The weather's been quite cambiante as of late. Changeable. Fickle. Doesn't know what it wants. We'll have days of pewter dull clouds that linger, merging with the brooding waves, dampening plans and moods. Then de repente, out of nowhere, a sparkling sunny day sapphire sky sailing wisps of white appears, a day that lends itself to long meandering walks just to soak up the warmth you've missed for so long or maybe some yoga on the beach with friends you've only known for four months and who are probably leaving soon.
And then there are the temporales, the fierce ocean winds that bring walls of relentless water from the clouds, indifferent to your daily routine. Those are the days that mostly lend themselves to huddling up under all six blankets on your bed in front of the gas heater to drink hot tea while listening sleepily to the rain lashing at your window. All day.
Unless of course, you have an early morning literature class. Which I did, up until about two weeks ago. Indeed it was our last day of Practices and Discourses of the Modern Latin American Short Story when I experienced my first temporal. My host dad gleefully watched me bundle up in boots, scarf, coat, grab my umbrella and face the rage outside. Que te vaya bien!! Chao, chao! he called as usual as I headed out. Have a good day! Bye! Except today, considering the conditions outside, it sounded a little more like, Good luck with all that. Not in a mean spirited way, just in a tone of extreme amusement. Luckily, I was late enough leaving so that the ascensor was already opening up. I was more or less soaked by the time I got to the bus stop across the street. That's alright, I thought, once I get to Valparaíso I just have to make it to the university building and then I'm totally good.
The plan of Valparaiso, the level downtown area home to the university, government buildings, and Valpo's infamous nightlife, was created in the 1800s by when authorities began filling in the bay with dirt, claiming hundreds of yards of ocean to build up the port city. The ocean hasn't forgotten what is Hers, however, and that was instantly apparent as I rounded the corner.I had pondered all semester what drainage in Valpo would be like, and turns out my imagination wasn't far off. "Making it to the university" involved wading through a perpetual path of puddles several inches deep, followed by a final dash across the newly formed lake that had engulfed the sidewalk leading to the only entrance to the building housing my class. When I finally straggled into class, thirty minutes late, I was completely drenched, despite my knee high boots, long hooded raincoat, and umbrella (along with everyone else, who also arrived late). We spent the last lit class all huddled around a space heater before venturing out again to return home...
My mind's been cambiante too. Mostly I can't decide what to think about this semester or where to go from here. Much like the rest of my liberal arts education, it's left me with more questions than answers, more doubts than certainties. But in this last few days I've found myself suddenly able to see beauty in my experiences, in the friendships I've begun, in the sparkly sunny days like today and even in the many sad and cloudy and lonely days. Here's to possibilities.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Respuestas a Pablo Neruda
A creative writing exercise for class that I did weeks and weeks ago. Neruda wrote The Book of Questions in 1973. My attempts at answering a few of them...
I. Where did the moon leave its nocturnal sack of flour?
The full moon got tired
in her long traverse across the sky
The sack of flour she carried broke
and the flour scattered across the sky
and the full moon realized
that the flour
wasn't flour
but stars
That shine in the darkness of the universe
and of my soul.
II. Tell me, is the rose naked or does she only have that dress?
The rose could change her dress
if she wanted
But her Mother gave it to her
as a gift
upon her birth
And she likes it too much
to take it off.
III. How many churches does heaven have?
Heaven has only one church,
where all are welcome and all are holy,
and the wounds of earthly life are lost
among the clouds of the divine imagination.
IV. Why do trees hide the splendor of their roots?
Some say it's because they're shy
but the truth is
That they want to share the elation they feel
just to be alive
with the worms and the ants
and all that exists in the most hidden
spaces
They like to stand with their feet sunk
into the wet soil
and wiggle their toes
Among the secrets of invisible life.
V. What did the rubies say to the pomegranate juice?
How delicious our blood
that runs over expectant tongues
from spherical veins
of humble orbs
Jewels dug up from the mine of the orchard.
