Pucha. There's never a dull moment in my life.
Would you like a mini-run down on my day?
Hold on to your britches.
This morning I resembled a 92-year old grandmother getting out of bed, being sore from the intense Pilate workout. Thankfully, I arrived on time to my first activity where I visited a nursery in the poorer part of Viña. I was able to meet the mayor of Viña, and tomorrow I think our group is actually going to be on T.V. Not joking. I froze up because cameras tend to make me super nervous.
On the thirty minute bus ride to Valpo (where my uni is), I had to go potty bad -- how ironic since "I love to go pee" and all. Therefore by the time I used the girl's room and found the crazy classroom, I was fifteen minutes late to my first class. I peeked into the window, seeing about 35 Chileans looking intently at the professor in the front. I thought, "Do I really have to go in there?" But ANIMO Isa. So, I tapped lightly on the door and tried to sweetly explain that I got lost. Everyone in the class started to giggle. I sat my duff down and wanted a little brown bag to put over my head. Oh and let me just state that there is no way on God's green earth I will be taking that class. There were three pages (TRES!) of the different works we would have to read. Are you for real dude? Pass.
Then, to reward myself for my braveness on entering the class (yes, I do believe in external motivation) -- I bought myself some coke and a chocolate bar to accompany my lunch.
Next, I had my “workshop of developing the written and spoken language.” This professor is hilarious and the students are very welcoming. I was the only gringa, which was exciting at the start. But let me tell you a secret, I barely understood anything. She speaks like a rocket ship about ready to explode. I was laughing to myself while thinking, “I’m feeling rather idiotic right now.” So then, we divided up into groups of 6 within the classroom. Thank the Lord Almighty that I was with a group of five amazing Chilean girls. However, we had to read a fine-print, two page article in matter of seven minutes. Someone read it outloud to the rest of the group, but with all the background noise, you can imagine how my sentiments of idiocy augmented.
Let me tell you, though, nonverbal communication is a lifesaver. Pretty much the whole time during our group discussion, I made intense eye-contact, nodded my head passionately, and agreed wholeheartedly with the points being brought up by the different members (even though I had no clue what the heck was happening half the time). They thought I was just the sweetest thang on two legs. (I told you, nonverbal all the way).
My “adventures” don’t stop there. But quit if I bore thee to tears.
After that brain drain, I skipped (I wish) to my next class which was two blocks down. It was on the fourth floor – but the building didn’t have a fourth floor! WHAT? So, I asked. Oh little gringuita, you have to go to the third floor, find the secret hallway, go to the secret stairwell, and find the classroom there. Oh okay. I take note of that for next time. What a riot! My next class was the grammar class with foreign exchange students. My unquenchable thirst for grammar shall not be filled within those four walls. The professor straight up told us that his focus will be more on cultural linguistics than the preferred delicacies of direct objects, subjunctive, or verb conjugations. Although I was a wee saddened by such news, we will see in the week to come what pros might reside here.
Next, I hopped on the micro bus that stated clearly the street I always go to. Nonetheless, somehow this bus driver knew not to ruin the pattern of my adventurous day. Therefore I found out that it was changing routes for the day. I ended up having to walk an extra mile or so. Good exercise for the stress.
Arrived home. Had time to eat a “completo” – a jumbo size hot dog packed with avocado, tomatoes, and of course the infamous mayonnaise. Left rapidly for my night class at 7:00pm.
This particular class is held at a local branch here in Viña. Yet again, I confronted the case of the secret stairwell to arrive at the secret classroom. I met some really nice Chileans, one of whom I almost attacked in the bathroom thinking no one was in there. That is another story though, my dear reader. My poetry class started. His introduction was sweet. He was telling us that we needed to memorize some poetry for the final. He asked us the importance of memorization. He referred that in English to memorize something “by heart” – interestingly enough, the word heart is also associated in such a way in three other languages when in reference to memorization.
After that intro though, turbo Chilean lost me. Although I could sense his enthusiasm for the subject, I was again left clueless like a lost child seeking her mother in a Wal-Mart superstore. Therefore, I resorted to reading the syllabus, which includes studying a variety of poets from all over the world. I think this class (even with turbo Chilean man soaring) is a check mark.
I decided I needed another walk after my day. A brisk 30 minute walk back did some good to the grandma bones. Tomorrow brings two new classes. Oh boy.
My complex right now is:
Do I take hard classes to refine my Spanish, have no life, meet Chileans, and totally destroy my GPA? Or do I take easier classes to free up time to spend with my family, do volunteer work, protect the GPA, and learn Spanish in different ways? A balance I suppose is necessary.
You have to understand my thought process. I am not complaining about any of these circumstances. I have moved past that in my life. Most of the time, I cannot help but laugh my head off about what life throws at me. God is always there laughing with me, or so I believe. He did create humor afterall.
Why do I always adore donating to the “artists” that jump unexpectedly on the microbuses? Let’s see, there was the Congo drummer who rapped loudly in Spanish, the guitarist who sung flamenco beautifully, and then today there was the poetic lunatic… He recited four long, romantic poems on the microbus – one of which is a favorite of mine by Pablo Neruda. In between poems, he did a comedy show by doing a weird voice with a green clown nose. Once again, I had to put my hand over my mouth so I could smile and laugh ever so quietly. At the end, he took the time to flail his arms about each row, either giving a “blessing” or to encourage donations; I never did figure that one out.
