Valpo Voyager

Student Stories from Around the World

Page 28 of 124

Curious Eyes

Author: Emma Chelsvig

Location: Chennai, India

In order to complete field research for my internship here in Chennai, I took to the pavement of a bustling commercial neighborhood to map and record 6 different attributes for the area’s street vendors. Witnessing the vibrancy of Chennai’s streets is one thing…being engulfed in it is an entirely different experience.

With the clipboard cradled in my arm, I walked down one of the neighborhood’s streets to map its 270 street vendors. However, every few steps that I took I had several sets of eyes peering over my shoulder. The people were not shy about their curiosity—they literally placed their heads upon my shoulder and would even tilt my clipboard so they could see what I was writing. I would walk further on, trying to break my way through the pounding stares, inquisitive minds, and prying questions. Street vendors would then congregate around me, only to throw words around in their native Tamil language and provide me with more looks of concern. I tried settling their unease. I repeated to them, “school project, school project.” I received head bobbles of content, after which I then continued on my way for the next set of curious eyes.

I do realize that I gave the people plenty to stare at. I was, after all, a solo white female holding a clipboard and pen. But despite this, I have found the people to be quite curious and inquisitive of their surroundings. It is common for people to take account of their peer’s purchases at the store or to analyze the latest math test score of their child’s top classmate. And I see this same curious attitude in the nation as a whole. As India looks to traverse their pathway towards progression and development, they look outwards to developed nations. However, in doing so, their eyes can become focused and latched on the Western way of life…seeing the world as it has been crafted—a Eurocentric world.

But be mindful, beautiful India. You are dazzling as you are, with your never-ending surprises of activity. Your infrastructure does not mirror that of Europe’s finest crafted plazas. Your stores and shops are not clean cut. But there is value in that…your differences are to relish. Be mindful, beautiful India. Incorporate modes of development where it can benefit your people, but remember to hold fast to the charm that sets you apart.

Yes? No? Maybe-So?

Author: Emma Chelsvig

Location: Chennai, India

 

After being in Chennai for 3 weeks, I have come to better understand the people and the culture with each passing day.  I can cross the street through the weaving traffic without getting hit, I can decipher about 6 items on the menus at restaurants, and I can shuffle and nudge my way to the front of the line at the produce store as to not let every single customer cut me.  However, there is still one aspect of Indian culture that continues to bring me uncertainty…the head bobble.

The head bobble is reproduced by Indians with almost every human encounter.  When someone does the head bobble, the head lightly and loosely floats from side to side with the ears dipping down towards each shoulder.  It is a bobble of the head rather than a strict nod or “no” gesture.  As for the facial expression, there is little change in the person’s displayed emotions.  The head bobbler retains an expressionless front.

So, what does such an inherently vague gesture mean, exactly?  Well, I’m still not entirely sure.

As an outsider to Indian culture, I try to observe and understand my surroundings as much as I can.  I search for patterns and continuity, and then correlate the actions with a certain meaning.  But after 3 weeks, the head bobble still stumps me.  I ask the auto driver if he has change, and his head bobbles.  I discuss my goals for my project at work to my boss, and her head bobbles during the entire conversation.  I order food at a restaurant, and the waiter’s head bobbles.  During lunch, I sit across from a co-worker whose head bobbles as she chews each bite of her mother’s home-cooked meal.  I ask the hotel receptionist if my room can be cleaned, and his head bobbles.  I search for jack fruit at the produce store and cannot find any; I ask the cashier if there is any in stock, and her head bobbles.

Um…okay….so, is that a yes?  A no?  Maybe-so?

Sometimes I can decipher whether the head bobble means “yes,” or “I understand,” or “no,” or even when it just portrays contentment.  But quite often the head bobble still throws me off.  Resorting to my own culture’s human dynamics, the head bobble appears to display feelings of discontent or the act of settling.  This is not at all what it means, and thus I am left with a misunderstanding                                                                                                            of my peer’s response.

Nine thousand miles from home, India sometimes feels like a separate world.  It is so easy to hold tight to my own perceptions on life and use these to define everything that I see here.  But in doing so, I will misinterpret all that there is to learn from India.  So, I have 5 more weeks of my Indian adventure…let’s see if I master the head bobble.  And just maybe by the end of my time here, I’ll be bobbling with every person that I meet.  