VI. How old is November?
November is so ancient doesn't remember
his age very well, he only knows the he has seen
the passing of the years, dawn and death
in tones of gray and pale light, and that
he will be waiting for us forever.
VII. How did the abandoned bicycle set itself free?
It was an impulse that started
so slowly
that at first it hardly seemed
that is could happen.
But the idea grew until
there, at the top of the hill,
The call of liberty
and the demand of gravity
Couldn't be ignored any longer.
VIII. Is there anything sadder in the world that a train, unmoving, in the rain?
There is nothing sadder
than a train, unmoving, in the rain.
Except of course for the people seated in the train
who had dreamed of extravagant journeys
to far and exotic lands
and who now find themselves detained, trapped,
The journey confined to a dream.
IX. How many bees does the day have?
The day has enough bees
to make all the honey
that I need
for my three cups of tea.
X. Why does night's hat have so many holes?
They're portals to other spheres
that speak to us of belated light
and centuries of curiosity
Always tempting us with unreachable promises
Why can't night just take off its hat?
XI. How many questions does a cat have?
Cats already know all the answers
and they're just waiting for us
to ask.
But in the meantime, they'd like to know one thing--
When are we going to feed them?
XII. Is peace the peace of a dove? Does the leopard make war?
If peace were the peace of a dove
we would all have wings to fly
and there would be enough crumbs,
scattered by children,
so that everyone could eat.
As far as the leopard goes,
no doubt he is a consummate warrior.
But having the camouflage
and the stealth
necessary for war
is never a good excuse for killing.
XIII. Why couldn't Christopher Columbus discover Spain?
He preferred to dream
of a continent, Her scents of elusive treasures
and Her murmurs of rich dark blood.
He preferred to extinguish
the fire with the light of that Crown
dominate the detour
that distracted him from far eastern mysteries.
And, it turns out,
he wasn't very good with geography.
XIV. How long will everyone else speak if we have already spoken?
Everyone else will speak
until we realize
that the voices that matter
aren't just our own.
XV. What will they say about my poetry, those who did not touch my blood?
They will praise you
They will critique you
They will analyze you.
They will search for you in boats that never left the shore and
They will imagine you, the impassioned lover of supreme conscience
And even then they will not know your real name.
For us, your poetry
will have to be your blood.
I. Where did the moon leave its nocturnal sack of flour?
The full moon got tired
in her long traverse across the sky
The sack of flour she carried broke
and the flour scattered across the sky
and the full moon realized
that the flour
wasn't flour
but stars
That shine in the darkness of the universe
and of my soul.
II. Tell me, is the rose naked or does she only have that dress?
The rose could change her dress
if she wanted
But her Mother gave it to her
as a gift
upon her birth
And she likes it too much
to take it off.
III. How many churches does heaven have?
Heaven has only one church,
where all are welcome and all are holy,
and the wounds of earthly life are lost
among the clouds of the divine imagination.
IV. Why do trees hide the splendor of their roots?
Some say it's because they're shy
but the truth is
That they want to share the elation they feel
just to be alive
with the worms and the ants
and all that exists in the most hidden
spaces
They like to stand with their feet sunk
into the wet soil
and wiggle their toes
Among the secrets of invisible life.
V. What did the rubies say to the pomegranate juice?
How delicious our blood
that runs over expectant tongues
from spherical veins
of humble orbs
Jewels dug up from the mine of the orchard.
VI. How old is November?
November is so ancient doesn't remember
his age very well, he only knows the he has seen
the passing of the years, dawn and death
in tones of gray and pale light, and that
he will be waiting for us forever.
VII. How did the abandoned bicycle set itself free?
It was an impulse that started
so slowly
that at first it hardly seemed
that is could happen.
But the idea grew until
there, at the top of the hill,
The call of liberty
and the demand of gravity
Couldn't be ignored any longer.
VIII. Is there anything sadder in the world that a train, unmoving, in the rain?
There is nothing sadder
than a train, unmoving, in the rain.
