Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Day 234 (Part Two): #BostonEmpathy
My dad wrote me an email this morning about my blog, telling me how much he enjoys reading it because I am "so refreshingly honest & willing to bare [my] soul." He went on to write that he "admire[s my] journey to find the 'truths' in life."
I would say that accurately sums up my blog in a nutshell.
But his words did more than make me smile, a little embarrassed about my dad being my main reader (ha). His words made me decide to REALLY bare soul, for good or for bad:
I've being trying to desperately avoid thinking about it and, certainly, avoid writing about it. But it's just bothering me too much, and while I tried to write my best friend about it and see if he could help, his response, though sweet and nonjudgmental, didn't make it go away. It was only after I read an article on The Boston Globe's website today and realized I wasnt the only one did I decide to risk it and write today's blog about what it has been that's out me in such a dark place the past few days:
I feel an ALARMING amount of empathy for the younger brother of the Boston bombings.
I know I shouldn't. I know I should hate him. I know I should see him as a murderer and as evil. I know I should have nothing but disgust for him. I know I should think about the four people who died because of his actions and the hundred plus severely injured by it. I know I should think about how he made one of my best friend's life turn upside down because of it all. I know I should be enraged by his stupidity and complete lack of respect for humanity and for a country (my country) that had taken him in and given him and his family a wonderful chance at a life they could only dream of in their native country.
But for some reason... For some stupid and incomprehensible reason... I have this voice in my head that keeps saying, "Yeah, but..." It started after I had a dream about him while my roomie and I had a live feed on while we were sleeping. But ever since then, no matter how much I try to ignore it or how unpatriotic it makes me feel or how hard it is to be in the same room as my Bostonian roomie when it starts up again or how sick to my stomach it has made me all week... It just keeps whispering, "Yeah, but..."
"Yeah, but... Maybe it was just his brother's effed up ideas and he was brainwashed into doing it. We don't usually persecute the brainwashed, but instead pity them. Maybe the reasons the brother gave seemed logical, coming from somebody he respected, even though they were clearly not. The fact that after his brother was dead he didn't hurt anyone else and instead hid in a boat could show he really wasn't wanting to hurt people. The fact that he's been cooperating and answering all of the questions the police have must show that he's not a crazy evil person."
And I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as he hid in that boat. And what he's thinking now as he lies in that guarded hospital room with a hole in is throat and the knowledge that he's just lost his entire life. Does he wake up and hope for a second he was dreaming? Does he replay agreeing to it all in his head and ask himself why he did? Does he feel remorseful for the people he hurt and killed? Would he do it again if given the opportunity? Does he feel it was worth it?
With most criminals, there is a distinct sense of removing them from humanity. The Aurora theater shooter is clinically insane. Al Qaida terrorists are brainwashed and have long ago lost touch with reality. They are not people - they are shells of people. We need not have empathy for them, because they lost their humanity long ago.
But this guy? He doesn't fit the image. He doesn't come across as utterly soulless. It'a much harder just to write him off as evil, because (and this is the worst part), there are aspects of ourselves we can see in him - whether were conscious of it or not. And that's both nauseating and petrifying.
I remember when I was 14 my parents read a book about the "Gay Agenda" and how homosexual people were trying to take over America and corrupt it. They were going to start with gay marriage, and then who knows what they would do next to ruin the moral fabric of our country! Inch by inch they would turn it into filth.
I remember them telling me about the book. I remember them agreeing with it. I remember being afraid by the unknown implications it implied, because they were. I would go to school and debate people on gay marriage - little by little becoming disgusted with people who were in favor of it.
Of course, it was all irrational, and it was only because my parents had told me about it and I believed their opinions to be absolute and correct. But I would defend it no matter what.
Five years later I would fall in love with a girl, become part of the gay community for half a decade, and quickly realized how ridiculous and homophobic the whole thing had been - but it took me a little while to not feel like my personal choices weren't possibly weakening my country in some imperceivable way...
I'm not saying I would have blatantly murdered people over what they told me, but I am saying it really altered my perception of the truth for a good long time. But given the right warped logic, the right affinity and respect for someone I looked up to and a hint of xenophobia*... I'm not so sure convincing me that making a scene to terrorize or raise awareness would be impossible.
I, myself, have never had the inexplicable urge to harm or kill anyone. Along with a healthy dose of respect for humanity, I never see others potential demise as outweighing my own future. I have, however, had two second "What if I..." thoughts, that seem to fade from my mind just as quickly as they randomly got there. I think them when I see a metro go past: "What if I just 'accidentally' hopped off the platform?" I think them when I get really irrationally angry at somebody close to me: "What if I just 'accidentally' said this awful thing to them?" I think them at random and after the pass, I always take a few more seconds to imagine the result.
