so many things

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I.

It’s been too long since I’ve written. To soak in this culture and this language is exhausting and I end each day feeling both utterly full and completely drained. But it is wonderful. The train wails by my house throughout the night and winter thunderstorms rattle the wooden blinds and I lie waiting to dream in the soft tones of Spanish. More things have happened in these last few weeks than I will ever be able to capture in this post, like visits to famous memorials, the mystifying show Fuerza Bruta (where by the end I was soaked with water and my hair was full of confetti), sunny Saturday morning runs through the vast park complex right by my house. But here are a few things.

II.

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Malba, a modern art museum is currently featuring the art of Le Parc Lumiere, whose works are all moving lights and mirrors. In the spacious and gaping dark rooms, we became fragments of pulsing light, reflections in hundreds of mirrors. Shadows.

III.

Since being here, I have taken the wrong bus twice. I have taken the correct bus once, but in the wrong direction and I didn’t realize until the bus reached the last stop and I was asked to get off. I wandered lost and confused for a while around an area that I later learned was Barrio Chino (Chinatown in Buenos Aires). I was half an hour late for class that day. Once, I gave a cab driver vague direction and ended up having to redirect him after he took me to “la catedral” subway station instead of “la catedral” tango club on Sarmiento street (not to be mistaken as Sarmiento Av. which is entirely different from just Sarmiento). Needless to say, I’ve figured a few things out since then.

IV.

Aprender a seguir. (learning to follow)

Tango. The dance of Argentina is sensual, but never sexy. It is rigid and fluid, and breathtaking to behold. We fell into it carelessly at first: Stepping boldly as if confidence could mask my clumsy ignorance. It was easy to memorize the basic step, and easy to feel the beat. So I was surprised when, an hour into the lesson, the instructor approached me to say that I was doing it all wrong. In Spanish, she stopped me and told me that I was leading and to try again. As soon as she said it I felt stupid. It’s exactly the kind of mistake that I would make.

A few moments later, my new partner was an older Argentine man. He was thin, and obviously well practiced at Tango. When I heard the beat come around to take the first step, I had to fight the urge to step forward and begin. Instead, I took a breath and waited. Follow. Why is this the hardest part? To let go of the grip of the steps, to not move my legs and body but rather let them be moved. Surrendering to the dance and the small Argentine stranger was like one long exhale.

He danced slowly, with small careful steps, and without looking I could feel where to step. It took a moment, and there were a few misguided steps on my part. But each time I did, he would hold still and wait for me to stop, take a breath, and ease back in to following his movements. And in an instant, I was doing something new. He glided me around the dance floor slowly and I felt like I was in some sort of trance. Like I wasn’t really touching the floor, like my feet were not my own. I realized we were doing Tango steps that I hadn’t even learned.

My reverie was broken when the old man smiled and told me that I was doing very well. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t doing anything. Because the truth was it felt like I wasn’t. For the first time I wasn’t doing anything and somehow it was easier.

V.

Tonight we leave for Paraguay!

Arrival in Buenos Aires

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When the plane touched down in Buenos Aires after 9 hours in the air, we descend through a gray cloud, and for a moment I felt like I was just flying back to rainy Tacoma for another semester. But aside from the cold day, this place is not like Tacoma. It has the tall buildings of New York, and the wide and winding streets of Paris. The best steak and pizza and helado and empanadas and wine.

There are 12 of us here who will take classes together. Living in Palermo, popular destination and extremely nice part of the city. It is nestled by a huge park complex with Japanese botanic gardens, a zoo, lakes, a shopping and bar zone (called Soho), and dining zone (called Hollywood).

For the next four months a woman named Maria Labat will be my host mother. Mario, her husband will be my host father, though he is away this first night. Their three grown children no longer live with them, and the apartment where Maria lives is somewhat old fashioned in a quaint, adorable, and very homey way. But even though Labat apartment is empty of children, the apartment complex itself is full of family. Maria’s sister lives in the building next door, and there are several cousins ranging from 19-23 who live in other floors of the apartment. I met Maria’s sister and one niece tonight, who were both eager to meet me. The niece is a small, pretty, dark haired woman who is an assistant teacher for kindergarten and she speaks English.

