confusión del rocío

so much to say. . .You should settle in. This may take a while.

sitting across the table at dinner last night, I watched an older Chilean sociology professor take a deep breath and begin to speak . .

Even if I hadn't understood the language she was speaking (luckily I did), I imagine that I would have been able to get a sense of the story. A truly talented storyteller, she paused in crucial moments, to look around the room, and continue with the rythmn of her message.

and, as usual, I couldn't help but think about how similar we all are-simultaneously waving our hands, pausing for effect-letting the images settle in with the audience, before we continue-

an act of sharing, communicating the moments that elicit emotions--storytelling. and what is it about "us" that makes us all storytellers-all wanting to reach out in some way or another to connect.

and what is it about us that makes us tell our stories the way we do, is anything every inherent in our nature?-- the language, the gestures, the organization of thoughts even---are all learned and socially constructed systems or behaviors.

I was thinking the other day about how much I love to tell stories, how it's like a good desert, or something. How important it is to me, to try to tell them in the right way, even though I'm not sure I could describe what "the right way" is and how sometimes I tell a story here in spanish and it has the same meaning as it would english and sometimes it just doesn't--
and couldn't.

I digress. I'll come back to the storyteller.

___________________________

Friends My Age Count:

like a billion.
seriously.
and all different nationalities: Japonese, Sweedish, German, Chilean, Arizonian--

It amazing how much can happen in a week.

I have so much to tell right now that my head is literally spinning because I don't want to forget anything.

Let me just tell you all about my new friends.

The Sweedish Girls:

Three girls--Malin, Pernelia, and Ramona-- from Sweeden came to check out Ana Maria's house as a possible place to live a a little over a week ago, and we exchanged numbers. they speak little to zero spanish.

They texted me soon after that to invite me to go out with them, and right about the same time I had just made friends with Patrick and Rebecca (from the states) so I dragged them along with me.

That night, which was last thursday, Malin, Pernelia, Ramona, Rebbeca, Patrick, and I met up with a big group of their Chilean friends. One in particular, Cristobal, lives with Pernelia and speaks perfect English. We went to see one of his Chilean friends who was playing guitar, and then about ten of us went to this crazy discoteca and danced our pants off in a huge circle.


Patrick, Me, and Rebecca-Los Gringos

Me, Rebecca, and Cristobal

Rebecca, Karina, and Manuela

Rebeccah and Carina trading tongue twisters in English and Spanish.

I contributed the Wood Chuck one.You know? How much wood would a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood? A wood chuck would chuck as much as a wood chuck could chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood.

They were totally trippin over that one.


Patrick and Cristobal



Manuela, Patrick, (guy whose name I don't remember but did a mean roger-rabbit), and Pablo taking a momentary pause from mad dancing on the discotec floor to snap a photo

Pablo, Rebbeca, Me, and Karina


Patrick busting out his Frat-tastic moves.

It was, to say the least, a blast.

---
Remember how last Tuesday was my first Rotary meeting--well, let me tell you--I may have gotten a little more out of that meeting than I was ready for.

On Wednesday night at 9:30pm the house phone rang, and it was for me.

A voice who I did not recognize and was speaking in spanish said-Hello I met you last night at the rotary meeting. I know you don't know many people here, and I was wondering if you would like to go to a "fiesta" with me.

(fiesta. remember that. he said fiesta.)

I am thinking. . .hmmm--who did I meet last night that was under thirty. . . and I could only think of one guy and I figured it must be him. A fiesta, I thought, sounded like fun--I said sure. when? and he replied-oh. . . tonight.

-what time? I said.
-uhhh. . . how about 11:30?
-ok
-I'll pick you up then.

Now, at this point I wasn't even really sure how he had gotten my number or my address, but I assumed he must have called the Rotary president, which made me feel safer about the situation.

Ana Maria was-of course-distraught, as usual, and intensely worried. . .

she walked me out to meet him. and asked him about a billion questions, after telling him several times that I had class the next day and needed to be home early (Welcome back to 10th grade Meredith)

then as she looked around the corner at his car, she was even like, "Who else is in that car?"
and he was like, just me.

poor guy. he has braces too. I've been calling him braces (frenillos) when I forget his name, which by the way is Pedro Pablo.
Not Pedro. Not Pablo: Pedro Pablo-which roughly translates to Peter Paul, but is really more like Billy Bob in my mind.

But this is about the point in the evening when I stopped feeling sorry for him,
because we didn't go to a party--we went to a discotec, a very small, very dark, very smokey discotec.

Imagine a small stage, and a bald chilean singing latin-american ballads with hand mic. He sang for the first thirty minutes or so---ALL LOVE SONGS--and then they started playing latin-american pop--it was even Reggaeton--

and he took me upstairs to a little balcony area where it was even darker and proceeded to try and chat with me.

In the first hour he told me he would like to teach me the following things:

1. How to dance salsa
2.how to horseback ride
3. how to CAMP in chile
4. how to fish in chile
5. about the city in general

He said he wanted to take me to some sort of swimming pool the next day, and I was like well. . . I don't know. . . I may have to do homework or something. . .and he was like-did you bring a swimsuit?

and I just looked at him like, "is this really happening?"

(we hadn't really danced at all yet--the ballad boy was still singing) Frenillos told me that chileans were just more romantic in general. He then proceeded to pull me up out of my chair and try to literally teach me how to salsa.

He said, "I'm going to teach you some rythmn."