Anyway, the point is, the fact that I can imagine putting myself in his place for even two seconds makes me feel empathy. And feeling empathy makes me feel... ashamed. It's almost worse that there's humanity in him than had he just been insane or beyond brainwashed; it adds a whole new dimension of dissonance.
As if my inner confusion and guilt weren't enough, sharing a room with one of my good friends who was freaking out and crying all week as pictures came up on her Facebook of friends with bullet holes in their bedrooms from the gunfights and as she talked to friends and family who were feet away when the explosions happened... That really adds to it.
I, more than most perhaps, know what it feels like to have an awful tragedy happen minutes from your home, and you be far away and unable to do anything. I remember how deeply it affected me for quite awhile. And I can't imagine how I would have felt if I'd been living with someone who was secretly feeling empathy for the perpetrator and irrationally thinking to herself, "Well this guy wasn't as blatantly mentally ill and didn't kill a quarter as many people as he killed in the tragedy where I lived..."
So on top of feeling utterly nuts for not just hating the guy, I feel even worse because I live with my good friend who was obviously quite affected by it all, and I still can't bring myself to stop feeling the way I do.
And that is why I have been in such a funk all week. That is why I have been completely avoiding her since Saturday. That is why I've felt so sick to my stomach all week. And after spending two and a half hours writing this, I still don't feel much better, nor know what to make of my perspective. I keep checking the news, hoping either he has released a heartfelt apology to the victims so that I can feel a little less insane about it all... Or hoping he has come out saying he would do it again and he's not sorry, just so that I can finally stop feeling this way.
But without more information, I'm stuck in this place of wanting to believe even people who do horrible, horrible things can still merge from their awful decision and act, still having a soul. I can't tell you why that feels like it would be so important to me, but it does. Perhaps, in a strange way, if somebody who did something that awful could somehow still have their humanity intact on the other side of it all, it would make me feel like all the things I have done wrong in my life - no matter how awful they were - do not have to define who I am today. Perhaps, I can see too much of myself and Conor and J in it all to be able to just turn off my hope, even if it turns out to be based in nothing but idiotic naivety.
I've never felt so ashamed and like I was betraying a friend so acutely as I feel now because of nothing but a feeling in the back of my mind that logic can't expunge. I hope I can forgive myself sooner rather than later for my judgement being uncharacteristically clouded by innocence. The voice inside hopes that innocence turns out to be based on something real, but the logical part of me hopes it turns out to be based on nothing but ridiculous naivety that will soon be squashed.
:-/
I would say that accurately sums up my blog in a nutshell.
But his words did more than make me smile, a little embarrassed about my dad being my main reader (ha). His words made me decide to REALLY bare soul, for good or for bad:
I've being trying to desperately avoid thinking about it and, certainly, avoid writing about it. But it's just bothering me too much, and while I tried to write my best friend about it and see if he could help, his response, though sweet and nonjudgmental, didn't make it go away. It was only after I read an article on The Boston Globe's website today and realized I wasnt the only one did I decide to risk it and write today's blog about what it has been that's out me in such a dark place the past few days:
I feel an ALARMING amount of empathy for the younger brother of the Boston bombings.
I know I shouldn't. I know I should hate him. I know I should see him as a murderer and as evil. I know I should have nothing but disgust for him. I know I should think about the four people who died because of his actions and the hundred plus severely injured by it. I know I should think about how he made one of my best friend's life turn upside down because of it all. I know I should be enraged by his stupidity and complete lack of respect for humanity and for a country (my country) that had taken him in and given him and his family a wonderful chance at a life they could only dream of in their native country.
But for some reason... For some stupid and incomprehensible reason... I have this voice in my head that keeps saying, "Yeah, but..." It started after I had a dream about him while my roomie and I had a live feed on while we were sleeping. But ever since then, no matter how much I try to ignore it or how unpatriotic it makes me feel or how hard it is to be in the same room as my Bostonian roomie when it starts up again or how sick to my stomach it has made me all week... It just keeps whispering, "Yeah, but..."