It is strange and incredibly lucky that in this vast city Arianne now lives just two minutes from the Labat apartment where I now live. (My good friend Audra will hopefully be close as well) It has been four years since Arianne and I attended school together, and now we have four months to live and study as neighbors. I already can’t wait till this beautiful place feels like home. Cheers to old friends and new experiences.

surfing in Jacó

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When Daniel, Kevin, Arianne and I hopped on the bus that drove us for two hours to the nearest beach from San Jose, we were not expecting to learn how to surf. But for just $35, our hotel offered a two hour all inclusive surfing lesson the morning after our stay.

It has been years since I have been on a sandy, warm beach, and I had forgotten just how much I love the warm waves and feeling of sand so hot that it almost burns. Expecting to humiliate myself, I was standing on the board in just four tries and spent the rest of the two hours gliding with waves into the shore.

But all grand adventures must come to an end. Our short time in Costa Rica was only a taste of something sweet, but we are off for a bigger adventure. Buenos Aires!!!

San José

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Walking into San Jose, Arianne turned to me and said, “welcome to San Jose, the world’s ugliest capital city.”

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She wasn’t necessarily wrong. The average tourist in Costa Rica is most likely bound for the beautiful beaches and resorts, not the cracked and dirty city of San Jose. But this is real Costa Rica. This is “Pura Vida” (The Costa Rican saying that means everything from “hello,” or “goodbye,” to “thank you,” or “life is good”).  Yes, it is a city of crime, but it is also a city of kisses on the cheek and friendly smiles. It is beautiful in its own right.

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Fun fact: I was surprised to see a sizable population of hipsters in some parts of the city. Hipsters that would shame those I have seen in Denver and the northwest.

here we go

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“It smells like gringa in here,” someone said and we laughed. Last night was our second night here in Alajuelita, just outside of San Jose in Costa Rica. We are in a very small but well kept house up on a hill overlooking the valley. It is home to the Obando family: mother, father, four sons, three cats, one dog (who is never allowed in the house) and now myself and Arianne – my friend since 7th grade. It is crowded but warm and welcoming, and with the exception of Ms. Obando, everyone in the house speaks some English. The eldest son Henry and his father who works for the embassy are fluent.

Arianne lived in Costa Rica for 8 months last year and for her this is a vacation to a second home. In our first day, we wandered the streets of San Jose and Heredia until the afternoon brought heavy rain. We then made our way to the house where Arianne used to live where her old host mother had cooked us beef and bean stew and cheesecake. For an hour and a half I was humbled by Arianne’s Spanish and listened to her converse with her old host parents about everything from weather to Chinese politics. I said very little but did my best to listen while we ate. It was a sobering reminder of how difficult this semester of Spanish will be for me. At the moment I feel extremely unconfident in my Spanish and have had to remind myself that this terrifying undertaking is something that I want. I have wanted this opportunity for a long time. Here we go.

Fun fact: 4 out of 5 employers think all students should study liberal arts and sciences.

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When I was a senior in high school and applying for colleges, I could not escape from people asking about the status of my applications.  If it was someone from school, it was “UVA or Virginia Tech?  Mary Washington or William and Mary?”* If it was someone from church, it’d be “How’s the BYU app going?”  So coming to Puget Sound, a small, private liberal arts school 3,000 miles away, was a bit out of the box.  Hipster, even, one might say.

As a fellow senior was kind enough to point out recently, there are now fewer than two hundred days left before graduation.  This is only mildly terrifying.  Over the summer, I went through a freak-out phase and, during a slow week at work, made a spreadsheet of potential future plans: grad school options, companies and nonprofits for which I could see myself working, volunteer opportunities.  This was a fantastic idea and I highly recommend it: even though I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing, I look like I do, which then annoys my older sister, and that’s always nice.

Last week, Career and Employment Services held a career fair.  My usual reaction to events like this used to be “Psh, not a senior, don’t have to go.”  (Don’t do that, kids.  Never too early and all that.)  Anyway, during another slow week at work over the summer, I read a bunch of articles with headlines along the lines of “Half of Recent College Still Relying on Parents for Money, Study Finds.”  That is not a situation that I like.  So I’m now pretty motivated to attend CES events, and so far it seems to be paying off (keep in mind that there are also articles like this and this).

My other sister, the younger one, is in the throes of applying for college.  So, even though unemployment rates are scary things, this has been a nice reminder that things could be worse – at least at Puget Sound we have CES, which is significantly more helpful than my sister’s high school advisor.  Job applications are intimidating, but aren’t as labor-intensive as the Common App and don’t cost $50+ a pop.  And I have reason to mock both of my sisters.  Life is good.