I stopped, and was like, "listen buddy. I don't need your rythmn. I have plenty of rythmn. This gringa knows how to dance, thank you."

So, we danced and the funniest part of all was that he was doing these really odd movements-like with both hands in front of his body, palms up, doing the "come hither" motion, and I just kept thinking" Please GOD get me out of here somehow." He tried to teach me salsa on the dance floor about five times, even though each time I was like NO PERO GRACIAS. at what point, he was like--Yeah, you're a good dancer, but don't you want to get better?? I can help you. and I couldn't decide whether to laugh or just walk away.

Finally, I just told him I was really tired and had class the next day. To which he smoothly replied,

"Well, I was thinking we could stay 'til about 3am. Sooo, you wanna go now or stay 'til 3?"

I said, "now, please."

I ran into him a couple of days later--he was nice, but I could tell he must have gotten the point.

Men are agressive here. seriously.
___________

I also have a new friend who is amazing attractive, intelligent, funny, and pretty much the most all around perfect human being I have ever had the opportunity to meet. (or at least he thinks so. . . Just Kidding. . . I guess he is pretty cool--or re-bien as they say here--as in you're so cool you are re-cool).

Akshai is the fulbright scholar who moved in on Sunday. He has pretty much made my life exponentionally more entertaining. He's like fun in a box. He's hilarious and just good company. I'm really glad he's here----most of the time.
He reminds me a little bit of Woody Allen, seriously.


The only major problem is that he sort of bursts into English a lot, and so we have been speaking english more than I would like. I really want to avoid speaking english as much as possible, but sometimes it's just a relief to not have to work or think to hard to form simple sentences.

And we've decided that we're just way funnier and way more charming in English.

He mercilessly teases me about my "southern accent"--uhhhh. . . did you know I had one of those??? because I didn't. Seriously, I have been to several different parts of the US, and I have never had anyone comment that I had a southern accent because my parents aren't originally from the South. However, Akshai, who "doesn't have an accent because he's from Arizona where they speak perfect english" seems to think that I do.

For example--Do you use the word Goober? Because I happen to say Goober all the time. For example, as a noun:

"Stop acting like a Goober" or "Don't be a Goober" or "You're such a Goober"

or the adjective Goobie:

"Wow, that was goobie" or "What a goobie idea"

At some point--I called him a goober--and we both starting laughing so hard that I almost choked. He seems to think that this is definitely a Southern word, but I'm not convinced.

He also gets some odd kick out of "Roll Tide" and likes to teach it to random chileans and then prompt them to yell it at me.

But I pretty much told him that he has no place to say anything about my slogan because his is:

"Fork 'Em"

Fork 'em??? seriously??? 'em??and I sound southern-Whatever.

He also says some really weird stuff like "weak sauce."

as in, "man, weak sauce" or "that was weak sauce"

like "lame" or "that was lame" --the equivalent here is the word "fome" like "que fome"

doesn't it sound like we have such fun conversations? right.

________

Veronica moved in on Monday. She's from Germany and is super sweet. You know you can use the word super in spanish too? They kinda pronounce it like Suu-pear.

Me and Veronica-Don't ask me what we're doing-some kinda dance move-


Veronica, Roberto (an english professor at the university who shares an office with Akshai), and Akshai (also trying to rock the same dance move)

Veronica's kinda shy and really nice. She and went out by ourselves last night and met up with another German girl (who is also named Manuela) and some chilean friends at this place called Triciklo (that's right-Tricycle) because one of our chilean friends, Christian, was playing. He was awesome. Good times-we got to practice our spanish a lot.
------

I guess you're wondering about my classes. I'm warning you. I'm going to be a little detailed. sorry.

As of right now, I'm taking five classes:
1) Espanol para extranjeros con Profesor Omar Salazar

Although I am sure I could survive without taking another spanish class, this class is a plus for several reasons-
*the professor is kinda like my advisor and asked me to take the class--even though I will only be able to attend once a week due to a conflict in my schedule.
*There are people from many different countries in the class-germany, Japan, England, and the U.S-it's a great way to learn more about several cultures all at once
*It has been a good way to make friends and connect with people who are experiencing similar moments as they adjust to chilean life.
*My other classes are mostly lecture classes, and this class is much more conversation based- it's another good opportunity to practice speaking.
*We will be studying a lot about Chile in general-it's geography, politics, cultural norms-It will be very educational

Since I miss the class on Wednesdays, I went after my other class to chat with Professor Salazar about the class.
He has been extremely kind and helpful. I ran into him today, and he invited me to attend a program that he is developing for next semester on latin american studies for different university professors from several international universitites. He acted like the invitation was a pretty big deal (as I'm sure that it is), but I'm not quite sure what role he believes I can play--nevertheless, I bet it will be a really neat experience.

2)obras clasicas de literatura hispanoamericana con Profesor Mario Rodriguez

I'm kinda in love with this class. Dr. Rodriquez's thoughtful and informative lectures have me on the edge of my seat every class. The first class he talked all about the ways we were going to focus on the texts through the subjective perspective of the reader-why the class is named the way it is-what qualifies a "classic" text-

a phrase by Ricardo Piglia: "un libro que nunca termine de decir lo que tiene que decir"-a book that never stops saying what it has to say.

which transfroms into "toda interpretacion depende del lugar desde donde se lee" This is a key concept for the course: that all interpretation depends on the place from which the text is read.