 

Part 3: Love Casts Out Fear

Author: Kortney Cena

Location: San Jose, Costa Rica

Once we made it aboard the plane, Granny took a picture of me, saying she wanted to send “a picture of the girl who took me under her wing” to her daughter. As I took the window seat and Granny sat near the aisle, she gestured towards the empty center seat saying, “Do you think we’ll get away with this?”

“What, having an empty seat here?” I asked.

She nodded and I said “Probably not, they said this would be an almost full flight.”

She sat for a second, then turned to me and said “I could lay in both seats and act like I’m ill.”

We laughed, but in the end, another nice old lady ended up sitting between us. As people passed by and put their luggage in the overhead bins, she tapped me on the arm and said, “They can’t put their luggage like that! It won’t fit. It says so in this manual” as she pulled the plane manual out from the backseat pocket. “The proper procedure is in here,” she said. She added, almost as an afterthought, “I should be a flight attendant.”

I laughed and told her she’d probably be great at that. And she said “Yeah, I would tell people: ‘I don’t know what you are saying, I have hearing aids, just do what I tell you to’.”

There were some serious culture shock moments on the way back to Colorado. The biggest shock I faced that day was to see such a confrontational attitude after so many months with polite and calm Ticos. But before I could associate the loud and complaining and crazy with “the United States culture,” this Granny came up and showed a completely different attitude. This Granny knew Pura Vida. Though I have been hearing the phrase for months, it was her who taught me how to really live a pure life. When trouble comes, don’t stress out and run around like everyone else. Take it peacefully. Even when Granny heard we might have to stay the night, she didn’t panic but treated everyone with respect and was cracking jokes. She was never afraid to ask for help, and actually, it was by asking that she made some friends, including me. She taught me to, in the worst of times, be relatable with people and be nice. If this is not the message of Pura Vida that the Ticos have been trying to drill into me, then I don’t know what is. Patience. We are all people and it will all work out in the end. It is not the United States culture that was repulsing me, but rude people. Just like there are nice and rude people in Costa Rica, the same is true here, and anywhere else. And I began to think, maybe home won’t be quite so different after all.

Once I made it off the last plane and helped the guy in orange find the baggage claim in DIA (all in Spanish of course!), my family finally got to me. I realized that all those fears I had in the beginning were silly. After only a couple minutes with them, I realized that no matter how much I have changed or no matter the amount of stories I had to tell, they wanted to love me, and they wanted to listen.

Now, I am still adjusting here. The other day I went to the grocery store by myself and accidentally reverted to Spanish when I had to interact with some strangers. In some ways, the hardest part of being home is the normality of it all. It feels like I have reverted back to life before Costa Rica. But inside, I know that I really am not the same. Though it may not yet be obvious how these changes are going to manifest themselves into my life, I do know that I will never forget the people I met and the experiences I had. I know that these things have changed where I am going in the future because I have a wider view about who “people” are—not just United States people, but all people of the world.

Part 2: Pura Vida – Be Nice, Folks

Author: Kortney Cena

Location: San Jose, Costa Rica

I was still thinking about the beautiful mother/daughter moment and looking at the pictures I had captured of the precious moment when I heard over the speakers, “Kortney R Cena. Last call for gate 47.” I had forgotten about the time change, and my gate had switched. A couple panicky moments later, I made it onto the second plane of the day, sitting in middle seat of the very last row – probably the least coveted seat of the airplane. But I had no problem with it as it allowed me to get to know this nice kid from Kansas City who wants to be a dental hygienist. A couple hours later, we landed in Kansas City, and everyone who was staying on the plane for its next stop in Denver moved up to get better seats. I didn’t know it at the time, but these people would be the starring characters in my next adventure.

The pilots found a maintenance problem with the plane, so we were asked to get off while they procured another plane for us. Once off and in the gate, we were told over the intercom to sit tight and wait for information. Some people, who were too impatient to do that, asked for information and were turned to the customer service desk. As I sat, waited, and listened to angry voices all around me as they complained about the situation, my ear picked out some soft and less angry Spanish being spoken by 2 of the other passengers – a guy in bright orange and his companion in white. I immediately felt a gush of relief– either because their voices were calm or because Spanish feels like home to me now after 4 months of immersion. And this is when I met Granny. She is a delightful elderly woman, perhaps in her 80’s, but still with plenty of spirit. She wears a flowery dress and a light pink cardigan and is the picture of a cute old woman. Because she has hearing aids, she could not understand the intercom voices and was very confused about the whole situation. She asked me if I was going to Denver, and when I replied yes, she said “Then I am sticking with you!”.