*To be fair, I did actually apply to Mary Washington and William and Mary.  I wrote W&M an essay correcting the grammar of the essay prompt.  It was a fantastic essay.  They wait-listed me.

Our adult responsibilities

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I was texting my little sister yesterday and was surprised to find out she didn’t have school today! I knew today was Election Day but why did that mean they didn’t have school? As I thought it over I realized it’s because it’s Election Day! But not because of how amazing an American right it is and everyone should go out and vote but because in Hawaii many public schools are used as polling places for the various districts. And I think that’s kind of amazing to make it easy for people to vote as many people don’t specifically get time off to vote. I also learned via the internet earlier today that the state of Washington mails in their ballots. That’s really cool because it puts the accountability and the right and power directly into the hands of all their constituents which I can relate to because I completed my mail-in ballot last week. And it’s an interesting process since I’m away, I don’t see the political ads on TV, the radio or people sign-waving on the streets (is that a thing only in Hawaii?). And I think politics are so messy with negative campaigning and fighting to control the power cajoling during the campaigning and not following through during their terms. And that’s something we hope to change, that in college, in life we see how truly valuable hard-working people with good intentions are and being fair. Voting is a right we all, over 18 year olds, have and must use to the fullest, WE decide how our future will be by choosing the ones we believe will do the best to fulfill our county’s, district’s, state’s, and nation’s needs. Here’s a cool video that promotes voting among young people. Everyone has a story and is affected by the daily actions and bill politicians constantly argue over, they are our voice and we need to choose them wisely to help us tackle the issues we want to fix, and there are many as the video shows. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rijpU5yD55I

Voting is also just one of the many adult-like responsibilities being a college student with. It’s a lot to realize how different college is from high school but there are still so many things that we need help figuring out. Money is the first and biggest hurdle to learn and deal with as a college student. It’s crazy to think about how much money it costs to attend higher education now and the multitude of ways we must figure out to afford it. And then there’s spending and living money we college students need to have, but we must learn to budget our money to last the year, going out to Silk Thai or Trapper’s Sushi, Met cookies and more.

Last week I attended a Panhellenic sponsored Finance Talk by Professor Linda Livingston titled Saving, Investments, and Retirement. She brought up a lot of points I didn’t realize that I think are invaluable to know. Saving is short-term, and you should have enough savings to live off of for 8 months without pay! And the best way to save is through credit unions (shoutout to my Mom for signing me up for a credit union)! Credit unions are non-profit federally insured and way better than banks because they have shared branches, higher interest rates than banks and no hidden fees. Linda then goes on to explain savings should NEVER be used in investments. The stock market is volatile, but it’s the only market to invest in and make a gain, you have to be patient and wait for the return driver, you gotta play the game. And in the market, the cheapest one is the BEST one, if you play it safe there’s no way for you to win! Retirement does seem so far off into the future, we’re only in college right now! But it’s never too early to save, to think about paying traditional IRAs, paying taxes at your retirement with a tax deduction now or ROTH IRAs, paying taxes now but not at your retirement. This summary was just that a quick introduction into the many opportunities and pitfalls of dealing with finances, something in the very near future for us. And I think the least we can do now is start saving, we don’t want to be broke college students forever.

Why I wake up early

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Photo credit - Liv Wilson

Photo credit – Liv Wilson (Connibear Shellhouse prior to 7am launching and docking point)

 

A race is not won in one stroke, but many strokes over the length of the course. Before you pull up you are tapped on the back you turn and there is a hand outstretched. You extend your own hands in front and behind you to your teammates, there is a momentary silence and everyone’s hands squeeze. The hands all squeezing are like a silent mantra, “We can do this, together.” All hands drop and your return to your positions looking dead ahead, where you will look for the rest of the race. “All eight sit ready,” the coxswain’s voice rings out over the silence, “attention, Row.” All nine prepare as they gain speed into the line. The knock of the oar at the end of each stroke signals the next swing out to the catch. Up the slide, roll the wheels, knock goes the blade as it is turned to the correct position. Splash, as the blade is backed into the water and a v of water sprays off either end. Woosh of the slide as eight rowers push off and lean back. Knock. The cycle repeats as the coxswain calls the rowers to add some more push. They come closer to the line. “You are at a 28, two more strokes to build to our race pace of 30. That’s one.” Splash. Knock. Woosh. “That’s two.” Splash. Knock. Woosh. “You’re on! This is where we start it right here!” You have passed the starting marker now a bright bobbing triangle in the recent distance. “We have already begun walking the crew ahead of us.” You keep your eyes locked ahead pushing away stroke by stroke, the competitors behind you. Each stroke is easy now, you are running of free energy as you go into the first turn of the race. “This is going to be a port turn. Ports pressure up. Starboards pressure down.” The boat pivots to starboard with each stroke. “Even pressure!” The hard knock signals the rowers’ response. Down and away to keep the blades off the water. Sitting up at the catch to grab that last bit of water. Jumping off on the drive and easing up on the recovery. Shook, is the rush of air out of each pair of lungs on the drive. Ahh, is the inhalation of each pair of lungs on the rowers’ way up to the catch.

