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.

On strike!

By chance, I browsed through a copy of 20 Minutos, one of the free dailies handed out at the metro, on the way to work. It's sad to say, but I'm usually not alert enough in the morning to glance at anything but headlines succinctly describing faits divers. A crime here, a scandal there. There will be partly cloudy weather and perhaps yet another celebrity will adorn their child yet another ultra unique name.

And here I thought I had it bad.

I guess I've been really out of the loop, because tomorrow will see a general strike calling Madrid-area teachers to protest against the privatization of education. You know the story, so let's cut to chase: less funding for public schools.

This translates to decreasing attraction, in more than one way. I'm not familiar with the kind of training a teacher would need to work in a concertado or a full private school, but obtaining a post at a public school is definitely a case of demand overrunning supply. If it's "easier" to work at the former (what would you need in terms of qualifications?), then it probably makes sense to forego the latter, unless it's really what you are keen on. (Like I said, I don't know much about the teaching professions, in Spain or even in the U.S., so if someone can enlighten me, please feel free.)

Families are also opting out of public education due to lack of materials and space. From my own experience, the teacher with whom I work sometimes has to pay out of her own pocket for things that the children use on a daily basis such as pencils and erasers; other times, the expenses are for art projects. My school is slowly "modernizing," too; a small screen for the assembly hall and a new photocopier are some of the items on the agenda. In the last few months, they've been reconfiguring some rooms on the first floor to accommodate the incoming third classes of first- and second-years, respectively (usually, there are only two in each level).

Keeping this in mind, it then makes sense for some families to pay for more, better resources. If they can afford it, why not, right? On the other hand, it brings up the familiar problem of a kind of socioeconomic flight which Katie Profunda had brought up a while back. Spain has surely come a long way towards diversity, but it has many more miles to go.

In the end, you may wonder if I myself am going on strike tomorrow. The answer is an unequivocal no; since I'm a mere assistant, therefore not a teacher, therefore not a civil servant, it's my job to stay. Only two teachers from my school are protesting, and the rest, like the teacher with whom I work, because it's the children who matter.






(Image: Rini Templeton)

A broad abroad

If I'm running out of a select item--something easily portable--I usually stop by the Mercadona on my walk home from the metro station. Today was a slight change, as I didn't limit myself to just the necessities. After months of eyeing them in stores, I finally caved and bought my first package of Filipinos, mainly due to curiosity, but also, um, because of that publicidad featuring Mom and Dinosaur Jr. (not the band).

My thinking went along the lines of, Heeyyyy, I'm Filipino(a), and even though this is (more than) kind of odd, I'm willing to try this novelty snack item that's (again, kind of) weird (backhand) evidence of the long relationship between my temporary adopted country and the one of birth.

I was also won over by the fact that the Filipinos were significantly cheaper than the Oreos on the next shelf.

When I got home, it occurred to me why the Filipinos were more affordable: I had inadvertently picked up the pack of minis! I felt stupid. How was I supposed to gallivant dinosaur-style, as it were, from the kitchen to the living room, without the regular, donut-shaped goods in my hands?

I had duped myself. More importantly, I proved to be the perfect consumer. While I'm not quite the cookie fanatic, I still went ahead and made the purchase because the brand spoke to me. A Filipino eating a Filipino. A chocolate-covered white biscuit. A variation on the past: a banana, a Twinkie. Coincidence and irony.

According to this Wikipedia article, the current Filipino cookies were inspired by rosquillos from the Visayas, hence the props. Rosquillo itself comes from the Spanish rosca, i.e. ring, as does the chocolate coating.

Homage or not, however, Filipino cookies still rub me the wrong way, so that was my first and last package. I know, it's just food! I'm nevertheless not the only one who had issues with it. A decade ago The Philippine government was wondering more or less the same. Obviously, nothing ever came of it, which makes me wonder about the popularity of the cookies.

On the other hand, I don't doubt the extensive Filipino presence here. As in, the people. It's not exactly as cohesive--ok, well-known--as the Chinese community, but I've definitely identified more Filipinos out and about than my home state (obviously neither California nor New York). Clearly, MetroMadrid a) agrees that there is a significant Filipino community here, b) suggest that Madrileños (of Filipino descent or not) are conscious of it, too. In recent months, they've circulated (a much shorter version of) the following commercial:



As with the cookies, I was mostly surprised when I first saw this ad, waiting for the movies at one of the Cines Renoir. For once, I didn't have to read the subtitles. I even giggled; nos ha queda'o igualito. In a few months, I will also be that balikbayan (twice removed) recounting my adventures in Spain. You can bet that one of the things I'll be championing will be the subway.

Upon further chance viewings, my frowns grew wider. Yes, the Philippines is a country in development. Yes, many Filipinos continue to lead the agrarian live. Yes, many Filipinos have the tendency to imitate, emulate "Western" ways.

And yes, I understand that overall, it is just a publicity campaign for MetroMadrid, like the Filipino cookies are just...cookies. MetroMadrid's commercial is a witty, even charming statement on the cleanliness and efficiency of Western Europe's third-largest system. What pueblo--Spanish, Filipino, or otherwise--wouldn't want one of their own? Maybe I am reading too much into things (thank you, cultural studies). I just hope that folks don't take it too much at face value because whether we like it or not, some of us still retain fragments of that colonial mentality.



(Image: Wikipedia)