Except of course for the people seated in the train
who had dreamed of extravagant journeys
to far and exotic lands
and who now find themselves detained, trapped,
The journey confined to a dream.
IX. How many bees does the day have?
The day has enough bees
to make all the honey
that I need
for my three cups of tea.
X. Why does night's hat have so many holes?
They're portals to other spheres
that speak to us of belated light
and centuries of curiosity
Always tempting us with unreachable promises
Why can't night just take off its hat?
XI. How many questions does a cat have?
Cats already know all the answers
and they're just waiting for us
to ask.
But in the meantime, they'd like to know one thing--
When are we going to feed them?
XII. Is peace the peace of a dove? Does the leopard make war?
If peace were the peace of a dove
we would all have wings to fly
and there would be enough crumbs,
scattered by children,
so that everyone could eat.
As far as the leopard goes,
no doubt he is a consummate warrior.
But having the camouflage
and the stealth
necessary for war
is never a good excuse for killing.
XIII. Why couldn't Christopher Columbus discover Spain?
He preferred to dream
of a continent, Her scents of elusive treasures
and Her murmurs of rich dark blood.
He preferred to extinguish
the fire with the light of that Crown
dominate the detour
that distracted him from far eastern mysteries.
And, it turns out,
he wasn't very good with geography.
XIV. How long will everyone else speak if we have already spoken?
Everyone else will speak
until we realize
that the voices that matter
aren't just our own.
XV. What will they say about my poetry, those who did not touch my blood?
They will praise you
They will critique you
They will analyze you.
They will search for you in boats that never left the shore and
They will imagine you, the impassioned lover of supreme conscience
And even then they will not know your real name.
For us, your poetry
will have to be your blood.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Hasta Mañana, Shilena
A couple of nights ago, I was lying in my bed under five blankets pulled up over my nose and tucked in tight around me, wearing two shirts, a jacket, pants, two pairs of socks, and a winter hat, curtains drawn tightly, willing my body heat to hurry up and make things toasty. And I thought to myself, if I were at home right now, how would I be sleeping? With the windows open, ceiling fan going full blast, thin sheets flung to the end of the bed, in shorts and a tank top. I never thought I would miss the humid misery of a South Carolina summer, but here in the chilly, gloomy, coastal fog capital of the world, where no one has heat and you can't get warm without some serious effort, I find myself fantasizing about just that. I can almost feel that wall of sticky air that hits your face as soon as you step outside and the spikes of grass that poke at your bare feet as you flee the scorching pavement, hear the comforting chirpy drone of frogs and crickets from my spot on the screened porch, taste the sweet tea and the homemade peach ice cream and the ripe, juicy tomatoes from my grandfather's garden...
The last few weeks have been brought extreme ups and downs. One sunny weekend afternoon, I was stunned to hear the tragic news that a friend of mine here, Ramon, had committed suicide. I learned to know Ramon at a weekly Baha'i study circle I've been attending with friends, where he shared his insight with us in his quiet way. For me, it is saddest to realize that I had only begun to know Ramon when his life ended far too suddenly. Numb and baffled, I gathered with our friends, helped Ramon's roommate move into a different apartment that he would be sharing with a cousin and several friends, then spent the evening cooking dinner and just being together. Thankfully, I had never before experienced the suicide of someone close to me, but in many ways it felt almost more difficult to suddenly be confronted with such a situation with a group of friends that I am still very much in the process of getting to know. It was hard to know what to say, how much to say, whether to say anything. So we didn't talk too much specifically about what had happened, but I felt that just the act of being together was important. At dinner, we took a moment to remember Ramon, to wish him peace and answers to all the doubts and frustrations that troubled him. I wish I had had the chance to know him better--he seemed a kind and thoughtful soul, and he is missed. I am thankful for the thoughts and prayers you all have offered for Ramon, his family, and our group of friends over the last several weeks.