Nearby there was a security officer who was telling people that if our flight had been canceled, we would have to be fit onto other flights to Colorado for that day, and if there were none, we could have to wait until tomorrow for a flight. One lady, wearing all dark black clothes and a darker attitude, hurried off to where the security officer suggested– which was out to the main check-in booth of southwest, outside of security. As Granny stepped up to the officer and started to ask questions of her own, I heard over the speakers someone saying “Denver, line up at gate 39,”so I began to lead Granny in that direction. Eventually we made it to the front where all other passengers who had no boarding passes (because we were already on the plane) were congregating. Southwest had got us a new plane, and we were all ready to get on– except for the lady in black who ran off. As we waited for the new plane to be prepared, I talked to the guy in orange. Turns out he is from El Salvador, a land plagued with gang wars and violence, but he personally was a successful businessman in Houston and was going to Denver to visit family. He was interested to hear that I was traveling from Costa Rica “a land of peace, thanks to God.” Then Granny showed me a picture of her great-grandson. A stressed-out mother tried to placate her fussy two-year-old and complained about her traveling woes, insisting “They had better let us on first. We were supposed to be on the plane first.”

As the plane finally began to load, we were not let on first, but were instead to go after the pre-boarders. Stressed-out mom was furious, and questioned the attendant. Despite her frustration, the attendant still decided to let the wheelchaired and disabled on the plane first. As one pre-boarder, an older man, went through to the plane, Granny turned to me and said, “I should say I’m with him!” Then with a smile, she mock cried out “Oh honey, wait for me!”

In response I answered, “Oh yeah, grandpa, wait for us!”

As we were snickering to ourselves, the other ‘through-travelers’ formed a line and began to get on the plane. Luckily, Granny was an old lady who knew how to use her old-lady-status to her advantage. She got herself in the front of the line and then asked if I, her daughter, could come with her. And that’s how I boarded the flight as the 3rd person and got a second-row window seat.

But just before we could get on, the lady in black appeared. She had a ticket for the flight in her hand. I gathered that she had traipsed around the entire airport, gone through security again, and probably met a lot of resistance to show up at the correct gate (which was in reality only 10 meters from the gate she left earlier) with this ticket. She was frustrated and at her wits end, so she cut to the front of the line, gave the attendant her ticket and asked to board. The attendant, who didn’t know her story, looked and saw in her ticket a boarding number A27, assumed she was just an impatient guest, and he told her to go wait in line. Furious, the lady in black said, “No! No, no, look again, it’s highlighted just for you.”

He let her pass with a begrudging nod, but she turned back, stopped the flow of traffic, and made a scene asking, “What’s your name? Write down your name here.” I assume she wanted to go online and complain about this particular attendant’s service. The other passengers behind me were upset she was making a racket and causing the obstruction in traffic. The Salvadoran in orange shook his head, ashamed for her. He said, “Earlier, she said she was just going home,” implying that there really was no good reason for her to be so worked up about the delay. Though I know she has a backstory that can probably explain all of her feelings and behaviors, I responded, “The people of Costa Rica are so tranquilo, so chill, and I miss that already.”

“Yes”, he responded. Paciencia.

Part 1: The Basic Blunders

Author: Kortney Cena

Location: San Jose, Costa Rica

Before we left Santa Rosa, Costa Rica, our program director Heidi Michelson put us through a re-entry workshop. We talked about the things we would miss, what we have learned, and about some serious fears and doubts we had about returning home. Fears that our friends and family will not understand us and how we have changed, that people will not listen to our stories, or, worst of all, that we will forget it all and revert back to the people we were 5 months ago. But, whether we were mentally prepared for it or not, May 10th came, and we had to say heartbreaking goodbyes to our host families and to the country we have grown to love.

