Balancing act

My first instinct is to write this in Spanish. That must be a good sign! Every day I feel more confident in my speaking abilities (although sometimes by the end of the day, I can't think of any words-- English or Spanish). And each day I feel more comfortable walking around this home into which I moved less than a week ago. I had a minor nervous breakdown the other morning. After my first day of classes-- which for these next three weeks are intensive language courses, not the most thrilling of subjects-- I had lunch with my host family, the most plentiful and important meal of the day; I took my siesta, returned for dinner, and met a new friend for gelato and homework. It was a good day. To spare the details that make me sound, even to me, as if I'm not grateful to live here, I will summarize that I have restrictions which are considered conservative in Spanish culture. Finishing dinner at 10:30 or later, you can find Spaniards of all ages out on the streets, eating tapas, kids running around... To miss out on night life in Spain would be to completely misunderstand Spanish culture. That is to say when I stayed out with friends on my first night in Sevilla, a Wednesday, and went home at 3am, we were the first ones leaving.

So in yearning for the truest grasp of culture, and hopefully not in vain, my miniature nervous breakdown was lit by a curfew.

In my American way, adjusting to the eating habits of Spain has been a challenge. Breakfast for me consists of toast and coffee; traditionally these are interchangeable with hot chocolate or tea and yogurt or an apple... Anyway it's a light meal. Lunch comes in the afternoon, around 2:30, and includes two to three courses. I love these meals, made with fresh and in-season ingredients. I know for certain that being a vegetarian in Spain would be nearly impossible without cooking for oneself; I'm satisfied with this, as seafood is an adored and scrumptious commodity. In most households, la señora prepares and serves each course of the meal and cleans up afterward. I've struggled to find a balance between offering to help and being rude, and try to learn about and remind myself that this is the culture. Sweet, fresh fruit makes dessert, and it shocks me when the kids try to refuse it. An important value though here is that children eat what they are given and aren't really asked for input; I like this aspect. Culture is interesting because we can try to understand it, yet it is rare that we have the opportunity to be in it enough to have a wholesome perspective. And when we look at other cultures through the lens of our own, it is difficult not to make judgments or misinterpret. It's a strange balancing act that requires immersion as well as the acknowledgment that you are inevitably in no position to understand.

So I try to embrace that in other cultures, the aim is not to be full all the time; mission accomplished well before almuerzo. By dinner, hungry again, I am tired from the heat that comes late in the afternoon (hence the greatness of siesta) and have a small meal. Los niños are rambunctious but eventually go to bed; I am excited to make cupcakes for the twins' ninth birthday in a couple weeks. There is no word for cupcake in Spanish.

Rewind. I don't want you to worry about my nervous breakdown. I sat down yesterday and took to my journal. I remembered advice from two people: when I was younger, my stepmom told me that writing positive thoughts instead of negative thoughts at the end of the day helps you sleep better; in Paris, I met a girl who told me that whether she likes a person or not, she always appreciates someone who makes her feel her emotions. I came to realize that whether my hidden expectations would be met or not didn't matter, for whatever the outcome of this semester will be, it will have nothing to do with what I predicted. Furthermore, I think my expectations will prevent me from receiving all that the universe wants to give me during this adventure. So I convinced myself. And I must say that I feel better already.