There have been happier moments, of course. A picnic and professional soccer game with the group of foster children I'm helping to mentor. A unit on Chilean poetry in my culture class. Countless outings with friends to see movies, eat sushi, go dancing. Asking our dryly witty history professor to have class outside...which turned into him inviting us out for coffee instead of having class...which turned into him buying us all a beer instead of having class. An entire weekend spent holed up in my room for hours at a time writing nine pages of literary analysis (wait...maybe that doesn't belong here).
This week I got to meet the boyfriend of my good friend Erin. Kyle was visiting from California, and Erin and I decided to show him the real Valparaiso. So we headed to the Jota Cruz Casino Social. The Jota Cruz, one small-ish room tucked away down an unassuming alleyway in downtown Valpo that you have to be careful not to miss, is claimed to be the birthplace of the infamous porte
--> On a happier note, I recently got to meet Kyle, my friend Erin's boyfriend from California. The three of us started out at the Jota Cruz, a legendary Valpo hang-out, to indulge in a snack known as the chorrillana--a large pile of french fries covered with sauteed onions, scrambled eggs, and meat, and served with bread (don't ask me why) and Chilean pepper sauce on the side. Yes, it sounds strange. Yes, it is a nutritional nightmare. But believe it or not, it's actually pretty delicious. Wash it down with a Del Puerto Barba Negra (a dark beer brewed locally in Valpo) and happiness ensues. Just be sure to share it with at least two other people. The charm of the Jota Cruz is accentuated by its decor--practically every surface in the restaurant is plastered with mementos left by customers, names and messages scrawled on walls, tablecloths, and even bathroom mirrors, photos stuck to shelves. One of the owners offers nightly entertainment, singing and playing Chilean guitar music. Kyle, Erin, and I had a great time chowing on our chorrillana (I eat the fries and the onions and leave the meat for everyone else) and talking.
Afterwards we decided to stop by our favorite little cafe and nightspot, Ritual. Kyle, a cigar aficionado, was eager to find a puro to complete the evening, and serendipity led us to a small tobacco store close by. And so it was that I smoked my first Cuban cigar (no worries, this will not become a habit) as we continued our delightful conversation well into the evening. As usual, Ritual was fun and relaxing, with small doses of the unexpected sprinkled throughout the experience. First of all, my cute little tiger-striped kitten friend was there and we had some quality cuddle time before he resumed his random freaking out all over the place, jumping on tables and into laps, chasing things across the floor, and generally creating feline madness. Later, an unassuming-looking guy with a guitar on his back walked in. And when he started to sing, his voice blew us away--loud, full, clear, and rich. He charmed us with some Chilean folk tunes and then finished the set with "Stand By Me" in perfect English.
A tranquil Monday evening gave way to a wild Wednesday night as I joined a group of students organized by the university, bound for the World Cup qualifying match between the national teams of Chile and Bolivia! As expected, rabid fans of La Roja were crazy with anticipation--we spent the two hour bus ride to Santiago learning various chants and songs for the game, including a few with quite pointed and rather ugly political comments aimed at the Bolivians that I chose not to repeat. I spent the evening with Lindsay and Jon, two fellow exchange students, Carlos, an English professor at la Catolica who's just come back from a year spent teaching at Oberlin College in Ohio, and Philippe, who recently graduated from la Catolica and is now employed by the International Program while he writes his thesis in geography.
We arrived early, got painted up (colors of the Chilean flag on our faces), and then waited with bated breath in our gallery seats as La Roja dallied around for twenty or thirty minutes before scoring the first goal of the evening. After that it was a downhill slide, and they scored three more times to beat Bolivia 4-0. A stadium full of 60,000+ Chileans watching their team win a World Cup qualifier is a sight to behold! I don't know if I've ever received so many hugs from strangers in my life. Triumphant and satisfied, we were safely back on the bus before the celebratory rioting started in downtown Santiago, and went out to do a little bit of (much calmer and less violent) celebrating in Vina del Mar before heading home to go to bed around 3:30 or 4:00 in the morning. Our housekeeper, Mari, laughed at me the next morning when I stumbled bleary-eyed but happy into the kitchen for breakfast...at 11:00 am. "Looks like you celebrated more than the Chileans!" she said with a smile. My Chilean mom, dad, and brother eagerly pressed me for details when they arrived home from work last night. Chile is now one step closer to South Africa in 2010!