As I took-off in the first flight of a line of planes that lead from Costa Rica to Denver, CO – home— I was a little overwhelmed by all of the emotional and exciting things that had happened already that day. Saying goodbye to my host family was harder than I had even imagined and saying goodbye to Costa Rica itself, the beautiful country full of mountains and trees, through the small and just-slightly-lower-than-is-comfortable plane window was unexpectedly difficult. And the forecast was for more emotional turmoil in the coming hours, as I knew that I would see my real family for the first time in months. Little was I to know that this was only the beginning of my travels that day—and travel is never adventure-less.  Recorded here, in a 3 part series, is the epic tale of my journey home, physically and mentally, and the record of a re-entering experience with plenty of lessons to be learned. In the end, you will find that in all my experiences in Costa Rica, of all the time spent with “ticos”, no one has truly driven home the heart of Pura Vida like an old Granny I met from Houston, and she was able to drive away the fears I had of home.  

Part 1: The Basic Blunders

Erin, another student in the Valpo Costa Rica Study Abroad program, had the same flight as me to Houston. While her connecting flight heads off to Chicago and mine goes to Denver, we got to spend the last few hours in Costa Rica together. As we flew out of Costa Rica and passed over Nicaragua, I happened to look out the window and notice a mountain with clouds around it. But that was no mountain, and those were not clouds either. On second look, I saw that it was an erupting volcano. I elbowed Erin, and we marveled at Central America giving us a last glimpse of its natural beauty. We visited Nicaragua a couple weeks before, we hiked one of its many volcanos, but the view of an erupting volcano, from a safe distance away, was another level of cool. Around the cone, you could see bright red lava, and down the sides, you could see trails of black where the magma had cooled. The steam coming out the top spiraled into the sky. Before you get worried, the volcano didn’t hurt anyone, it was in a rural area and even so, the lava didn’t travel much past it’s base.

As the attendant came around with drinks, both Erin and I responded in Spanish, which I’m sure he found confusing. As we arrived, I creaked my neck to look at Houston through the plane window. Everything was…perfect. Big. Placed with perfect spacing between buildings. The roofs were white—there were none of the cheap and typical tin roof rusty-orange color roofs or green roofs that mark the houses in Costa Rica. Neighborhood blocks were perfect squares and each high school had its own meticulously kept sports fields. To look at all of the wealth, in every direction, it’s easy to forget that most people in the world don’t live this way. Most people couldn’t afford to keep their lawn perfectly trimmed with manicured flowers and bushes rimming it. In fact, my host family couldn’t even afford a lawn. What are lawns for anyways? Do they have a purpose other than to impress neighbors? As all these thoughts ran through my head and we landed in Texas, I had to admit that everyone was right when they said that culture shock is always harder on the way back. As we went to the bathroom for the first time in the US for months, both Erin and I made the mistake of throwing the toilet paper in the trash can and laughed at ourselves for it afterwards.

Immigration in Houston went without a hitch. Well, except for the one moment that Erin tripped on her shoelaces and wiped out as we walked toward the security checkpoint. But we made it through the whole first step of returning to the US with only a few minor scrapes and bruises. We decided to head towards Erin’s gate together, since my flight was leaving an hour later– and unbeknownst to her, her real mother and I had planned a surprise for her! Conveniently, Erin’s mom also needed to take a flight from Houston to Chicago, and had set it up so that she and Erin could take the flight together, but she wanted this to be a surprise for Erin. I knew that this plan was going to result in tears– Erin had barely slept the night before, trying to make the most of her time in Costa Rica and putting off packing until midnight, and she had also already cried a couple times today when saying goodbye to her host family and to Costa Rica. As soon as Erin saw her mom, she erupted in tears, and the two enveloped each other in a great big hug. After a couple moments of happy sobbing, and some cute pictures, the two of them had to get in line to board. And after all we had been through together, Erin and I had to say goodbye (for now).

A Chennai-an Roller Coaster Ride

Author: Emma Chelsvig

Location: Chennai, India

Within an hour upon landing at the airport in Chennai, India, I was quickly swept into the Indian lifestyle.  I had hopped into an Uber car and had my first experience of India: driving.  Driving in countries may often look different from that of the U.S: the steering wheel is on the opposite side of the car, and the movement in lanes is reversed.  However, the roadway experience in Chennai is beyond your typical set of differences.