Now, most of the stuff so far in this class isn't new for me, in terms of theories about the way we read, because we haven't begun to specifically talk to much about the texts themselves, but the point is that it's cool because it's all in spanish----

it is all in spanish,

and I still understand. This may seem simple, but it is a huge deal to me. I feel like I am finally in that place where Rodrigo was talking about, that I broke through the barrier level of my spanish--my ear has gotten so much better.

The second class we talked about the difference between "history" and "maps." it was also awesome because he went into a detailed explanation about the ways in which history in a modern sense is seen as cronological with linear time. however, there could be parellel times, and potentially a character in a text could exist and find various alternatives to their existence, and potentially each of those alternatives could coexist-he referenced Quatum Physics-but it also made me think about String theory- and the implication of that vibration on time.

-This lecture reminded me a lot of my Math and Music honors class.

He went on to say that within a "historical" perspective or reading-we are always slaves of the future and slaves to progress--
which led into his discussion of maps. which is way of looking at time or literature as a map-imagine thinking about time as a series of branching, interwoven, connecting lines. the important points are were the lines cross eachother-along with the entrances and exits-or where you enter and/or leave the map-but most importantly the constant relation between the map.

He said to make a map signifies to move oneself and to lose oneself. and this is even more interesting to me when you think of the map as less of a concrete document or fixed entity and more of a constantly changing representation of the lines based on the perspective from which you are looking at the map--more like Google Earth--ha! I wished I'd thought of that to tell Dr. Rodriguez about-but seriously--think about it.

Literary analysis=Google Earth

nice.

and he referenced an essay by Borges where he describes that there are really only four histories or four "shells" for all literature:
the war, the return, the search, and the sacrifice of god--Borges argues that all the stories in the world use one of these four histories or really one of these eight histories, because you have to include each of their counter-texts.

Lastly, he went on to talk about the ways in which Borges defines Southamerican desitiny as determined by violence.

exhale.

cool class, huh?

and I got all that in spanish-yipee.

3)obras clasicas de literature chilena con Professor Marcelo Garrido

This class is exactly what it sounds like--a chilean lit class. and sadly, I have only been to it once. last friday. On tuesday at 5:00 I went to the classroom and there was another class there-so I walked all the way across campus back to the humanities building to check the schedule and it said that the class was actually in the education building (at that point I thought I had just written the location down wrong)-so I walked all the way back across campus, up three flights of stairs to Education 308. I opened the closed door to find a professor in the middle of a lecture-

but it wasn't my professor.

at this point I began to feel like it was my first day of high school, and I was lost in the halls without anyone who would help me.

I walked all the way back across campus to the humanitiies building again to look at the schedule one more time. . .
only to finally see that Professor Garrido teaches two classes on Tuesdays: one at 2:00 and one at 5:00-and the schedule is just little squares with the professor's name and an 8 number code in each square simbolizing the class. My class had actually met at 2:00 in the humanities building--go figure.

So, I sent the professor a long email apologizing, meanwhile Roberto (english professor who shares an office with Akshai) laughed at me because he said it wasn't that big of a deal. But---it was to me- I wanted the professor to know that I respected his class and wasn't trying to skip it. anyways, on today the class was canceled. of course i didn't know that until I sat around outside the class room for twenty minutes, but I'll get it next week.

4)Formas del Discurso con Profesora Berta Lopez

This class is pretty much amazing. It's Totally postmodern and the professor is super nice and super sharp. (imagine in your mind that both those supers are pronounced like suuuh-pear) I have spoken somehow in all three classes. The first day we each had to give a description of "What is literature" and I said relation, and then we each had to explain our description, so I said (in spanish-aren't you proud?) that literature was a way for "us" to relate, a way to share our experiences and to connect ourselves to one another.

The second class she started talking about Drag-Queens and then totally called me out:

She was like:

So, Meredith, there are lots of Drag Queens in the U.S. Would you like to tell us more about that or describe your experience and/ or perspective on Drag Queens? (I swear she said that)

and after I closed my mouth,

I just said that I thought that there were people struggling to reconcile their gender, sex, and sexuality all over the world--especially since most of the time popular culture sees all those three things as being intricately related and codependent, but that I believe that each characteristic exists independent of the others.

and then I just took a deep breath.

Today, we were talking about literature as a system. that literature itself is a system, and that each work of literature is also a system--and I piped in that the language itself used to create those systems was its own system-and she got really excited.

She talked about Derrida and Foucault a little and after class I asked her if she had seen the Derrida documentary, and she said no, but that she probably wouldn't be able to follow it in english.

and then she said-[read closely]

hey, why don't you describe the documentary to the class next friday and give a short presentation of the ideas presented in the film.

and i sorta chuckled, and was like oh i don't know it's pretty freakin' complicated--and I'm not sure I could describe or summarize it in english-since the documentary itself in many ways is a representation of deconstruction within Derrida's life--but she said,

well, that's why I will give you a whole week to prepare.

and I said ok. I will try.

and then I thought to myself as I left the room:

NOTE TO SELF:

THINK MORE.