The second day of June marked the end of my third month living in Chile, and I'm now nearly halfway through the fourth. I am currently finishing up my classes at the university and working on the final projects and papers that will be due in a few weeks (a political science analysis of gender equality and Chilean democracy, a final paper on Latin American short stories, a presentation on Chilean folk music and its queen, Violeta Parra). The semester officially ends during the first week of July, but many of my classes will probably finish before that. I'm hoping to spend the first two weeks of July traveling to a few spots in the south of Chile (Punta Arenas, Chilo
--> é, the Lakes District, etc.) with friends before welcoming my family towards the end of the month. When they arrive, we'll be spending several days around the Valparaiso area and traveling to northern Chile to visit the Atacama Desert. It is unreal to think about how fast the time seems to have gone, but at the same time I'm feeling ready to move on...to get back to school...to see familiar faces...to think about what comes next...to stop eating so much bread!
It's been both a trying and a wonderful semester, and I'll try to keep you updated with plenty of reflections in the days to come.
The last few weeks have been brought extreme ups and downs. One sunny weekend afternoon, I was stunned to hear the tragic news that a friend of mine here, Ramon, had committed suicide. I learned to know Ramon at a weekly Baha'i study circle I've been attending with friends, where he shared his insight with us in his quiet way. For me, it is saddest to realize that I had only begun to know Ramon when his life ended far too suddenly. Numb and baffled, I gathered with our friends, helped Ramon's roommate move into a different apartment that he would be sharing with a cousin and several friends, then spent the evening cooking dinner and just being together. Thankfully, I had never before experienced the suicide of someone close to me, but in many ways it felt almost more difficult to suddenly be confronted with such a situation with a group of friends that I am still very much in the process of getting to know. It was hard to know what to say, how much to say, whether to say anything. So we didn't talk too much specifically about what had happened, but I felt that just the act of being together was important. At dinner, we took a moment to remember Ramon, to wish him peace and answers to all the doubts and frustrations that troubled him. I wish I had had the chance to know him better--he seemed a kind and thoughtful soul, and he is missed. I am thankful for the thoughts and prayers you all have offered for Ramon, his family, and our group of friends over the last several weeks.
There have been happier moments, of course. A picnic and professional soccer game with the group of foster children I'm helping to mentor. A unit on Chilean poetry in my culture class. Countless outings with friends to see movies, eat sushi, go dancing. Asking our dryly witty history professor to have class outside...which turned into him inviting us out for coffee instead of having class...which turned into him buying us all a beer instead of having class. An entire weekend spent holed up in my room for hours at a time writing nine pages of literary analysis (wait...maybe that doesn't belong here).
This week I got to meet the boyfriend of my good friend Erin. Kyle was visiting from California, and Erin and I decided to show him the real Valparaiso. So we headed to the Jota Cruz Casino Social. The Jota Cruz, one small-ish room tucked away down an unassuming alleyway in downtown Valpo that you have to be careful not to miss, is claimed to be the birthplace of the infamous porte
--> On a happier note, I recently got to meet Kyle, my friend Erin's boyfriend from California. The three of us started out at the Jota Cruz, a legendary Valpo hang-out, to indulge in a snack known as the chorrillana--a large pile of french fries covered with sauteed onions, scrambled eggs, and meat, and served with bread (don't ask me why) and Chilean pepper sauce on the side. Yes, it sounds strange. Yes, it is a nutritional nightmare. But believe it or not, it's actually pretty delicious. Wash it down with a Del Puerto Barba Negra (a dark beer brewed locally in Valpo) and happiness ensues. Just be sure to share it with at least two other people. The charm of the Jota Cruz is accentuated by its decor--practically every surface in the restaurant is plastered with mementos left by customers, names and messages scrawled on walls, tablecloths, and even bathroom mirrors, photos stuck to shelves. One of the owners offers nightly entertainment, singing and playing Chilean guitar music. Kyle, Erin, and I had a great time chowing on our chorrillana (I eat the fries and the onions and leave the meat for everyone else) and talking.
