitchen, and my large overstuffed bags neatly stacked in my miniature room I've called home for the last 5 months. What an end. What an end to a most unbelievable 5 months.
I still am terrified to wake up and this all be a dream.
I am grateful for the kids and the love that I was able to gain for them. And let me tell you, It was gained. Slowly. Progressively. But that's the best and strongest kind of love, right? Love that is learned? I am grateful that as I leave them, leave this place, I feel nothing but joy and love for my time here. I have been so happy these last weeks. Not for going home (Although I had joy for it), but just for where I was in my life. I am so blessed. I hope and pray that I never forget them and this experience. I look forward to the day I see them again, my Spain family.
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