It began in January, 2010. I was interning at Oregon State University at INTO, an international student program that focuses on a year of intense English classes for the students so they may enter OSU the next year fully prepared for what they may encounter there language-wise. Social-wise, I'm not sure if they knew frat parties, condoms and droning professors awaited them, but they would at least be able to talk about it in well developed English. I was only there for a month, but by the time I left I had witnessed many types of cultural interactions that never ceased to fascinate, amuse, or baffle me, including the time when a Japanese girl asked me why I wasn't fat.
But this story is not about that. This story revolves offhandedly around my supervisor, Julianna. She liked to serve Japanese tea in the office, deliberately forgetting the fact that it was 5 years old... but I never could tell the difference. I asked the fortunate question one day of where she bought the tea, and she launched into this story about how she had worked for the JET (Japanese Exchange and Teaching) program for three years and she had ADORED it. Suddenly her eyes were fireflys, dancing and alight with excitement and adventure and nostalgia for this place so many miles away and years ago. I couldn't help but soak in some of her craze and begin to get excited myself. Maybe I could do this! Maybe this was what I had been searching for for months, trying to find a way to get out of this country and overseas to a place without suburbs and 24-hour Taco Bells.
Just as I was starting the Google-Search stage of budding ideas and information gathering, my 5-minute dream was crushed by these four words, "The Deadline Has Passed." And suddenly I was back to where I had been 10 minutes ago: without a path. Wandering aimlessly through my last semester, imagining post-graduate life being spent working at a car wash, or worse, in an office. In charge of archiving and putting post-its on my computer saying things like, "Call ITS to fix mouse," or "Archive Anderson file." Or maybe reception, becoming a human recording each time I answered the phone, "Welcome to Carl's Electric, how can I brighten your day?" I headed home in a slight depression.
I walked in the door, threw my purse on the couch and grumpily sat down at my computer. While waiting for my email to load, I had a sudden flood of emotion and slammed my fists down on the table while yelling, "JUST TELL ME WHAT TO DO ALREADY!" I had been trying to figure out this crap for months now, why couldn't I get a break?! Give me a damn sign! I glared at the ceiling for awhile. When nothing happened I sighed and turned to my computer. And the first unopened email I had was titled, "Teaching Assistantship in Spain."
I stared. The words "ask and you shall receive" had never echoed in my mind more clearly. Talk about a sign.
I opened the email and skimmed it, then went back and read it more slowly, not believing my eyes. An assistantship teaching English in Spain for 9 months. Paid. It took me less than 5 minutes before I was reading the application requirements and writing down a list of everything I would need to do for the program.
And here I am, 6 months later: accepted, placed and confirmed, just returning from my visa appointment in San Francisco. I have been placed in a town of 22,000 people in Andalucia (southern Spain) called Priego de Cordoba, located almost exactly between the cities of Cordoba and Granada. I will be assistant teaching at a secondary school consisting of students from 12-16 years of age. I leave in about a month and a half and I have only a slight idea of what to expect, based on Google searches, word of mouth and guidebooks; everyone dresses up, even to go to the grocery store, the men are good looking, the cuisine is excellent and based on sea food, the partying in the big cities makes The Peacock look like a peaceful cafe, and my town is surrounded by olive trees. I have a week-long orientation in Seville put on through the program I applied to, and I have 5 days worth of paid accomodation when I'm actually in my town until I can find my own place.
Besides being slightly nervous, I also can't wait to be on that plane, heading for God knows what. I am putting myself in a difficult situation and I am exceptionally curious to see how I handle it. Will I cry? Will I run screaming? Will I simply walk up to someone and become instant friends? Will I choke on my pizza from laughing at the insanity of what I'm doing? No matter what, I am ready to grow and adapt and learn about others as well as myself. 9 months is a long time to be away from what you know, from home, from a place you can navigate without even thinking. Monotony. I know from studying abroad in Mexico that everything you do in a new country requires thought. Going to the grocery store, finding a snack, making a phone call... everything is much more vivid and complex, giving unusual life to all actions. I cannot wait to discover Spain in a non-tourist way. Being a tourist, so temporary, makes me uncomfortable. This, I believe, is the best way to travel; becoming immersed and close with the culture, learning it from the inside, teaching a skill as well as receiving hospitality, experience, and a way into the heart of a people.
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