Afterwards we decided to stop by our favorite little cafe and nightspot, Ritual. Kyle, a cigar aficionado, was eager to find a puro to complete the evening, and serendipity led us to a small tobacco store close by. And so it was that I smoked my first Cuban cigar (no worries, this will not become a habit) as we continued our delightful conversation well into the evening. As usual, Ritual was fun and relaxing, with small doses of the unexpected sprinkled throughout the experience. First of all, my cute little tiger-striped kitten friend was there and we had some quality cuddle time before he resumed his random freaking out all over the place, jumping on tables and into laps, chasing things across the floor, and generally creating feline madness. Later, an unassuming-looking guy with a guitar on his back walked in. And when he started to sing, his voice blew us away--loud, full, clear, and rich. He charmed us with some Chilean folk tunes and then finished the set with "Stand By Me" in perfect English.
A tranquil Monday evening gave way to a wild Wednesday night as I joined a group of students organized by the university, bound for the World Cup qualifying match between the national teams of Chile and Bolivia! As expected, rabid fans of La Roja were crazy with anticipation--we spent the two hour bus ride to Santiago learning various chants and songs for the game, including a few with quite pointed and rather ugly political comments aimed at the Bolivians that I chose not to repeat. I spent the evening with Lindsay and Jon, two fellow exchange students, Carlos, an English professor at la Catolica who's just come back from a year spent teaching at Oberlin College in Ohio, and Philippe, who recently graduated from la Catolica and is now employed by the International Program while he writes his thesis in geography.
We arrived early, got painted up (colors of the Chilean flag on our faces), and then waited with bated breath in our gallery seats as La Roja dallied around for twenty or thirty minutes before scoring the first goal of the evening. After that it was a downhill slide, and they scored three more times to beat Bolivia 4-0. A stadium full of 60,000+ Chileans watching their team win a World Cup qualifier is a sight to behold! I don't know if I've ever received so many hugs from strangers in my life. Triumphant and satisfied, we were safely back on the bus before the celebratory rioting started in downtown Santiago, and went out to do a little bit of (much calmer and less violent) celebrating in Vina del Mar before heading home to go to bed around 3:30 or 4:00 in the morning. Our housekeeper, Mari, laughed at me the next morning when I stumbled bleary-eyed but happy into the kitchen for breakfast...at 11:00 am. "Looks like you celebrated more than the Chileans!" she said with a smile. My Chilean mom, dad, and brother eagerly pressed me for details when they arrived home from work last night. Chile is now one step closer to South Africa in 2010!
The second day of June marked the end of my third month living in Chile, and I'm now nearly halfway through the fourth. I am currently finishing up my classes at the university and working on the final projects and papers that will be due in a few weeks (a political science analysis of gender equality and Chilean democracy, a final paper on Latin American short stories, a presentation on Chilean folk music and its queen, Violeta Parra). The semester officially ends during the first week of July, but many of my classes will probably finish before that. I'm hoping to spend the first two weeks of July traveling to a few spots in the south of Chile (Punta Arenas, Chilo
--> é, the Lakes District, etc.) with friends before welcoming my family towards the end of the month. When they arrive, we'll be spending several days around the Valparaiso area and traveling to northern Chile to visit the Atacama Desert. It is unreal to think about how fast the time seems to have gone, but at the same time I'm feeling ready to move on...to get back to school...to see familiar faces...to think about what comes next...to stop eating so much bread!
It's been both a trying and a wonderful semester, and I'll try to keep you updated with plenty of reflections in the days to come.
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