"Yeah, but... Maybe it was just his brother's effed up ideas and he was brainwashed into doing it. We don't usually persecute the brainwashed, but instead pity them. Maybe the reasons the brother gave seemed logical, coming from somebody he respected, even though they were clearly not. The fact that after his brother was dead he didn't hurt anyone else and instead hid in a boat could show he really wasn't wanting to hurt people. The fact that he's been cooperating and answering all of the questions the police have must show that he's not a crazy evil person."
And I can't help but wonder what he was thinking as he hid in that boat. And what he's thinking now as he lies in that guarded hospital room with a hole in is throat and the knowledge that he's just lost his entire life. Does he wake up and hope for a second he was dreaming? Does he replay agreeing to it all in his head and ask himself why he did? Does he feel remorseful for the people he hurt and killed? Would he do it again if given the opportunity? Does he feel it was worth it?
With most criminals, there is a distinct sense of removing them from humanity. The Aurora theater shooter is clinically insane. Al Qaida terrorists are brainwashed and have long ago lost touch with reality. They are not people - they are shells of people. We need not have empathy for them, because they lost their humanity long ago.
But this guy? He doesn't fit the image. He doesn't come across as utterly soulless. It'a much harder just to write him off as evil, because (and this is the worst part), there are aspects of ourselves we can see in him - whether were conscious of it or not. And that's both nauseating and petrifying.
I remember when I was 14 my parents read a book about the "Gay Agenda" and how homosexual people were trying to take over America and corrupt it. They were going to start with gay marriage, and then who knows what they would do next to ruin the moral fabric of our country! Inch by inch they would turn it into filth.
I remember them telling me about the book. I remember them agreeing with it. I remember being afraid by the unknown implications it implied, because they were. I would go to school and debate people on gay marriage - little by little becoming disgusted with people who were in favor of it.
Of course, it was all irrational, and it was only because my parents had told me about it and I believed their opinions to be absolute and correct. But I would defend it no matter what.
Five years later I would fall in love with a girl, become part of the gay community for half a decade, and quickly realized how ridiculous and homophobic the whole thing had been - but it took me a little while to not feel like my personal choices weren't possibly weakening my country in some imperceivable way...
I'm not saying I would have blatantly murdered people over what they told me, but I am saying it really altered my perception of the truth for a good long time. But given the right warped logic, the right affinity and respect for someone I looked up to and a hint of xenophobia*... I'm not so sure convincing me that making a scene to terrorize or raise awareness would be impossible.
I, myself, have never had the inexplicable urge to harm or kill anyone. Along with a healthy dose of respect for humanity, I never see others potential demise as outweighing my own future. I have, however, had two second "What if I..." thoughts, that seem to fade from my mind just as quickly as they randomly got there. I think them when I see a metro go past: "What if I just 'accidentally' hopped off the platform?" I think them when I get really irrationally angry at somebody close to me: "What if I just 'accidentally' said this awful thing to them?" I think them at random and after the pass, I always take a few more seconds to imagine the result.
Anyway, the point is, the fact that I can imagine putting myself in his place for even two seconds makes me feel empathy. And feeling empathy makes me feel... ashamed. It's almost worse that there's humanity in him than had he just been insane or beyond brainwashed; it adds a whole new dimension of dissonance.
As if my inner confusion and guilt weren't enough, sharing a room with one of my good friends who was freaking out and crying all week as pictures came up on her Facebook of friends with bullet holes in their bedrooms from the gunfights and as she talked to friends and family who were feet away when the explosions happened... That really adds to it.
I, more than most perhaps, know what it feels like to have an awful tragedy happen minutes from your home, and you be far away and unable to do anything. I remember how deeply it affected me for quite awhile. And I can't imagine how I would have felt if I'd been living with someone who was secretly feeling empathy for the perpetrator and irrationally thinking to herself, "Well this guy wasn't as blatantly mentally ill and didn't kill a quarter as many people as he killed in the tragedy where I lived..."
So on top of feeling utterly nuts for not just hating the guy, I feel even worse because I live with my good friend who was obviously quite affected by it all, and I still can't bring myself to stop feeling the way I do.
And that is why I have been in such a funk all week. That is why I have been completely avoiding her since Saturday. That is why I've felt so sick to my stomach all week. And after spending two and a half hours writing this, I still don't feel much better, nor know what to make of my perspective. I keep checking the news, hoping either he has released a heartfelt apology to the victims so that I can feel a little less insane about it all... Or hoping he has come out saying he would do it again and he's not sorry, just so that I can finally stop feeling this way.