In Chennai, there are no rules of the road.  Or better yet, there are rules…but no one follows them.  The lines painted on the pavement are simply decorations.  Drivers swerve around one another and weave across lanes and incoming traffic.  Cars, scooters, and autos do U-turns at their leisure.  Heaps of vehicles cram their way forward.  Everyone is going in every which direction.  Occasionally there are stop lights at intersections, but whether the red light actually means “stop” is still a mystery to me.  Sometimes drivers do stop, but other times they do not even question the color of the light—they just go.  

And surrounding this utter madness is a plethora of additional action.  Few roads have usable sidewalks, so everything utilizes the road.  Pedestrians crisscross here and there.  Cows leisurely shuffle down the street.  Dogs jaunt through the traffic.  Street vendors peddle their carts down the center of the road with coconuts in tow.  A cement truck that is working to form a new building’s foundation protrudes into traffic.  Parked vehicles jut from the edges of the roads, therefore pushing all of the action into an ever more crowded space.

My first experience of Chennai’s roadways felt like a roller coaster.  It was exhilarating, but I was pleased when it was over.  But like many excitement-hungry kids, I was ready for another ride.  What drew me in to this chaos?

Perhaps it is the intimacy that this rule-free driving promotes.  While each driver is determined to arrive at their own destination, each one is also highly aware of all of the action that surrounds them.  Life on the road does not feel as sterile as it does back in the U.S.  In the U.S., we are engaged more so with the rules of the road rather than with the people that surround us.  In Chennai—where the rules are not followed—a more aware and tightly-woven community is created.  It is a constant give-and-take relationship where drivers and pedestrians observe one another’s motives and alter theirs to fit into the puzzle.  

I have found there to be so much action in Chennai and so much to take in, but my experiences as a passenger and pedestrian have heightened my awareness and connectedness with the Chennaiites.  Perhaps I tell myself this to provide a reassurance that I won’t die each time I step onto the road.  Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing how Chennai—and India as a whole—will continue to challenge my perspectives on life.

The End of One Chapter and Beginning of Another

Author: Alyson Kneusel

Location: Reutlingen, Germany

My first few days in Germany were a whirlwind of experiences. Everything was new, and I felt I must record every moment. Strangely, as the three day countdown begins for my departure from Germany, I find I feel much the same way. I cherish every experience, because I know it might be my last time doing those activities. Even something as common as taking a train (which is common activity in Germany) became notable again. As my time here comes to an end, I realize how many things I’ll miss and how much I have changed.

On my third to last day in Germany, I took my last final exam, which I think (or hope) went smoothly, and then I began to pack. My roommate and I continually commented on how strange it was to consider leaving. We are excited to return home, but it seems surreal to leave our home here. At night we got a chance to all spend some time with our German teacher, and one of my fellow study abroad students made an interesting comment. He said that he hopes one day to return with his son to Reutlingen and tell him that he is walking where his father once walked. This struck a chord with me because I feel like Reutlingen has become part of me, and I would love to chance to share that with my family.

Today, my second to last day in Germany, I went on a six hour guided hike of Bad Urach with the students from my program, the residential director, and one of our teachers here. It was absolutely beautiful. We climbed up the side of a waterfall, and as I felt the spray land one me, I realized how alive I felt, and how many adventures I have had (I only found out after writing this that my roommate captured the moment in a picture). Shortly after, we bought food at a food stand on top of the waterfall, which consisted of Weisswurst (white sausage) and a pretzel. I realized that I now considered such a meal entirely normal, but just four months ago this would have seemed like something out of a movie. Yet today this was my reality.

Tomorrow will be my very last full day in Germany. Although I have no clue how it will feel, I am sure that at least one tear will be shed. It will be a day of goodbyes to my teachers, new friends, and my fellow study abroad students who have been like my family here. Perhaps the hardest part is that I must face the fact that the chances of seeing many of them again are slim. It is hard to let go of people and places that have changed you so much. However, it will not be all sad. We are going out to my favorite restaurant Barfüsser for a traditional German dinner with our teachers and group for a farewell dinner. Not only will the food be excellent, but it will be a chance to celebrate our time together here in Germany.

If you have ever read a good book, you know that the end is a bittersweet experience. On one hand you are anxious to complete the story and move on the sequel.  On the other you dread the conclusion because that will mean it is over. I find myself continually relating my emotions to this situation. I am really sad for tomorrow to come because that means that possibly the best semester of my life will come to the end.