SPEAK LESS.
------------
5. I'm also going to take a class on gender in chilean novels from the 19th and 20th centuries, but it doesn't start until the beginning of april.
-------
There are no such things as copyright laws here, and books are extremely expensive. The library is well stocked, but you can only check out books for one week. EVERYONE just photocopies everything. Since I have to read around twenty books this semester-I was a little worried for a while. I really like books-and in true "american" fashion--I decided that I wanted my own copies. I spent a few days looking in every used book store and new book I could find, and these are some of the major books I will be reading this semester:


I never realized how much I take books for granted--how much they mean to you when you have no way to get them--I mean in fifty years will everything just be on the internet? will bound books be a thing of the past? why is the physical weight of the book and the turn of the page so important to me? Maybe it's just nostalgia, memories of late nights and long car rides-of all the many books that have passed through my hands and the ways their stories, their shared moments have impacted my place and my sense of me.
_________________
Sitting around the table at dinner, I couldn't help but watch the others reactions to the story all slightly leaning in, wide-eyed, breathing when she breathed--and at the end-all bursting out into laughter-together-sharing in the moment-relishing in eachother.

We were at a birthday party for one of Ana Maria's friend who is over 80-There were five other chilean women, Ana Maria, Veronica, Akshai, and me. we had a little too much fun:






Akshai and I both have this book called _How to Survive in the Chilean Jungle: 2_ which is basically a large collection of chilean slang. and someone said something that we didn't understand, and they wouldn't explain (because it was a little dirty) and so Akshai ran and got his book to look it up. and once they figured out what was in the book-it really turned in to a party-the chilean ladies couldn't believe that all these expressions were in a book-it was a hoot.


life is settling in a bit, and the only thing that could make any of this better would be if you guys were here with me.

Hope you and yours are happy and safe,

una aurora,
mere


XVII

Un Río

Yo quiero ir por el Papalaoapán
como tantas veces por el terroso espejo,
tocando con las uñas el agua poderosa:
quiero ir hacia las matrices, hacia la contextura
de sus originales ramajes de cristal:
ir, mojarme la frente, hundir en la secreta
confusión del rocío
la piel, la sed, el sueño.

El sábalo saliendo del agua
como n violín de plata,
y en la orilla las flores atmosféricas
y las alas inmóviles
en un calor de espacio defendido
por espadas azules.

Este soy, yo dire para deja/ este pretexto escrito: ésta es mi vida.

"This is what I am, I'll say, to leave
this written excuse: This is my life."

A few days ago Ana Maria and I went shopping for groceries. After we had purchased our groceries we walked out to the sidewalk to try and find a taxi. So, as we are walking along the sidewalk there's another larger lady who is looking for a taxi as well. She's wearing a turquoise dress and is about half my height.

We see a taxi, throw our groceries into the trunk, and get in. There is already another lady in the front seat. So I move all the way over and Ana Maria gets in after me, and suddenly the lady in the turquoise dress is somehow also in the backseat with us. At this point Ana Maria is pretty much pressed up against me, and the lady in the turquoise dress shuts the door, puts her groceries in her lap, takes a deep breath, and says,

"Soy Gordita. Lo Siento"

which means I'm a fat little one, sorry. (but said the I'm sorry part like she was only half-apologizing-and half saying-I'm fat-get over it.)

and I almost said right on, but I couldn't figure out how to translate it.

I was so surprised that those words came out of her mouth that I had to take deep breaths to keep from laughing. but i thought you know. . .

when we got back to the house and were recounting the story to Veronica, we got into a fit of giggles.

Ana Maria said she was ticked off because that lady had to pay the exact same amount as us but took up more space . . .

which made me laugh even more just thinking about it, and I told her. . .

that in a few months if she keeps feeding me the ways she has been feeding me, I'm going to get into a taxi and say,

Dude. I'm fat. I'm sorry. . .

and pay for everyone else's ride.

----------------------------this story may not seem as funny on paper. . .or computer screen. . .

I've been thinking about gender roles and stereotypes here. I sorta think about this topic a lot anyways. The men here are extrememly vocal, even more vocal then they were in Santiago. In Santiago they would sorta whisper or speak to you as they walked past. "Americans" have a tendency to say that it is way more sexist here, I happen to think that men are probably just as sexist in the US, just not as brave or as vocal. Maybe that's because the women in the US, are more likely to a) yell back
b) give them the finger
c) throw something at them/ or drive a car in their direction

or maybe it's just because in the U.S. as long as you act and speak as though you are Politically correct, then you are?? hmm

anyways, so a few days ago Ana Maria and I were walking along and two guys in a truck started yelling me, all nice things. "Love of my life, my heart, my soul, my day. . ." Ana Maria got a kick out of this and told me not to worry because the men here only yell polite things.

great, I thought.

Then yesterday Ana Maria and I had the luck to walk through a construction site.

Building on the left, sidewalk, and truck with six or seven construction workers sitting on the truck.

As we're walking up, I'm thinking, this will be interesting. The guys are all talking and laughing loudly.

We walk by, and they go silent.

and then without saying anything, they break into applause.

applause.

and I think I turned about eight shades of read, meanwhile Ana Maria is laughing and waving and winking.

I about died.
_____________________
Monday Ana Maria and I went to sign up for my salsa classes. (I'm going to take Salsa classes-how cool is that?)
I met the professor who seems really nice, and he tells me that I need to find a partner and sign up on the 15th of March.
Then, as we're walking away. . .this guy runs up behind us. He had just spoken to the professor and was looking for a partner for the salsa class too. He's in his last year at the engineering school, probably pretty close to my height, and seemed polite enough.

But I didn't really have a chance to respond because Ana Maria responded for me (Have I mentioned she's kinda a major TYPE A).