But without more information, I'm stuck in this place of wanting to believe even people who do horrible, horrible things can still merge from their awful decision and act, still having a soul. I can't tell you why that feels like it would be so important to me, but it does. Perhaps, in a strange way, if somebody who did something that awful could somehow still have their humanity intact on the other side of it all, it would make me feel like all the things I have done wrong in my life - no matter how awful they were - do not have to define who I am today. Perhaps, I can see too much of myself and Conor and J in it all to be able to just turn off my hope, even if it turns out to be based in nothing but idiotic naivety.
I've never felt so ashamed and like I was betraying a friend so acutely as I feel now because of nothing but a feeling in the back of my mind that logic can't expunge. I hope I can forgive myself sooner rather than later for my judgement being uncharacteristically clouded by innocence. The voice inside hopes that innocence turns out to be based on something real, but the logical part of me hopes it turns out to be based on nothing but ridiculous naivety that will soon be squashed.
:-/
Day 234 (Part One): Xenophobia*
As I travel the world more and live in Madrid for an extended period of time, people suddenly seem to be much more alike than I ever thought, yet, at the same time, far more different from each other than I ever imagined. You can go out for a beer with them and talk about life and really connect, and then they can look at your feet and exclaim in horror, "Oh my god, you're wearing FLIP FLOPS?!" and suddenly it's like you never met.
Intrinsically, I feel that everyone wants to be happy and loved and fulfilled, but the outwards expression of that and way of going about those things are incredibly different from person to person and culture to culture. And sometimes the differences can be so hard to comprehend that they just seem "backwards" and plain "wrong."
I cannot count on my fingers and toes the number of times I've heard my American friends here bashing the Spanish for cultural differences they've witnessed. Their doctors are incompetent, the old ladies are bitchy, the children are unruly, service is impersonal, everyone is too loud, etc. etc. And that's highly educated Americans studying for their Master's degree here, in a Western country whose values and lifestyle are really not half as different from 98% of other countries in the world.
And it's not one sided. I had to read a batch of high school senior essays last week about America's violent gun culture and how barbaric and selfish we all are. They made up fact after fact to support their preconceived notions about a country half of them have never even set foot in.
So the fact that one man got on the bandwagon of America Hating after becoming disillusioned with his own experience in the country is not in the least bit shocking to me. Half the American students in my program who came here to avoid aspects of their lives back home and hoping for a good time here are literally counting the days until they can return home to "people like themselves," and surely never plan on returning here again. To think of what kind of life they'd have here if they were unable to return home for whatever reason... Scary.
But imagine if they had, on top of their interminable list of cultural differences that angered them, Spain had been in a war of a country where their religious and political ideals were prevalent... Man, things would really get ugly.
Intrinsically, I feel that everyone wants to be happy and loved and fulfilled, but the outwards expression of that and way of going about those things are incredibly different from person to person and culture to culture. And sometimes the differences can be so hard to comprehend that they just seem "backwards" and plain "wrong."
I cannot count on my fingers and toes the number of times I've heard my American friends here bashing the Spanish for cultural differences they've witnessed. Their doctors are incompetent, the old ladies are bitchy, the children are unruly, service is impersonal, everyone is too loud, etc. etc. And that's highly educated Americans studying for their Master's degree here, in a Western country whose values and lifestyle are really not half as different from 98% of other countries in the world.
And it's not one sided. I had to read a batch of high school senior essays last week about America's violent gun culture and how barbaric and selfish we all are. They made up fact after fact to support their preconceived notions about a country half of them have never even set foot in.
So the fact that one man got on the bandwagon of America Hating after becoming disillusioned with his own experience in the country is not in the least bit shocking to me. Half the American students in my program who came here to avoid aspects of their lives back home and hoping for a good time here are literally counting the days until they can return home to "people like themselves," and surely never plan on returning here again. To think of what kind of life they'd have here if they were unable to return home for whatever reason... Scary.
But imagine if they had, on top of their interminable list of cultural differences that angered them, Spain had been in a war of a country where their religious and political ideals were prevalent... Man, things would really get ugly.
Day 233: Funk
Abby always thinks I'm full of crap when I say I have an "American" version of myself, but that's only cause she's never seen me in America. I strongly dislike American me. She's insecure, which makes her kinda rude and depressed. When I'm abroad, she only comes out a handful of times... And the past few days have been victim to her. I know it is because of Saturday, and I know I should really get over it, but today apparently wasn't the day.
I only had three classes, and my private class was canceled, so I was set up for a relaxing Wednesday... But instead of relaxing, it felt long and empty. >_< Jeeze, how ridiculous.