 

Photo Credit - Hailey Greer (In the Montlake Cut)

Photo Credit – Hailey Greer (In the Montlake Cut) The Coxswain is wearing a jacket and back is turned in this picture

Photo Credit - Hailey Greer (In the Montlake Cut)

Photo Credit – Hailey Greer (In the Montlake Cut) Starboards are people who’s blades appear on the left side of the picture, while Ports are rowers who’s blades appear in the right side of the picture

“We are coming in to the Cut.” Every muscle in your body tenses. Every person sits up taller. “That’s your team cheering for you. Show them how we take this boat.” Shook. Ahh. “With Power!” Shook. Ahh. “With Grace.” Shook. Ahh. The sound of the Logger cheer rises as you get closer. “Make them proud!” Splash. Knock. Woosh. The boat is continuously picking up speed. Your crew is feeding off the energy of the crowd in Montlake Cut. The burn in your legs begins to creep back into your mind as you fall off the energy of the crowd and you are long past the cut. “We are on track for our goal time.” The reminder that this race is won on time and that even if we can’t see the other crews in our event we are still racing them. The pop at the catch comes back and the focus is pulled back in. Splash. Knock. Woosh. You only think about the stroke you are taking. “We are coming up on the turn. Starboards I’m going to need that pressure, Ports ease it off.” The whole race you have been neck and neck with two other boats the one just behind you and one just ahead of you. On the turn all three of you’re very close. You can see one of the boats out of the corner of your eye. The turn is over you are back on. “They got the inside of the turn, let’s make up that water in this last 500 meters.” Your back hurts and makes you want to curl over, while your lungs are raw. So you drive harder, and pop off the catch faster. You can see the competition you have regained a lot of ground. “Last 150 meters. Where do you want to finish? Show me here!” The whole boat sends in the final strain. The last sprint to get over the finish line first. Splash. Knock. Woosh. The cycle has sped up. Splash. Knock. Woosh. There is nothing on your mind but getting to then end first. “Your done. Weigh enough.” The breaths are ragged, and uneven. You are tapped on the back once more to find the faces of the people whom you rowed with and an outstretched hand this time for a fist bump. This time the hand tells you, “We did it!”

Photo Credits - Lilie Gross

Photo Credits – Lilie Gross (Connibear Shellhouse in the morning launching and docking point)

 

Autumn

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Fall on Campus

Fall has rolled in the same way that the wind tumbles and sprints starting at the field house and reaching a low rumble in the President’s woods. One of the best parts of fall, other than any and everything pumpkin flavored appearing in stores, are the smells. Cinnamon is a constant scent floating out of the kitchens on campus, and becomes something second nature to sprinkle on in not only a to-go oatmeal, but also on top of an already hot drink. The air is something that we encounter every day and therefore is easily overlooked, but the Northwest air is to me a stark contrast to where I grew up in Southern California. I was grown in an arid climate amongst rolling hills covered in the odd low brush. So once fall comes around it is similar to the rest of the year just a little cooler. The trees go from green to brown, and then usually barren. The trees around Tacoma still fascinate me their being a full process of color range that is throughout the tree. Little can rival the trees and their warm happy welcome of change is the air. Taking in a breath of air in Tacoma is another level of relaxing that I can only begin to approach when on a calm beach at night. Each inhalation revitalizes and cools me down to the smallest level in my lungs, the little balloons that are my alveoli, allow for an exchange of not only oxygen, but almost the life force of our community. I understand as a scientist that there is no quantifiable way of measuring what I consider to be our community’s life force, and I began to try understanding it the second time I visited. I first was met with the kindness and openness of the people here when I visited the summer of my junior year. I truly fell in love with the campus when I visited again in the fall and had a chance to become part of the Logger family. I may be biased in my love for all that happens once the leaves fall. From an early age I associated fall with going to my sister’s soccer games, my birthday, as well as my family making and eating good food together. My kinship with autumn may be in its defiant nature; I am the youngest of three girls which meant that I wanted to do what my sister’s where doing regardless of if I was the right age or size for the activity. At the age of four I was at a loss of why the people who were merely six years older than myself thought they could beat me at soccer. This only led to me trying to scrimmage with them, to my oldest sister’s horror and my delight I would crash her practices. On the sidelines I would squirm, dribbling, practicing, attempting to emulate what I saw, and waiting for my chance to be able to be on a team as well. I have been in team sports ever since first grade, when I was signed up for a recreational soccer team. Just as quickly as I began I had to stop, because I was injured part way through the season. So began my subconscious understanding of fall as change and family. Fall is often defined by the changes we can see in the leaves beautiful golden, red, and orange hues, or those we can feel as the temperature drops outside. However you recognize fall you cannot deny the wonder that occurs.

