I’ve been meaning to write this for quite some time. This and a laundry list of stories, poems, and a novel. To be fair to myself, I am working on the novel– a very slow, inspiration-driven process. I’m letting it be that for now despite the many pieces of advice saying things like Henry Miller, “When you can’t create you can work.” But the truth is, I have been working. A lot.
Due to the onslaught of personal blogs out there, especially from other people in my position, I’ve felt like I had nothing better to say than everyone else. I realize that this isn’t true. I’ve left so many things unsaid to family, friends, and even myself about my unique experience. I’ve been trapped in my head for awhile. Last year, however, I was totally in over my head. I moved to Badajoz, Spain and began learning a new profession, a new language, how to adapt in a new country, new people, new living arrangements, a new city, a new diet, a new schedule…everything new, new, new. I was thrilled when I first arrived, and completely overstimulated. I became caught up in living, you might say. Looking back, I was a bit like that person that holds their breath while they’re taking a photo. I was smiling ear to ear, excited to be in the frame I was, able to capture all these new moments; but as the moments went on I realized my face was turning red and my blood wasn’t quite reaching all of my limbs.
Right from the beginning, I threw myself in head first. With no teaching experience I was teaching 12 hours in schools and 10 hours in private classes, 6 of which were through an academy. I was dedicating 25 plus hours a week to teaching English to ages from 6 to 60, from levels 0 to advance. It was a crash course on teaching with passive guides and no instructions. Aside from a few people who gave me pieces of advice and feedback, of which I am very grateful, I taught myself how to teach. Much of the time I felt impotent, stressed, exhausted, and stretched to the limit. While only working 25 hours or so doesn’t seem so hard, keep in mind it wasn’t just working, it was teaching AND learning in a foreign environment. When Friday rolled around, I was spent. Done. K.O.
During this time, I didn’t realize why I was so tired either. Neither did my Spanish roommates. So, jokingly, but hurtfully, they’d call me things like “lazy” when I slept until noon on a Friday (which I have to say, they often indulged in, too), or after I left my dishes unwashed one evening after having worked a 10 hour day. Sometimes they’d criticize my Spanish, telling me it was “fatal” (horrible). They have good hearts and much of the time they did it with good intentions, trying to teach me and push me to improve, but I was frayed wire, susceptible to the slightest touch. For awhile I avoided my house and sought haven in my friend’s flat between classes or for dinner. In retrospect, I wish I would have taken a more self-aware and direct approach to the situation; but like I said, I was in over my head and my self-reflection was quite low during this time. Anyway, this sort of pressure, discomfort, and misunderstanding on all parts coupled with my own frustration with what seemed to me as slow development of Spanish made the first year a bittersweet one.The sweet part came in the excitement, the newness of everything, learning and growing up so much and meeting new friends, some of which I will have for a lifetime. And of course, a pipe dream come true of finding my very own Spanish Maria.
Christmas Break (free then down)
For Christmas, I took a big trip away from Badajoz, teaching, and Spanish. First stop was Madrid for El Rey Leon with my new crush and now steady girlfriend, roommate, best friend, travel buddy, and business partner, Maria. Then I took off to Ireland and spent Christmas with my then newly-made and gracious friend Emma and her wonderful family. After this, I ferried over to England where I was gleefully joined by my brother, Matt, for New years. We then hopped over to Amsterdam for a longer visit than anticipated due to poor logistics planning on my end. After that, we flew to Malaga and Matt had his first taste of the Mediterranean, and where mine was quenched for a short time (I’ve began salivating again for that sea). We bused up to beautiful Cordoba for two nights, where we met Maria, then we made it back to Badajoz. I had to return to work while my brother was in town, so my German friend studying abroad in the Erasmus program, Gerhild, showed my brother around. We managed to visit Merida, where Matt got to see the Roman ruins and experience the charm of another Spanish city.
After another logistics nightmare, a missed flight, and a choked-hug, I waved goodbye to my brother as he boarded the bus to begin his journey home. I was in the passenger seat of Maria’s car, staring hard out the window at nothing before the first tears began to push their way out my tear ducts. When I felt Maria’s hand on my leg I stopped fighting and began sobbing. With snot clogging my nasal cavity, my eyes like rudolph’s nose, I came up gasping for air after four months. I finally stopped smiling for the photo and exhaled.
For now, we’re almost caught up and this is just the beginning of the adventures I plan to share with you. So stay tuned!
If you have any feedback, questions, suggestions, email me or comment below! Thank you for reading!
Back to Spain
Adventures in an Academy
A Spanish Christmas
My Favorite Spanish Foods