I did find out from Laura that Nacho's parents were very happy with our first lesson together, and that was nice to hear. I also caught up on my blog and made the next high school blog project on Boston, so those should be interesting posts.
But past that? It was a pretty dull day.
Sometimes I feel really guilty for having listless, bs days... But then I remember that you can't have good days without something to contrast them to, and that it's okay to not always be overflowing with happiness. Maybe tomorrow will be different, but if not, I'll let myself have one more day like this before I have to stop.
XOXO
I only had three classes, and my private class was canceled, so I was set up for a relaxing Wednesday... But instead of relaxing, it felt long and empty. >_< Jeeze, how ridiculous.
I did find out from Laura that Nacho's parents were very happy with our first lesson together, and that was nice to hear. I also caught up on my blog and made the next high school blog project on Boston, so those should be interesting posts.
But past that? It was a pretty dull day.
Sometimes I feel really guilty for having listless, bs days... But then I remember that you can't have good days without something to contrast them to, and that it's okay to not always be overflowing with happiness. Maybe tomorrow will be different, but if not, I'll let myself have one more day like this before I have to stop.
XOXO
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Day 232: Fourteen Hours of Happy
Tuesdays have officially become my longest day of the week. Longest, but (by far) certainly not the worst. Mondays are the worst. Tuesdays are just long. I get on the bus at 8:35am. My only break in the day is lunch. After my five classes I teach during the school day, I have play class with Nacho. After that (as of today), I have an hour of conversation class with his parents! Then, I run to the train, get to Madrid, transfer between two metros, walk, and get to Patty's. An hour and a half later, she drops me off at the train station. My train home is 55 minutes long.
I could technically get home by 11:30, but (seeing as how I hadn't eaten since breakfast, 12 hours ago) I decided to stop at 100 Montaditos for a quick bite and a large beer. Current ETA? Midnight. (And yes, I am writing this from the train! Interesting fact: I write the majority of my blogs on the train... :-P)
But, despite my work day being roughly 14 hours long, I had a lovely Tuesday.
The first two classes sucked, but Laura's class perked me up, as usual. I know I say the Bachis are my favorite. I'm not reneging on that. But Laura's 3rd grade comes in at a VERY close second. ;) And that's who I had today!!! ^_^ Nothing snaps me out of a funk like those kids. :o)
Their adorableness motivated me to do my (awesome and inspired) rough draft of my final project at lunch... Which brings me to my life long question: Why am I so great at procrastination? It's not even that I pull it off in the end - it's that mine is always way better than everyone else's... including those who have been working on it for weeks and weeks!? Man. I swear this is my biggest talent in life!! I used to think it was luck, but now I'm starting to see it as a sort of super power. What takes other people serious planning and brainpower takes me five minutes of intense, zen thought. And then, BOOM. Inspired idea.
This talent really pays off in the classroom as a teacher. Man, does it ever! I got to fourth period and pulled out an awesome activity OUT OF MY A$&. I put the 6th graders in four groups of four and gave each group a kids book to read. They then had to summarize it and each give their personal opinion on it. Then, they'd switch books with another group. Cool, okay. But what really made it work was that I put each group on the board and told them every time I heard their group use Spanish, I'd put a sad face on the board. The idea was the group with least sad faces would win.
But they took it way seriously. I heard one Spanish sentence in 30 minutes.
This, coming from one of the classes that teachers are always screaming at to speak in English, yet they never do.
I changed up the rules and started giving smiley faces to the groups who were being witty, using English when they didn't think I was listening, etc. Make it a completion and game and suddenly everyone is fluent! O_o
After school it was Nacho time. Sometimes I feel like I understand how kid play therapy psychologists work... See, he and I can be coloring or playing hide and seek or Hungry Humgry Hippos, and I have to find a way to ask him questions and get him talking. It's a very delicate art form, I must say! But the adorable part is he almost always understands exactly what I said, and almost always has a perfect response! ^_^
Last Tuesday, after our play lesson, his mom told me how he had gotten a perfect score on his English exam. She told me how she'd tried to study with him, but how he already knew it all. She was so impressed by this that she asked if by chance I gave adult lessons. When I responded that I did, she jumped at the opportunity and asked if I could give her lessons after Nacho on Tuesdays and Thursdays! Her husband came home while we were discussing it and said he'd be interested, too!
Holy crap! I just love unexpected awesomeness!
This was the mom that I was worried wanted to fire me when Nacho started telling her for a few weeks he never wanted me to come back again. I never knew if she liked me or if she thought his classes with me were worth it.