That being said, every hour we move forward is one hour sooner I get to see my family, friends, and home. In the next two weeks not only will I return to the USA, but I will also watch my little sister graduate from high school, visit my family and my boyfriend who I haven’t seen in months,  and begin an Immunology summer internship at Washington University in St. Louis. I think it is important to remember you never know which way a series will turn. For all I know, there will be a plot twist, and I will end up back in Germany again one day. As I say a tearful goodbye to Reutlingen, I look forward to future and whatever that might have in store for me.

The End…for now!

Alyson Kneusel

Unsolicited Advice

Author: Natalie Wilhelm

Location:  Cergy-Pontoise, France

Hi all! Here we are, already at the end of the semester! Since I’ve made it to seventeen days before my flight home, I feel myself qualified to offer some free advice to anyone who is going abroad or just considering doing a semester à l’étrangère. So here are the four things I wish somebody had told me before I came abroad.

1. You are going to change (a lot)

I have changed so much since coming abroad. I’ve become more determined, more capable, and, strangely, more relaxed. I’ve learned to love life even more than ever before. I savor every minute with my friends, and adore making new ones. My plans for the future have also changed; the picture I have of my future now is different than it was five months ago. And that is okay. Allow yourself to grow while you’re abroad. Take the good with the bad and roll with the punches. You’ll come out the other side stronger and wiser than ever before.

2. It’s okay to miss home

You are going to miss your home, and Valpo, and everything that those places mean to you. Your chest is going to ache with the missing it sometimes. That doesn’t mean that you’re not making the best of your experience abroad. All that means is that you left something behind worth missing. You left people and places that you love, and that is a beautiful thing. Never, ever feel badly or embarrassed for being homesick.

3. It’s okay if you don’t want to move

You do not have to want to drop everything and move to your study country. It’s a common thing for people to say, “OMG, I can’t wait to move back to France/England/Spain and live there FOREVER.” It’s okay if you don’t feel that way. Before this semester, I thought I wanted to work abroad and never go back to the states. But since coming to France, my determination in that has shaken. I miss the U.S. I miss the miles of flat road through Indiana; the rolling hills and mountainside monuments of South Dakota; the ruggedly beautiful, self-assured streets of New Orleans. It’s natural to feel that way. So don’t beat yourself up if you can’t picture yourself living abroad forever.

4. You are not a failure

Dear reader, please take this one to heart. There will be days when you will feel utterly exhausted. You will be homesick, tired, and lonely. You’ll miss speaking your native language all the time. Everybody else will seem more well-adjusted than you are. You’ll feel like you’re falling out of love with your study country. And you’ll think, “I’m failing at this. I can’t do this. What was I thinking?” But you are doing it, every single day, even if a day involves nothing more than walking to the bakery or to the post office to mail a post card home. You are learning about yourself and the world. Your beliefs, experiences and faith are being challenged every day. The goal of studying abroad is not to become French/English/Spanish. The goal is to learn, and learning you are. Trust me, it’s going to add up. It’s going to work out. And when you get back home, you’ll have all these amazing stories rattling around in your brain (and people will want to hear them!). So hang in there. Don’t give up!

So there’s my advice that nobody asked for. Keep chugging along, Crusaders. I’ll see you soon.

 

That’s All, Folks!

Author: Natalie Wilhelm

Location: Cergy-Pontoise, France

 Well, Valpo, in just a few short days I’ll be on a plane that’ll take me back across the ocean. My time in France has almost come to an end, and honestly, I’m okay with it. Sometimes, things need to end. They run their course. You’ve learned just about all you can learn, and you’ve exhausted both your motivation and your patience. That, my friends, is how I feel now.

This semester has had a lot of ups and downs – and I’ll be honest, I haven’t enjoyed a lot of it. There have been way too many times when I’ve just wanted to go home. I almost did, in April. My carefully curated blog posts and photos on Instagram don’t reveal that this has been the hardest semester I’ve ever had, period.

This is not to say that I’ve been miserable this whole time. I’ve had amazing opportunities that I wouldn’t have had if I had stayed in Valpo this semester. I have friends in France, Belgium, and Spain. I’ve toured half a dozen museums, mastered the metro system, and tried new coffee shops in Paris. I’ve improved my French. I rounded out the semester by visiting some friends in Aix-en-Provence, which is gorgeous, and in Saumur, where I did my first study abroad.

