how to save a life

December is typically a difficult month for exchange students. There's the familiarity of family that you miss, the smallest details suddenly seem incredibly important (yet they never mattered to you before), your language is almost there, you can feel it, but those last stutters and verb conjugation confusions still make their way into your daily sentences, which, 3-4 months in, seems unnecessary. So it's easy to let yourself slip into a mentality of "being down" because you know that you're "supposed to"; that it's totally normal to feel bad so you let yourself feel bad. I'm not a big fan of this concept.

It's fundamental to feel the whole, wide range of emotions that come with an exchange year-- they're part of you're experience just as much as a specific, special trip or a daily routine that you walk away remembering. The idea is, that if you can fight through the difficult parts, you come out appreciating all the more the great things about your exchange. But somewhere along that path of just letting the year happen to you, I've realized that you have to take a grip of your year-- You have to learn how to save a life, your own. One of the most important things I was told in the giant whirlwind of preparation for this year was that you have to take care of yourself and assure the success of your exchange, because when it comes down to it you're the key to your own achievements. For me, this has meant appreciating every tiny action or comment... My family gave me an advent calender and made me a little stocking to hang on the tree like the rest of the family, because when it comes down to it, I am part of the family. Jacobo and I are cleaning the fish tank again and I've spent the weekend with some of my best friends here in Spain... Genuine friends, not just the kind you make because "friends are important to every exchange student", I honestly adore these people. I did get incredibly lucky with many aspects of this year in Spain, but I also created my own success in many ways as well. Things are changing, and that's ok.

This week was a lot like any other week. Because we didn't have school Monday or Tuesday, the rest of the school week was pretty relaxed as well. For example, two teachers didn't show up on Wednesday because they were still tired and wanted just that little bit more of a break. Very typical Spanish :) As I was walking to school on Thursday (running late, as always) my friend Adrian joined me on the trek up that last terrible hill before the school building, and teasingly told me I was late. I, of course, pointed out that he was just as late and he corrected me saying, "No, no. Spanish people are never late. We just get there at different times." I'd say that captures the spirit of Spain pretty darn well. Nothing is concrete, don't stress over it.

My exchange student friends and I have shared some hilarious stories over the silly aspects of our years abroad, particularly what triggers us to just lose it and break down, which are often the most ridiculous of things. For example, my friend Devon was telling me how her brother sent her a giant email of pictures and little memories for Christmas, and she made it through the entire thing with a smile on her face and a content, peaceful feeling. In the post script, p.s., he put a picture of the pet cat sitting on the couch, looking ticked off to have it's photo taken and inevitably "j-ing" it's tail (as my dad likes to say), a universal symbol of ticked-off-ness of cats. She said she saw that last picture, after 10-12 of her family and home and friends, she scrolled down to the upset cat and completely lost it, sobbing and crying. Because of the cat. My other friend Emma had a similar experience with the "Charlie Brown Christmas" soundtrack (which I think she was a bit of a fool for putting herself through in the first place... A Charlie Brown Christmas? Come on, guaranteed break down). My encounter with the pangs of homesickness unexpectedly snuck up on me on a walk through Madrid on Saturday night. There was a string street quartet playing Eine Kliene Nachtmusik, a famous orchestral piece that I've played many times back home. So, surrounded by happy Spaniards bustling along with their children in ridiculous reindeer hats and lovey-dovey couples holding gloved hands, surrounded by the joy of christmas in a random street corner in the middle of Madrid, I shed a little tear for Northfield and Nerstrand back home. It was just enough, a private moment between me and myself. I gave the quartet 5 euros.

On the docket for this week is an appointment to work out some more papers for Spanish residency, a funk concert with my friends from school on Friday, and a trip to El Rastro street market on Sunday. Many of my pals went today (including Mackenzie O'Connell, my friend who is on exchange through Rotary to Germany... She came to visit this weekend with her German host family, it was unbelievable to see her. That's one of the major advantages of living in Spain and, more specifically, Madrid. I mean, who doesn't want to come visit Madrid?) but because I was feeling a little sick and didn't wanna risk getting a full blown illness and also because I haven't seen enough of my host family this weekend, I decided to sit this one out. Which is also something that's alright to do. It's part of being comfortable, it's part of embracing your own, individual, specific joy and success. Learning what's right for you. And being content with it.

Love and Love, Sami