And then this!
Anyway, today was our first lesson and it actually went really well! ^_^ Once again, didn't prepare a thing... Made it all up as I went... But by the end of the hour, the mom was talking to Nacho in English without fear or embarrassment on her face! A HUGE thing for her, who I'd never heard speak a word of English in the eight months I've known her because of her "embarrassment when it comes to speaking English..." :-) Awesome!
While the ending of the lesson was a big win, the whole thing
I could technically get home by 11:30, but (seeing as how I hadn't eaten since breakfast, 12 hours ago) I decided to stop at 100 Montaditos for a quick bite and a large beer. Current ETA? Midnight. (And yes, I am writing this from the train! Interesting fact: I write the majority of my blogs on the train... :-P)
But, despite my work day being roughly 14 hours long, I had a lovely Tuesday.
The first two classes sucked, but Laura's class perked me up, as usual. I know I say the Bachis are my favorite. I'm not reneging on that. But Laura's 3rd grade comes in at a VERY close second. ;) And that's who I had today!!! ^_^ Nothing snaps me out of a funk like those kids. :o)
Their adorableness motivated me to do my (awesome and inspired) rough draft of my final project at lunch... Which brings me to my life long question: Why am I so great at procrastination? It's not even that I pull it off in the end - it's that mine is always way better than everyone else's... including those who have been working on it for weeks and weeks!? Man. I swear this is my biggest talent in life!! I used to think it was luck, but now I'm starting to see it as a sort of super power. What takes other people serious planning and brainpower takes me five minutes of intense, zen thought. And then, BOOM. Inspired idea.
This talent really pays off in the classroom as a teacher. Man, does it ever! I got to fourth period and pulled out an awesome activity OUT OF MY A$&. I put the 6th graders in four groups of four and gave each group a kids book to read. They then had to summarize it and each give their personal opinion on it. Then, they'd switch books with another group. Cool, okay. But what really made it work was that I put each group on the board and told them every time I heard their group use Spanish, I'd put a sad face on the board. The idea was the group with least sad faces would win.
But they took it way seriously. I heard one Spanish sentence in 30 minutes.
This, coming from one of the classes that teachers are always screaming at to speak in English, yet they never do.
I changed up the rules and started giving smiley faces to the groups who were being witty, using English when they didn't think I was listening, etc. Make it a completion and game and suddenly everyone is fluent! O_o
After school it was Nacho time. Sometimes I feel like I understand how kid play therapy psychologists work... See, he and I can be coloring or playing hide and seek or Hungry Humgry Hippos, and I have to find a way to ask him questions and get him talking. It's a very delicate art form, I must say! But the adorable part is he almost always understands exactly what I said, and almost always has a perfect response! ^_^
Last Tuesday, after our play lesson, his mom told me how he had gotten a perfect score on his English exam. She told me how she'd tried to study with him, but how he already knew it all. She was so impressed by this that she asked if by chance I gave adult lessons. When I responded that I did, she jumped at the opportunity and asked if I could give her lessons after Nacho on Tuesdays and Thursdays! Her husband came home while we were discussing it and said he'd be interested, too!
Holy crap! I just love unexpected awesomeness!
This was the mom that I was worried wanted to fire me when Nacho started telling her for a few weeks he never wanted me to come back again. I never knew if she liked me or if she thought his classes with me were worth it.
And then this!
Anyway, today was our first lesson and it actually went really well! ^_^ Once again, didn't prepare a thing... Made it all up as I went... But by the end of the hour, the mom was talking to Nacho in English without fear or embarrassment on her face! A HUGE thing for her, who I'd never heard speak a word of English in the eight months I've known her because of her "embarrassment when it comes to speaking English..." :-) Awesome!
While the ending of the lesson was a big win, the whole thing
Day 231: Eff Mondays
Today. Sucked.
It's not often that I say that, but holy crap.
I was totally unprepared for my beloved Bachis, which meant no witty dialogue with Favorite nor Pineapple. :( They'd all done great blogs - which I wasn't expecting - and so I kinda just pretended like they had stuff to work on, while their teacher observed. >_<
Next was Laura's 2nd graders, who I had listen to a story. But as soon as she left the room, all hell broke loose, and I felt like a joke. Why did they offer ME a job there when I can't make 2nd graders pay attention for five minutes. Ugh.
And then it was the 7th graders. Between breaks and subbing, I haven't had to deal with them in over a month, and so today, when I had to deal with their bullshit for 1.5 hours, I lost it. I literally cussed them out, screaming. I threw notebooks at people's heads and didn't stop until their oblivious, facebooking teacher asked what was wrong.
