taking the good with the bad

I finally got around to reading the "guide" to studying abroad that Butler gave me 5 months ago, only to discover that i have been doing the whole study abroad thing wrong. Well at least the culture shock part. Apparently you are not suppose to tell anyone how miserable you are. Apparently you are suppose to fake happy until your face muscles have forgoten how to frown. If you cannot tell, there is a hint of skeptism in my words.

Yes I understand negative attitudes can snowball; that focusing on the bad can make the good shine less brightly, but really I don't think I can fake it nor do I want to. This culture shock, the misery, the homesickness and the tears are real and they are part of this journey.

To lie and say I am completely happy and Argentina and I are great buddies now would be to ignore the truth of Argentina. There is a reason I am crying. This country is completely different in a scarcy, awful, saddening, beautiful, glorious way. This makes me cry.

So I guess this is a disclaimer to everyone. I am not as miserable as I sometimes sound. Sometimes I am that miserable and sometimes, usually when I am far from skype in a random cobble stone street, I am happy. But it is important for me to be able to be honest about my misery. So I have given you all fair warning. For all the misery that spews out of my mouth, there is silent joy in the far reaches of my heart.

To continue on this path of honesty, I had a pretty crappy weekend which included a brief stomach ickness, getting lost (yes again), and once again not understanding a word the grocery guy said to me.

Then today I put that all behind me, cried one last time before I left the house and headed to the feria in San Telmo...and it was everything I wanted it to be. The fair had fantastic old jewlery, one-of-a-kind fotos and entertainment of every type. Then at lunch, fate finally smiled on me and I was seated next to a pair of ladies from Nevada, one of whom was originally from Argentina. They assured me that the first month was going to be hell but then suddenly one morning the light in my head would turn on and I would finally really be in Argentina not just looking at it from sidelines.

They also said I need to speak now. I need to get over this "I sound like a foreigner" crap and start really speaking to people. So I am determined again. I am going to throw my stupid pride out the window and learn to speak without regret. And to live in Argentina without regret.

Fotos in my mind
- So I finally took out my real camera and had time to snap a few fotos before my batteries died. Here are the photos I missed taking.
1. A small kid on my subway licking the pole while his mom was talking to her friend.
2. A steet vendor sharing his mate with his neighbor.
3. The graffiti on the old wall of San Telmos that read "We cannot be together but just the same you are mine."

Beauty Found

For the first time today, I thought Buenos Aires was beautiful.

I had just spent at least an hour sorting through $1 books at a feria and I was aimlessly walking through downtown. Then I turned on to a street and casa rosa and plaza de mayo came into view. It was dusk and the world looked pink. It is a picture I will keep in my head forever.

I find myself constantly trying to take mental pictures or video clips of my life here. Like doing that can make this all real. Like if i had photos, I would have tangible proof of my life.

But photos can't capture what I see. My camera is a poor subsitute for the lenses of my eyes. The fotos in my eyes are so much more alive, they are filled with emotion that I can't capture on film.Fotos I wish I could have taken:
1. Casa Rosa at dusk with Argentines walking home in slow motion because honestly why rush?
2. The train by my house rushing by to reveal the words in English "Taste my cum, B&$@#." (Sorry grandma for swearing- but it really says that in English in huge letters.)
3. The man playing the violin on Florida for money, with his eyes closed, feeling the music, seemingly without care for the money being dropped into the open case
4. My host mom Angela holding my 4-year-old host sister's face between her hands and calling her princess
5. All the "punk" 13-year olds smoking their cigarrettes outside school with their Good Charollete backpacks

It's a great day to be an American

Today, after my run through 3 de febrero park, some argentines asked me where the United States Embassy was.

It floored me. I hadn't even opened my mouth and they knew I was American. Wearing my puma sweats, tennies and hooded sweatshirt apparently screams AMERICAN. Or more accuretly United States Citizen. Argentines don't refer people from the United States as "American" because everyone from Canada to Tierra del Fuego is "American." They are very particular about this subject.

Back to the argentines: But then after they asked me and I responded in my awful accent with incorrect verb tenses and minute pauses inbetween each sentence, they smiled and nodded at me and I knew they had no clue what i had just said. When they asked me where the embassy was (in Spanish) they thought they were asking someone who spoke Spanish. Only after i opened my mouth did they know I was from the states.

This seems to be the theme of the week. I am obsessed with not looking, sounding, feeling American. And I'm not really sure why. I guess I feel like for this to be home for 6 months, i have to be at home here. I can first try to look argentine- with black converses and tight jeans which are all the rage here. Eventually, hopefully, I will sound more argentine. But I wonder if I will ever feel argetina.

My mouth hurts

Speaking Spanish all day is a lot more taxing than it appears. My mouth is sore from moving it in ways I didn't think possible and yet I know I am still not prouncing words correctly.

Today, when I was at the book store, I heard a few other students from my group enter speaking Spanish. I didn't recognize their faces but I knew they were from the program because of their accent. And I know that is me to all Argentines. I know it sounds stupid. Of course I have an accent, I'm not from Argentina. But sometimes you just don't want to have an accent. Sometimes you want to blend. To do this I have to not talk. Which is next to impossible...seriously.

On the good side doing little things like going to the bank or laundry mat don't seem like huge daunting challenges. I am starting to feel more "at home" in a place so very different from home.

my bible

Today when I was riding the bus, I looked over to my left and saw a woman reading a daily prayer book. Then I realized I was holding my "guia T" (the bus guide) as protectively and preciously as this woman was holding her prayers. The guia T is my bible. Without it I would be lost in a world so radically different from my own. So I say my thanks to the bus gods and the guia T. Thank you for showing me your world.

More things about argentina
1. There are absolutely no Wal-Mart like stores. Each store only sells one thing. There is a store by my house that only sells diapers- that's it.
2. There are very affectionate couples everywhere. I sometimes wonder how many argentine babies were made in public.
3. Almost all the old men look wise.

Note: Today it was 45 degrees but felt like 36 degrees and it was raining. I could see my breath this morning.

First week

As expected the first week was not easy...not by a long shot. And, as I predicted, I cried many times.

But I have temporarily stopped crying to write this blog and let you all know how crazy argentina is.

Here is a list of strange things about Argentina (not bad things...just different things ;)

1. stray barking scary dogs everywhere
2. it's cold, really frickin' cold
3. the sidewalks are falling apart
4. old men calling you preciosa
5. nobody smiles but everyone is nice
6. streets without streetlights, stop signs or pedestrian crossings, streets=chaos
7. lines on the roads that no drivers follow
8. pollution you can feel
9. nobody talking or looking at eachother on the bus
10. people singing all the time, on the bus, in the street, to their kids, to themselves

I feel like argentina is a confused country- like a teenager who doesn't know what he/she wants to be when he/she grows up. And I also feel like a teenager trying to figure out if i really want to be friends with argentina, trying to figure out if it is one of the cool kids.