"Oh, she'd love to. . . How nice. You two are going to have so much fun."

alright, I have a salsa partner. We exchanged information because we have to register together on the 15th.

Tuesday afternoon my cell phone rings------BY THE WAY-------
sidebar--I got a text message from the British chap on saturday and didn't even realize it until Monday night because I still don't know how to work my stupid phone. lovely work mere. lovely work.
--------
my cell phone rings, I answer it-I'm a little shocked because my cell phone doesn't ring, Ever.

and the voice on the other line is a chilean man, and he's talking really fast and acting like he knows me. Im confused. He asks me if I'm at the university or at home.

"umm at home" (me)
" are you going to the university any time soon?" (male voice)
"yes"(me)
" when?'(male voice)
"well. . . I don't know. Why? who is this?" (me)
"I thought we could get together to talk" (male voice)
"Who is this? WHO IS THIS?" (me) thinking [is my spanish not working?!]
"Jorge"(jorge)
"Ohh, Jorge [my dance partner] hi. Well, I have an appointment later with a professor at the university but Ana Maria has visitors now, so I'm not sure when I'm going to get over there. What did you need to talk to me about?"(me)
"the salsa dancing"(Jorge)
"Oh [still confused] but we don't have to register until the 15th, right? what do we need to talk about now?"(me)
" Ok. I'll call you on the 15th. Chao." (Jorge)
"Ch--" (me)
"dialtone"


At this point I am not only confused but upset. When I go upstairs and recount the story to Ana Maria and her friends. . .they all start laughing and basically tell me that I said exactly the right thing, that he was trying to take me out.

Unfortunately or fortunately for me, I was just a little to slow to pick up on all that.

I probably totally offended my dance partner.

great.

___________

Tuesday I went to my first rotary meeting, and it was lovely. Unlike my sponsor club (Sunrise Rotary) which meets at 7am every Tuesday for a breakfast meeting, this club meets from around 8:30 to 11:30ish for a dinner meeting. There were about thirty members at the meeting, all older men, and they were all extrememly warm and funny. I'm excited to have the chance to get to know them more. They all joked about hooking me up with their grandsons and such. There was an extrememly interesting presentation on the closing of a local school, and I learned a lot about the Chilean public education system, which is governed by the municipalities. I need to read a lot more about this before I can speak intelligently about it, but it is a very important and controversial topic here.

I exchanged my sunrise rotary club banner for theirs and will be bringing home the concepcion club banner to my sponsor club when I return. I think one of the greatest things about rotary is that are always open: open to learning, open to hearing, open to experiencing and to change.
_________________

Today, Thursday March 8th, is Women's Day here. Patrick (my new friend of North Carolina) informed us that we have that in the US too-we just don't celebrate it. They were handing out flowers in the streets that say "The woman is not only affection or sensibility. The women is the conductor and the dynamic. The woman is the will."

To all you women out there-Happy Women's Day. You are the will.
-----------------

This week is sorta an experimenting week for me. I went to see Professor Omar Salazar on Tuesday. He helped me look at all the possible courses and pick out some I was interested in. He gave me all the professors, class times, and rooms and building of the classes.
I have about seven classes that I'm going to check out this week, and see which ones I'm interested in.

and all I can say is so far. . .It has been interesting. Things don't work on the same time schedule as they do in the US. Everything is flexible. The schedules, rooms, and professors are always really set. and it's basically like a non-stop don't worry be happy attitude. Sweet right?

well, it is unless you are an anal "American" who is used to always being at class five minutes early. I've missed two classes already because they weren't in the rooms I thought they would be in or because they start at different times than what I thought.

but all is good. . .

I had a great class yesterday morning. it's a obras clasicas hispanomericanas, and I was pretty stoked because I understood everything that was said. This class seems like it will be right up my alley.

Within the first ten minutes the Prof broke out Barthes and "The Death of the Author," and I was hooked. The class will be looking at the intertexuality of the works and examining them always from the perspective of the subjective readers. should be good. . .

The Director of the woman studies program is out until next week, but I am anxious to meet her and hope I will be able to take one of her classes.
_______________
Friends My Age Count:
3!

I met two more students from the U.S.: Rebecca and Patrick. They're exchange students from North Carolina and are both great. I'm excited because hopefully I will get the chance to travel with them a bit. Everyone says that you should try to avoid making friends with people that speak your language because you will practice and use the language a lot less, but we are all pretty committed to trying to learn and practice our spanish. We hung out after our classes today and grabbed some lunch together, and for Most of the time we tried to only speak spanish, which is good. I think we can keep it up too. I really don't want to speak that much English while I'm here. I feel like I may only get this chance once, this year, and I want to speak as much spanish as I possibly can. Cachai??

________________

I'm sorry this entry is so ADD, but here's some pictures of the university:










------------
Ok. . .against my better judgement, I'm going to put this in here. We had to write a poem in our class today. At least I think that's what we had to do. and we had about twenty minutes to write twenty lines. No laughing where I can hear you, and I'm not translating it on purpose. sorry the title is so cliched

Perdida en tradducion

una guerra de palabras
empieza en mi mente.
Los sonidos, ideas, y signos
mezclan hasta su esencia
esta perdida,
suspendido
en un espacio
entre dos idiomas
sin la capaz
ser o tratar identificarse.

Cuando el humo desaparece
y las ideas encuentran sus propias
palabras, formar y conectar con las letras
de esta idoma,
Todavia, recuerdo la naturaleza
de guerra,
ideas abstractas que estan buscando
por una manera criar
su propia existencia
con sonidos sencillos.

