On homesickness, and other things -- a Thanksgiving post

If I'm not at work, I spend an absurd amount of time in my windowless shoebox of a room. Sometimes I'm on the internet checking my email for the umpteenth time, or stupidly staring at my Skype box waiting for a call, but mostly staring at the beige walls wondering what to do with myself. Oh, no, it's not that I haven't been enjoying myself and "doing things". As keep telling folks, I've done much more in a month here than I ever have back stateside. I force myself to check out exhibits, coffeeshops, hang out with friends I've made, and just plain wander around in order to NOT succumb to craziness.

However, I've only been here about two months and I'm already feeling the crunch of loneliness/homesickness. To appear tough, my explanations revolve around food; burritos and bagels, to be precise. I rarely admit to missing people's company. Although a common sentiment, I loathe the empathy and--perhaps I'm reading into this--the pity, to be looked upon (thought of) as though I can't hack a year "alone," without the familiarity, without the support. Indeed, it was a huge step for me to cross the ocean and try to lead a life anew, if only temporarily. (If you look at it another way, I put off dealing with stateside issues for a year, but that's neither here nor there.) I told myself this would a be a good way to "rethink things," "find myself," "grow up a little," and brush up on Spanish in the process. To have fun, even.

The thing is, I'm not the kind of person who has fun. Rather, I don't even know what fun is. Superficial concerns take up my time, and contemplating their superficial quality drives me even more mad. This post is proof thereof.

I suppose this time is as good as any other to divert you reader(s) from the self-pitying tone of this entry and try something positive. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, a very U.S. holiday, one which I've stopped celebrating many moons ago (nothing political, although this might be recommended reading). This year that I'm abroad, I'm disappointed to be missing the ceremony (to watch the parade, really) and chatting with my folks over pizza (I'm vegetarian).

To celebrate (and of course, stay posi), I give you a list of a few things for which I'm grateful:

1. FINALLY getting my fianza back from the first apartment
I stayed at this place for two weeks in October. Then I found my current place and promptly told my ex-roommate. He said he'd give back the deposit by November. I said to take his time. He sure did, but at least, I have it.

2. Spending time in this wonderful city.
Alright, contrary to what I've just written, I'm very glad to take advantage of what Madrid has to offer. Maybe I'll never be a night owl, but like any great city, there's something here for everyone.

3. Visiting friends and family over the holidays.
Nuff said!

Thanks to you as well, dear blog reader(s) for making it this far. Stay tuned...



(Photo: American Bounty Catering)

Problèmes de bourgeois?*

A university asks applicants to write a supplementary essay addressing how they might be eligible for "diversity scholarships." Unfortunately, I got tangential and did nothing of the sort, so I figured this might be a more appropriate space for these words. Although I'm not the most eloquent person, I do think about such "issues," and lately, in light of all the weird tags and political posters I've been seeing in my neighborhood (umm, "anti-Spanish racism?"), conversations with co-workers, an event that happened at school, conversations with A, and thinking about the concept of the EU, of the new Spaniard.

The laptop on which I’m drafting essays—because hardly anyone in my generation really writes by hand anymore—is light. A graduation gift, the machine is a portable 12.1” that can sandwiched in my right hand, just like a pocket book. Most every (non-Mac) aficionado I encounter is pleased with it. They comment on the design, the weight, the relative cleanliness. After nearly two years’ worth of use. It might already be out of date, but no matter. I beam like a proud parent.

This is an anecdote to mark my privilege, presumed to be the land of white-collar workers, or perhaps, more appropriately, the non-workers. This is an anecdote to state that privilege comes in all forms—and that I’m conscious of mine.

Highly conscious of having a computer, of being computer literate, of being literate. My mom beams. A proud parent.

She didn’t grow up with computers. I have vague notions of her past. She describes it as filled with lack—an oxymoron, if I ever heard one. There are no photographs from her childhood or her adolescence, only something from the 1970s. She was taking my three cousins on some sort of outing. I can hardly imagine the Philippines then, even now. I have vague memories of my last trip: smoke, dust, noise, like any contemporary metropolis.