However, it’s still too early for me to look at this semester with emotional distance. I cannot yet see objectively because I’m still in the thick of it all. There are still things I have to do before I leave: train rides back to Cergy and people to say goodbye to and suitcases to pack. So I don’t want to say too much at this point. It’s way too easy to spill your guts when you’re angry or tired, and then look back a few days later when you’ve had some rest and wish you hadn’t said what you did.

I know that there will be troubles when I am home, as well. It’ll be weird to be living at home again, after spending the last five months living alone, doing whatever I want when I wanted to do it. It’ll be hard to go back to work when I’ve had very little coursework this semester. People will want and require my attention and time. I’ll have to get back into the rhythm of my life, changed though it may be.

Even though these will be the hard things about going home, they’re also the things to which I am looking forward. I can’t wait to see my parents (and my niece who was born on May 19th!). I can’t wait to get back to work and have a fixed schedule. I’m impatient to see my friends and celebrate missed birthdays. People will want to talk to me, and thank God for that. I’ve been alone too long, and I’m pretty tired of it.

So I’ll leave you with this, dear readers: I learned. I changed. I cried. I rejoiced. I thanked God and the universe and my parents every day for the wondrous opportunities I have been given. I’m sure that with a month or two of distance between me and this semester, I’ll be able to reflect more productively on my time here. Until then, I’m counting the days ‘til home.

To Seek and Discover

Blogger: Angelys Torres
Location: Barcelona, Spain

From a young age, my mother has always made it clear that I will be going to college. It was never an option, and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. She believes that there is a certain order to life, and that’s the way the majority of people live. First you are a child, then comes school, college, a career, marriage, children, and a life of your own. Who was I to question her? What more could I know?

When it came time to search for colleges, my mom wrote an “Important Questions to Ask” list. On it were questions about academic programs, financial aid, housing, and healthcare. My dad and I only had one question: “How’s the food?” There was one question, however, that my mom never failed to find the answer to. She always asked about study abroad. For her, going away to college equates and most definitely requires studying abroad for a semester. It’s something she always dreamt of but never had the opportunity to do.

It’s now my junior year of college, and she is more nervous than ever that I won’t have enough time to study abroad and “do college right.” But for me, college has never been what you are supposed to do but rather what I make of it. I study Sociology and Criminology because it’s what I enjoy learning. I am president of LIVE because I am proud of my culture. I started a multicultural sorority, and I sit on the Human Relations Council of Valparaiso because I’m passionate about diversity, inclusion, and human rights. I am choosing to study abroad because I believe immersion into other cultures is the best way to learn about people different from myself.

As a 2016 CAPS Fellow I have spent a lot of time reflecting on what I think my calling and purpose in life are. I completed a summer internship with NPH USA, a nonprofit organization that provides housing, healthcare, and education to abandoned, abused, or otherwise at risk children in nine countries across Latin America and the Caribbean. There I learned that tragedy, poverty, and hopelessness come in many forms. There isn’t an umbrella large enough to cover the variety of the stories I have heard. Through my work, I was able to understand a little more of what I am called to do. I am called to ward off pain, burden, agony, and despair. I am called to give hope to the hopeless and a voice to the voiceless. I am called to provide what is missing. I am called to bring resolution and peace.

As I round out my last few semesters on campus, I look to strengthen my call and to understand where it is taking me. I am choosing to study abroad because I seek not only to better my Spanish language skills, not only to learn about a history and a culture so directly linked to my own, not only to learn how other parts of the world serve their people but also, to find myself all over again in a new place. I am choosing to study aboard to learn about the systemic nature of another country, to figure out why some people are disadvantaged, oppressed, neglected and forgotten, why some are not, and how I can work to fill in the gaps. By learning about another country and culture, I will learn a lot about my own.

I am choosing Spain because it’s part of where my people are from. As a Puerto Rican woman, I am a mix of Spanish, African and Taino (native) blood. I am a mix of many cultures that have grown and evolved to become one. Spain is a place where I believe that I will fit in enough to stand out. I am just different enough to feel uncomfortable and to gain real value from my experiences but just similar enough to be independent.  In Barcelona, I will only enhance my education in the way that my mother envisioned me doing. I know that similarly to what I have done with college, it will become what I make of it and from it I will learn more about myself and what I’m called to do.

 

-Angelys
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