No comment. . . except that my preferred writing genre is definitely rambling random confessions and not poetry.

_______________
This segment goes out to all BSC students/ Alums.

If you have ever been a BSC student there is a part of you (I imagine) that will always connect the image of the Ginkgo tree with your time at 'Southern, with fall and Munger, with change and cycles, with time and the lack of time. The leaves of the Ginkgo turn bright yellow during fall, imagine a thick yellow fall, with silky leaves.

I love the Ginkgo--maybe because in fall, the two ginkgo trees outside of Munger are such a staggering sight that make me want to sit down on the sidewalk and just look up, maybe because my very first creative writing class was with Dr. Sandra Sprayberry, and on the first day she made us go down and hug the ginkgo, and then write about it----maybe it's just because to me they seem like a larger-than-life essence. They make me fell small in a good way.

You get my point. The last time i was in Chile I fell in love with umbrella trees, literally these trees in Angol that look like they stepped out of a Dr. Seuss book.

But a few days ago, I was walking through the UDEC campus and I found these:





Ginkgos. Life has a funny way of reminding you how you are never far from home--that even when you feel as if the world has never been this way before and may never be again--with each new dawn or aurora--you are underneath the same skies (los mismos cielos)--watched over by the same trees, and touched by people and places in the same ways. I imagine that in Birmingham in the next few months, your Ginkgos will begin to bloom again, to sprout new leaves, new bright green leaves. And at that exact same time the Ginkgos here will begin to carmelize, and eventually leave this year's moments behind as we move into winter. Once again my year will be marked by the memory of a yellow autumn . . .

ok-sorry for the cheese. I think. . . that I am done for today.

Oh, one more thing. Patrick, Rebecca, and I are banking on the riots--banking on the riots for some much needed travel time. and that is all I have to say---

Well. . .except for the fact that I'm also going to leave you with the object of Rotary. I had to read these in spanish this week to the standing Rotary club (without warning) and a little rotary knowledge is always good for you:

"Object of Rotary

The Object of Rotary is to encourage and foster the ideal of service as a basis of worthy enterprise and, in particular, to encourage and foster:

First, The development of acquaintance as an opportunity for service;

Second, High ethical standards in business and professions, the recognition of the worthiness of all useful occupations, and the dignifying of each Rotarian's occupation as an opportunity to serve society;

Third, The application of the ideal of service in each Rotarian's personal, business, and community life;

Fourth, The advancement of international understanding, goodwill, and peace through a world fellowship of business and professional persons united in the ideal of service."

I'm the fourth one. Love you guys-
This blogging stuff has helped me to see that I'm officially one of the most long-winded people I know.

Hope you and yours are happy and safe-

una aurora,
Mere

English below:

Aquellas Vidas

Este soy, yo diré para deja
Este pretexto escrito: ésta es mi vida.
Y ya se sabe que no se podía:
que en esta red no solo el hile cuenta,
sino el aire que escapa de las redes,
y todo lo demás era inasible:
el tiempo que corrió como una liebre
a través del rocío de febrero
y más nos vale no hablar del amor
que se movía como una cadera
sin dejar donde estuvo tanto fuego
sino una cucharada de ceniza
y así con tantas cosas que volaban:
el hombre que esperó creyendo claro,
la mujer que vivió y que no vivirá,
todos pensaron que teniendo dientes,
teniendo pies y manos y alfabeto
era sólo cuestión de honor la vida.
Y éste sumó sus ojos a la historia,
agarró las victorias del pasado,
asumió para siempre la existencia
y sólo le sirvió para morir
la vida: el tiempo para no tenerlo.
Y la tierra al final para enterrarlo.
Pero aquello nació con tantos ojos
como planetas tiene el firmamento
y todo el fuego con que devoraba
la devoró sin tregua hasta dejarla.
Y si algo vi en mi vida fue una tarde
en la India, en las márgenes de un río:
arder una mujer de carne y hueso
y no sé si era el alma o era el humo
lo que del sarcófago salía
hasta que no quedó mujer ni fuego
ni ataúd ni ceniza: ya era tarde
y sólo noche y agua y sombra y río
allí permanecieron en la muerte.

Those Lives

This is what I am, I’ll say, to leave this written
Excuse. This is my life.
Now it is clear this couldn’t be done—
that in this net it’s not just the strings that count
but the air that escapes through the meshes.
Everything else stayed out of reach—
time running like a hare
across the February dew,
and love, best no to talk of love
which moved, a swaying of hips,
leaving no more trace of all its fire
than a spoonful of ash.
That’s how it is with so many passing things:
the man who waited, believing, of course,
the woman who was alive and will not be.
All of them believed that, having teeth,
feet, hands, and language,
life was only a matter of honor.
This one took a look at history,
took in all the victories of the past,
assumed an everlasting existence,
and the only thing life gave him was
his death, time not to be alive,
and earth to bury him in the end.
But all that was born with many eyes
as there are planets in the firmament,
and all her devouring fire
ruthlessly devoured her until the end.
If I remember anything in my life,
it was an afternoon in India, on the banks of a river.
They were burning a woman of flesh and bone
and I didn’t know if what came from the sarcophagus
was soul or smoke,
until there was neither woman nor fire
nor coffin nor ash. It was late,
and only the night, the water, the river, the darkness
lived on in that death.