What was wrong was that they were all fooling around, disrespectful as shit, giggling, being imbeciles for 45 minutes while a handful of people tried to hear what I was saying over their inane bullshit.
The teacher immediately told them they'd be having a week without any recess for making the most calm and patient teacher in the school absolutely lose it.
They effing deserve it.
They are the one anomaly of that whole school. They are so rude and cocky and slimy. I just hate them. I could combine my 1st graders and 45 of them would be more mature and respectful than this lot - and better at English, to boot. >_<
And that pretty much sealed the tone of my day.
The Seniors complained that writing 250 words about themselves was asking too much and they had too many exams, as they sat there laughing about stupid crap in Spanish and doing virtually nothing. >_< Obnoxious 7th graders even did that assignment - TWICE - without complaining. And these 17 year olds have had three classes to do it. Ugh.
After school classes were no better, and mostly I wanted to give up and go to the bar next-door. >_<
When I got home, I had two shots, half a bottle of wine and half a pack of Oreos, with cream cheese and fresh strawberries. And when I was ready to be civil, all my roommates were asleep - by 10 pm!!!!!
So.
Over.
Monday.
Eff this.
*later*
I just spent an hour and a half looking at old photos from the past six years. And I look so happy in them. But I wasn't. I had adoring boyfriends. I had adoring girlfriends. I had adoring best friends. But I know that outside of those poses for the camera, I felt utterly incomplete.
I know today sucked, but I can count on one hand the amount of days that have sucked since I moved here. And that's crazy.
Maybe the answer really isn't finding that other person, but finding yourself and what fulfills you on your own, first... O_o
It's not often that I say that, but holy crap.
I was totally unprepared for my beloved Bachis, which meant no witty dialogue with Favorite nor Pineapple. :( They'd all done great blogs - which I wasn't expecting - and so I kinda just pretended like they had stuff to work on, while their teacher observed. >_<
Next was Laura's 2nd graders, who I had listen to a story. But as soon as she left the room, all hell broke loose, and I felt like a joke. Why did they offer ME a job there when I can't make 2nd graders pay attention for five minutes. Ugh.
And then it was the 7th graders. Between breaks and subbing, I haven't had to deal with them in over a month, and so today, when I had to deal with their bullshit for 1.5 hours, I lost it. I literally cussed them out, screaming. I threw notebooks at people's heads and didn't stop until their oblivious, facebooking teacher asked what was wrong.
What was wrong was that they were all fooling around, disrespectful as shit, giggling, being imbeciles for 45 minutes while a handful of people tried to hear what I was saying over their inane bullshit.
The teacher immediately told them they'd be having a week without any recess for making the most calm and patient teacher in the school absolutely lose it.
They effing deserve it.
They are the one anomaly of that whole school. They are so rude and cocky and slimy. I just hate them. I could combine my 1st graders and 45 of them would be more mature and respectful than this lot - and better at English, to boot. >_<
And that pretty much sealed the tone of my day.
The Seniors complained that writing 250 words about themselves was asking too much and they had too many exams, as they sat there laughing about stupid crap in Spanish and doing virtually nothing. >_< Obnoxious 7th graders even did that assignment - TWICE - without complaining. And these 17 year olds have had three classes to do it. Ugh.
After school classes were no better, and mostly I wanted to give up and go to the bar next-door. >_<
When I got home, I had two shots, half a bottle of wine and half a pack of Oreos, with cream cheese and fresh strawberries. And when I was ready to be civil, all my roommates were asleep - by 10 pm!!!!!
So.
Over.
Monday.
Eff this.
*later*
I just spent an hour and a half looking at old photos from the past six years. And I look so happy in them. But I wasn't. I had adoring boyfriends. I had adoring girlfriends. I had adoring best friends. But I know that outside of those poses for the camera, I felt utterly incomplete.
I know today sucked, but I can count on one hand the amount of days that have sucked since I moved here. And that's crazy.
Maybe the answer really isn't finding that other person, but finding yourself and what fulfills you on your own, first... O_o
Day 230: Chelsea Day
¨to cabbage¨ verb - To GUILTLESSLY spend Sundays in your PJs watching silly TV while reading gossip magazines, eating comfort food, doing an art project, or whatever else is on your guilty pleasures to-do list, with the main goal of vegging out and recharching for the coming week.
