These days I enjoy writing my blog in order to procrastinate. It seemed like only a few weeks ago that the word procrastinate was meaningless, since I had nothing to put off doing, except having more fun. But school is starting to catch up with me. For a while I had the notion that I was just living in Spain, and occasionally attending a few classes here and there. But then I had to write a full-on essay in Spanish, and follow that with my new worst nightmare: giving an oral presentation of my essay in front of a class of 50 Spaniards. I’ve never been afraid of public speaking before, but never in my life have I wanted to stand in front of an audience less.
Every day I have a greater appreciation for foreign students. I never gave it much thought in Santa Barbara, and in fact there were very few foreigners in my classes there. But now I am constantly remembering how annoyed I would get in one of my linguistics classes last year when this exchange student from Japan would ask questions in class. Her accent was almost impossible to understand and her questions would drag on because she couldn’t ever find the right words. I strained myself from not rolling my eyes. Now I want to find that girl, bow down to her, praise her impressive language skills and retract every negative brainwave I ever sent her.
On a different, more random note, here are some cute old Spanish women anecdotes (those are the best, right??):
The other day I set out on a run—my third run in two months—and then it started to pour. Really pour. By the time I was coming back, I was literally drenched. I then passed a little old lady on the main street, and I have never seen such horror in anyone’s eyes. She looked at me like I must be the most suffering person in the entire world, like she personally wanted to hand me five cups of hot cocoa, a towel and a radiator right there on the spot. I almost felt bad for making her feel such unnecessary empathy. I was soaked, yes, but I hadn’t been hit by a bus or anything. She muttered some things to herself and watched me as I passed, and I almost stopped to assure her that I would bundle up and put on wool socks when I got home. (On second thought, maybe she was looking at me so horrifically because anyone wearing running clothes in public is viewed as crazy here.)
My friend Wren and I bought some bread the other day and were walking down the street nibbling some off the end. A tiny old woman stopped us in the street and exclaimed excitedly, “¿Qué bueno está el pan, no? ¡Mira, vosotras no estáis solas!” (How good is bread, huh? Look, you two are not alone!) She proceeded to pull out a bag full of bread, and one of the loaves had clearly been picked at. She then gave us a huge wink, acting like all three of us had together unlocked the secret to enjoying a baguette. How adorable is that? And who would have thought that getting stopped in the street by an 85+ year-old-woman would be a subtle highlight of my experience here???
Today I was in a grocery store, and another elderly Spanish woman started talking to me. She asked for my help reading the ingredients on something, since she forgot her glasses. While I was searching for milk on the list (she’s apparently lactose intolerant), she looked at me and said, “Qué guapa estás vestido!!” (How nicely you’re dressed!). Then she sincerely thanked me for my help, and looked me straight in the eye: “Nunca se pinta la cara. Preserva tu juventud.” (Never cover that face of yours [in make-up]. Preserve your youth.) What a profound encounter for a grocery store. I left with not only yogurt that day, but some worldly advice and an elevated ego.
By far my favorite part about studying abroad is these types of encounters. (Not exclusively with old women, but hey, those are great too.)
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