Nosotros/los poetas/caminantes/exploramos/el mundo,/en cada puerta/nos recibió la vida/participamos/en la lucha terrestre.

"We
the wandering
poets
explored
the world,
at every door
life received us,
we took part
in the earthly struggle."

I try not to have too many specified life goals--just blurry hazes of possible goals off in the horizon,

because I know that if I took a permanent marker and drew those goals into dark sketched lines,

they would turn into barriers, pressing down on me and driving me scared skinny through a narrow path with only one question circling in my head---

how do I obtain these "goals"?

So, I prefer to wake up with only one goal, to do my best to try and be my truest self, whatever that means.

And I think Change,
although it is most always painful and/or difficult, a little awkward too perhaps,

is always good.

It keeps life fresh and adventurous and new. It keeps me excited and provokes a desire to learn new things, to be
new things.

Tuesday night was my last night with my family in Santiago. It was pretty sad. We ordered pizza, and I made them "fresh" chocolate chip pancakes, my specialty. I was pretty proud of them. Check it out:



and I gave them all my gifts. Wednesday Pancho, Berti, and Claudia all drove me to the airport and came with me all the way to security, where we waved until I couldn't see them anymore. sigh. sometimes it stinks that you have to close some doors before you can open new ones. sorry for the cliche. . . but. . . change is good. good, good.

So, I'm in Concepcion.

I arrived on Wednesday (holy moly was that only two days ago???) at around 4pm. My luggage of course was wayyy the weight limit, and I had to cut my little toe off in the airport and hand it to the lady to get her to let me take it all. not really. I just had to pay a lot, but you get my point.

When I got to Conce, Ana Maria (who I live with), Domke Schultz (the president of the Rotary club and my host), and Nelson Olate (the secretary of the club who I've been emailing with) were all there to meet me!! It was great. The guys brought me beautiful flowers:


Then we headed back to Ana Maria's house, which is lovely, and I dropped off my stuff. Then we went straight over to meet Monica Zambrano, who is the secretary of the office for international students. She's got a warm-I'm only human and I do my best-kinda smile, and she let me know all the stuff I needed to do in order to register (which I'm still a little unsure about).

Then we returned back to the house had some dinner and spent a few hours trying to figure out the wireless code. The whole afternoon Ana Maria and I had the chance to talk, talk, talk. This lady is great. She's probably 5'3" or 5'4" and she's super spunky. I have no idea how old she is, but she has a very young spirit. She's a hoot. She speaks Super fast, but it's good for me. and she's constantly correcting me, which is also helpful. She and everyone else keep talking about how good my spanish is which has really helped my confidence. I feel like I'm in really good shape with my spanish. sweet. it's a new feeling.

So, Wednesday night she and I sat around and chatted while I unpacked. It turns out that Ana Maria is separated (permanently it seems) and lives in this big house by herself with her brother who is 53 and has down syndrome (he's super sweet). There are four other bedrooms in the house other than mine. One of which is hers. For the last three years, every semester she has had four foreign students stay with her. So, this house is really a safe-haven for foreign mis-fits--cool huh?? I feel like I'm going to fit right in.

It's good though. I feel like I'm going to have a family here. I am the only student here right now, and I lucked out because my bedroom is the only one downstairs with a private bath. It's right next to the kitchen (Thanks to God, because s/he knows me so well), which means I'm pretty much in heaven, with quick access to the bread drawer (these are a staple in all chilean house-holds, a random drawer somewhere in the kitchen, that has bags of fresh-baked bread in it-it's like finding a basket full of chocolate filled easter eggs in one bush---man. . . I'm twisted).


(you can take the girl out of the south. . . but you can't take the appetite out of the girl???) Sometimes I see the stories on the news about the anorexic models who have died, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. That's usually because I'm eating while I watch tv. just kidding. ANYWAYS--

Ana Maria isn't sure what other students will be coming except for one, a boy, a fulbright scholar from the US who gets here next friday. sweet. a new friend. I hope he doesn't like bread. just kidding. sorry, sometimes I forget that other people read this.

Here are some pictures of the house and stuff:


This is my lovely little bulletin board. /as you can see there are lots of poems and photos up there. If you want your sweet and kind card to be added to my bulletin board, all you have to do is send it to:
Meredith Hanson
Victoria 370-B
Barrio Universitario
Concepcion, 4030000
CHILE

I have no shame. I like mail, and I miss you guys. I'm trying to be more like Pam, you know Pam--from The Office. She's trying to be more up-front about what she wants in life. Well, gosh darnett, I want mail. I promise if you send me mail- I will send you mail too! ha,ok, this is getting pathetic. . . moving on:


This is my bed. Isn't it lovely?


This is my window, desk, and bed. Yes, I know I am stating the obvious, but I feel that commentary is necessary with "tour of the house" photos.