After a stressful week with all of the Boston happenings, a freaking out friend and roomie drama... I was READY for some serious cabbaging. With most of the people in my apartment went to the Rastro for the day, and so I was free to sleep in, listen to my music loudly and sing along, never change out of my PJs, and generally do whatever I pleased.
And. It. Was. Glorious.
I slept in as late as my body would allow (10:30 am?! WTF, body?!), got up, had some strawberries with sugar (yummy), saw a coloring book on my desk that my mom had sent me for Christmas but that I´d yet to open, and became immediately inspired. Three hours later, I´d watched ¨The Secret¨ for the second time in a week, watched every single ¨Friends¨ blooper reel I could find THREE times, listened to tons of music I´d forgotten I loved... all while coloring a picture of kitties. When my picture was complete, I took a mini break for food, and then changed medium. I put the coloring book away and got out my favorite journal and started up on that with the piles of markers now spread all over my bed. I wrote and I wrote and I sang and I sang, happy as a freak´n clam still in her PJs. ^_^
I decided to conclude my amazing afternoon with a visualization meditation, which turned out to be one of the best ones ever. I´m sure to others, visualizing sounds absolutely hokey and ridiculous, but to me? It is like a ridiculously amazing super power I possess that few even know exists as a possible super power.
I think it might have been somewhere in this TED Talk that I heard the concept that happiness that was created by the mind was just as real as happiness created based on real experiences. And that idea got me thinking about visualization. Even if it were to turn out that visualizing didn´t actually work (which I´ve proven enough to not be the case... but just supposing), the happiness that I get out of it is completely real, and that certainly counts for a lot.
My explanation of the process of visualizing is like this: you get to come up with the most amazing thing you can possibly think of and suddenly become submerged in that alternate reality completely. As you linger there, more details fall into place, and as more details fall into place, the more real it feels. And, of course, the more real it feels, the happier you get. In a state of visualization, every single thing is mesmorizing. A smell, a color, a feeling, a sound. All of it. And when you practice it quietly in your room or in the shower, suddenly when amazing things happen in real life - no matter how small they might seem to others - you get that rush of amazement and magic that you experience while visualizing.
On the grand scale, according to new age philosophies, visualization is supposed to be a means by which you can consciously craft your future to your exact specifications. Supposedly, the energy you put out about what you want will be matched by the Universe´s energy. But it´s not as simple as ¨I am going to think about the lottery and I am going to win it.¨ No - the point of it isn´t that magic just happens... the point is that you get used to feeling that sense of happiness and gratitude that you are supposed to be feeling while visualizing, and by practicing feeling those positive emotions, you start to feel that way during your normal day. And as you feel that way and exude that positive energy, people and opportunities and experiences are drawn to you, and you are open to them and take advantage of thoughts and ideas and opportunities as they arise, with a new sense of confidence and enthusiasm - like you have while visualizing.
I´ve tried to explain it to people who aren´t into the whole thing, and the largely look at me like I´m full of crap. But then, they´re the ones who complain every day about their lives, and I´m the one who is currently, on the whole, pretty darned happy and grateful for everything around me! ;) In my opinion, it is much more powerful than it may at first logically seem. And after you do it for awhile, you realize it´s not about some new agey voodoo power, but just about conditioning your brain to see the world from a new perspective. And that new perspectives dramatically change EVERYTHING about a person and their existance.
Anyway - enough rambling. The point of this post was merely to say, today I did exactly what I wanted. I colored in a coloring book. I giggled over and over again at the same bloopers. I ate lots of strawberries with mountains of sugar sprinkled on them. I went to the store at night and bought Double Stuffed Oreos and dipped them in cream cheese just because I could. I journaled a bunch in my favorite journal that I always want to have perfect entries, but today I didn´t worry about that. I sang to music I liked in middle school. I didn´t shower until late at night. I smelled like yummy greasy cuddles. I talked to Wellington a lot and hugged him a lot. I imagined a crazy awesome near-future. I did whatever I pleased, and in the end didn´t feel like I´d wasted a single second of my day. It was, in fact, one of the best days I´ve had - and I´ve had some pretty great days recently! But just to spend the whole day with myself, fully entertained and chipper, was awesome.
When I finally emerged from my room around 7pm (still in my PJs with strawberry juice dripped on them), my roomie asked how much studying I´d gotten in and how many pages of my thesis I´d written. I just laughed and said I´d been coloring in a coloring book all day. She looked at me horrified, and all I could do was giggle.
This is what makes me so much different from other people.
And this is why I love who I am so much.
<3
XOXO
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