Although I still have a month left in the program, I've been preparing for my impending departure. I neatly folded the winter clothes I'm planning to put in the Caja Verde box I got from the post office, the very same one I'll get around to mailing once I figure out where to get packing tape. Of course, this should be a painless, stress-free errand but if like me you were unsure of the correct term (Word Reference gives me both cinta and sello) and your confidence in your Spanish-speaking skills are virtually nil (even after years of study), then you can appreciate why this turns out to be quite the herculean task.

This afternoon I went into an organizing frenzy, in an attempt to sort out all of the things I've collected in the past eight months. Hmm, do I really need the card for this restaurant/bookshop/etc that I'll probably never visit again?, I asked myself. Do I need the brochure for an exhibit that was over in NOVEMBER? Un/fortunately, I'm the type that keeps such trinkets, only to discard them during the next move.

However, that won't happen for at least another few years. I'm going back to school in the fall, to join a two-year MA program in linguistics. This was one of the primary reasons why I "escaped" to Spain in the first place. After having applied to grad school a few times, I wasn't quite sure whether or not if the program--or even more academia--was right for me. I obviously love learning languages, but I could relate a linguistics degree solely to teaching.

Ironic, isn't it, that I went abroad to work in a school setting? There have been many days where I think that I could go ahead and get my licensure in elementary school teaching. Indeed, many of the best experiences I've had during this stint involve the two groups of second-years with whom I work. The children never fail to elicit a smile from me even when I'm feeling down, grumpy, or homesick. When I look back on Spain when I step off the airplane or a few years down the line, the kids are who I'll remember the most.

Now, does this mean I would make a "good" teacher? Not necessarily. Of course, I'd also have to want to be teacher, and at this point, my heart's still not in it. Apparently, I belong to the generation that's been taught to follow our dreams (or so says the NY Times) rather than have practical pursuits. It's true to some extent. My parents never push me to do anything (nor am I an exceptionally driven person). They accept me for who I am, and for the most part, support my projects. I'm very fortunate in that I'm also able to coynsult them, eslpecially at a stage where I'm beginning to make "crucial life choices."

This brings me back to teaching: sure, it's not my dream (I'm romantic), but it will put food on the table (so to speak). I've been literally losing sleep over this dilemma because I want to have my cake and it eat it, too. I want to live off of an artistic craft. However slowly it may seem though, I'm facing the facts. I need a job. That will allow me to be ially self-sufficient. The thing is that I'm just don't have artistic gifts, at least, not enough talent from which to eke out a life. My cohorts from my punk rock days (haha! you'd think I was born with a mohawk and leather jacket!) would think this sentiment bourgeois, but all I ask for is a position that would allow me to continue enjoying my hobbies and, someday, buy a house.

(Among others, the song "Handshakes" by Metric addresses this cycle of drudgery: Buy this car to drive to work, drive to work to pay for this car...)

In other words, I spent time abroad...just to figure this out? It's a shame that my head's more muddled now than when I left last September. In a land of endless lo haré mañanas, I still haven't learned to relax.