 

Excessive Amounts of Candy and Seasonal Spirit

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In October, it is difficult to think of anything other than Halloween.

Walking towards Proctor? There’s a ghost that hangs from a tree, a grim-reaper-esque fellow with a mouth gaping open in a bloody scream. He floats in the breeze, twisting like pale smoke, and I will be honest: the first time I ever saw him, I screamed. Now, though, I call him Bill. There’s a giant black cat on a glowing orange pumpkin; the effect is particularly powerful at night.

Bill would be on the far right, but unlike normal ghosts, he does his best work in the day.

Bill would be on the far right, but unlike normal ghosts, he is best seen in the day.

And a few houses down, there are bloody heads sticking up from the grass, like some sort of grotesque ferns, and tombstone laying against the doorways. One house, even further down, is lined entirely with pumpkins of all shapes and sizes—fat, yellow, thin, white, stretched and squashed, orange, and even a couple that are actually squash—all around the deck.

Entering Safeway? All you can buy is candy. Which, luckily, was what I was there for. My roommate signed us up to be a dorm room that children can trick-or-treat at on the 30th; this, however, actually requires having candy to give to the fairies and police officers and superheroes that come running by. The candy choices are large, garish, and decorated with pumpkins; and nowhere do they make a cheap mix combining dark chocolate, KitKats, and Twix Bars. I settled for KitKats, as they are delicious and not as expensive as they could be. Also, handing out Tootsie Rolls is cruel, and results in disgusting leftovers.

Going to class? In French, my professor asked me what I was dressing up as. It is very difficult to say, “I am going to make it up out of whatever I can find in my closet because I am too lazy to actually even consider going shopping for costumes; however sadly I don’t have any costume-related clothing so it will be normal clothes and me pretending it’s a costume.” So instead, I said “Je pense Black Widow,” which means, “Black Widow because you just wear varying shades of black and leather and pretend she’s in disguise so brown hair is cool.”

(My professor, for his part, has an intense fear of Halloween. His first year in the States, when he did not actually speak English fluently, he was left alone in a big house on Halloween. When the doorbell rang, as it is wont to do, he answered it and was greeted by one giant ghost and several smaller ghosts—all of whom he assumed were burglars. His heart has never recovered.)

Doing anything? When I went to Curtain Call, the theme was “Doom and Gloom,” and the song choices were either from fairly dark shows or were really dark themselves or were operas written about fairy godmothers who ate people. All the poems I wrote for my introductory poetry class were described as “creepy” or “almost creepy” or “it’s a little creepy, don’t you think”. All of them. Jack-o’-lanterns lurk outside of every resident hall.

They are surprisingly well-carved.

They are surprisingly creative.

There is only one flavor allowed, in your doughnuts and in your ice cream and especially in your lattes: pumpkin spice. (I hate pumpkin so much guys it is slowly destroying me.) Even reading the news: my friend decided to dress up as Kim Jong Un’s cheese.

Everything is Halloween, even the orange leaves clinging to the trees and black skies. It tastes like chocolate.

The day after Halloween, we went out to the football game versus Pacific Lutheran and watched the Lutes (I don’t think I will ever ever ever be over that name) win. The air was bitterly cold, and sank down into our bones. The sun peeked out, just for a second,

I was still freezing cold.

I was still freezing cold.

but remembered that it was now November, that winter and Thanksgiving and 5000 word policy papers on the Israel/Palestine peace process were coming, and hid again.