I use my laptop to search for images. I recognize and don’t at the same time. “Otherness” and “hybridity” are terms I’ve learned through schooling in the U.S., but are concepts I’ve been negotiating. Often I ask myself whether or not my mom and I share similar spaces, and most of the time, I think the answer is a resounding no. I’m self-absorbed in a very “American” fashion, although it’s through her travails that I’m able to assume a slightly more elevated socioeconomic status, to sometimes pass. Proof: speech, dress, property—the accoutrements of privilege. Yet, like my mom, I’m still visibly tagged.

It’s for easier reference.

She says not to worry. She reminds me that many opportunities lie ahead. Education is the key.

Now we’ll see what door(s) will open.



*so titled after a scene in Julie Delpy's 2 Days in Paris, in which she and her sister (in the movie) laugh about the superficial quality of their complaints



(Photo: Jeff Vergara)

NIE

De: LLANEZA VILLANUEVA, JOSE AURELIO
Enviado el: jueves, 08 de noviembre de 2007 13:35

Important message for all non-European language assistants:



We have already contacted all language assistants and given them their appointment dates to go to the police station in Calle General Pardiñas, 90. Some of you received the information during the training on October 16th and some of you have been contacted by e-mail during the past few days. If you have not received any communication and still need to get your NIE, please let us know as soon as possible. Remember that, after you come with the group to get your temporary card, you will need to wait one month before you can go and collect your “tarjeta de extranjero”.


Un saludo cordial,


Aurelio

Canjear

v. Intercambiar, trocar o hacer una sustitución.
(Diccionaro de Español para Extranjeros, 2002)

After my three-person intercambio this evening, I trekked on over to La Palma to see First Aid Kit, a band I heard by chance while perusing--ahem--thatspace.

I knew I liked the music, but was still doubting whether or not I'd stay. It's been ages since I've been to an intimate show, and even more time has passed since I've hung out at a club/bar/disco. In other words, the last time I "went out" at night was many, MANY moons ago, so I was already nervous and paranoid, Woody Allen-in-his-movies-style, before I'd even opened the door. Luckily, it was quite casual; I waited around with a few other folks in the space between the entrance and the seating areas, as the show hadn't yet started. Paid the 7,-EUR to get in, stuffed my ticket in my pocket, and ordered a caña at the bar, slapping some coins on the counter.

Now here's where my stupidity lies. First of all, I don't drink; mostly because I shouldn't, but also because I just don't like the taste. I suppose I'm in the wrong city to have such an attitude, but that's a whole 'nother story. I also suppose that I could've ordered a Coke or a Fanta (my standby), though something in the advert about the consumición mínima made me think that this only applied to alcoholic beverages.

No points for me here.

Cleaning my pockets out when I arrived home, I read the--by now--crumpled ticket, to discover that podía canjearlo, that I just spent 2,50,-EUR on a drink that I didn't even want. In the end, I guess that it's not such a big deal (will my wallet really miss 2,50?) and that, at the very least, I'll never forget this word.

Citaciones para la policía

De: LLANEZA VILLANUEVA, JOSE AURELIO
Enviado el: lunes, 29 de octubre de 2007 14:18

Buenos días a todos,

Os escribo para comunicaros el día y la hora de las citaciones con la policía para los días 12, 20 y 22 y 26 de noviembre. Tenéis que llevar 3 fotos con fondo blanco (ID size, un poco más pequeñas que las de pasaporte) y el pasaporte. El lugar es la Comisará de la Calle General Pardiñas, 90. La hora es las 5 de la tarde excepto el día 12, que es a las 4. Nos encontraremos todos a la puerta antes de entrar. Es muy importante que todos contestéis a este mensaje para confirmar que lo habéis recibido.

Note: Names can be found on the Facebook group for Madrid assistants.)