My stove (for the WINTER or for these cold summer nights because they are cold people. I'm a little afraid of what winter is going to feel like, but I'll toughen up) and my cute little stool. I'm not quite sure what the stool is for, but maybe if I was shorter it would come in handy.


tah-dah. my very own skylight. I told you people-this place is snazzy.

bam! skylight again.

aww, isn't my bookshelf cute??? I'm wishing desperately that I had brought more books in English. Books are extremely expensive here, but once I get my library card it's going to be like christmas all year around. that's right.

more shelves, I'm telling you, the organizational potential in here is THRILLING. I don't know why this is so funny to me, just that thought about the orginazational potential being thrilling, but I can't stop giggling at the thought. . .
If you don't know me. . . I'm not usually much of a "organizational" kinda person.

mom, and dad, and everyone else who has ever lived with me or near me. you know you still love me.

the view from my bed down to my bathroom door (straight ahead), my closet (on the left), and the exit/entrance door (on the right

private bath

private shower

closet-hello, organized lifestyle . . . but wait-----there's more--

Yes, those are my socks and underwear in little containers. This concludes the tour of my room, isn't it sweet? Onto the rest of the house:

dining room. . .

which is connected to the . . . living room. Living room. . .

which is connected to the. . .hip bone. ha. just kidding more living room

cool china, book, dresser thingy.

hallway, and yes that is me being sly and trying to take a picture of myself.

stairs

Ana Maria's room and dark fuzzy picture of Ana Maria.

more of Ana Maria's room

TV room!
TV room!
hallway with other bedroom of soon-to-be new best friends.
Kitchen, very spacious.
fridge and cabinets

Me and Annette. I love Annette! She's one of the coolest dogs ever. We're totally going to be park buddies. Notice that I'm squinting here? Those are my glasses on the table. Obviously, I can't see without my glasses. But people here always ask me to take off my glasses when they take pictures of me, maybe they are trying to tell me something. . . like. . .
I look better squinting??
this is my wndow from the outside. not very exciting photo, but kinda romantic huh?
the walkway from the house to the street


I have a lot of pictures of the campus, but I'm going to save them for another blog. I don't want to talk to much about registering for classes because I'm a little anal, and it is stressing me out a little bit. I was pretty stressed out about it yesterday. . .well, until I met Chris.

On Thursday I met with a very nice Spanish Professor(who is not named Chris) who is going to contact lit professors and help me register for classes. He told me to come back at noon on friday. I liked him because he told me my spanish was good, and I pretty much automatically really like anyone who tells me that. ha. no shame.

So, when I showed up at noon on Friday, the professor was walking out of the building. . .

uh. . . hola??? I said

and he was like oh, hey, and basically told me that since all the first year classes started first (on monday) he won't have my information until tuesday (don't ask me to explain-I don't get it either, and it just makes me nervous) I'm pretty sure he also said that I have to wait and let all the chilean students register first and then see what classes are available (Ana Maria says that this is NOT what he said, but I think she's just trying to make me feel better). Regardless, the advanced classes don't start for two weeks or so, so I know I'm ok. . . I'm just from the US, and all I can think about are the nightmares I had about BSC registration, with the big screen on the wall with the word CLOSED next to every one of the classes I wanted.

Breathe, Meredith, Breathe. We are not in Alabama anymore folks.

Anyways, like Everything in Chile, things will work out beautifully, I just need to be patient. I'm going to see the professor again on Tuesday.

After we had that enchanting conversation with the professor on the stairs while he was on his way out, we walked upstairs to the English floor.

I would like to volunteer to teach english at a school somewhere close. They are always looking for native speakers to help teach, and Ana Maria knows a few of the english professors. While I was waiting in line to speak to one of these professors, I spotted Chris.

A few days ago, Ana Maria and I were walking behind this tall, blond, blue-eyed chap who was walking with a group of Chileans, and by his thick accent it was obvious he was a gringo.

This chap, whose name happens to be Chris, was standing around on the English floor yesterday. Ana Maria, who like Kevin Bacon, somehow knows everyone and is connected to everything, said that she remembered him and went off to talk to him. This lady doesn't know what the word "timida" means.

So, I'm just standing in line still, and I hear her yelling my name. great.

She introduced me to Chris, he's here to teach english and has actually already been here for a semester and leaves in July. He has a thick, thick accent, but seems very nice (and very attractive -by the way--). Somehow Ana Maria walked away slyly and left us to chat. I was just chatting away in spanish, and he was like,

"uhh do you mind if we speak English?--It's just easier."

shame.

"Oh sure," I said, sorta chuckling, "sorry."

turns out Chris is from England. I know, seriously, the accent is killer, and he's super nice. He hasn't had that much of an opportunity to practice his spanish because he's only here to teach english and isn't taking any classes. He said that I should watch out, since my spanish was so good (right), because a lot of the british and american boys that are here teaching leech onto people like me.


hmmmmm, leech on.

I started to tell him he could leech onto me or that I would be happy to help him with his spanish any time. . .

but I just said I would definitely watch our for those leeches.

Is that even how you spell leeches??

anyways, I had to run to speak to the Prof about volunteering (she seemed stoked that I was interested), and I said goodbye to Chris as we were leaving, and we exchanged numbers so that hopefully we can hang out.

FRIEND MY AGE COUNT:
1

sweeeeeeeeet. and he's british. double sweet.

anyways, besides the fact that this was the first time I've spoken English with anyone (other than my family on skype) in a while it was a bizarre cultural experience.

I mean you know how you're standing in the grocery store line or something and there are two people in front of you, and I don't know let's say they're speaking Swahili and all you can think is, man, I wonder what they're talking about-- are they laughing at me, why can't they just speak english, why are they speaking their language here? . . . etc. etc. You know you've thought it. . . well, Chris and I were totally those people for like ten minutes. and I saw people looking at us, and it was a surreal experience-I was really excited to be speaking english but also a little embarrassed. I almost wanted to apologize.

like to turn around to the other students and be like. . .

uhhh. . .he's british, look at him. . . I'm sorry. I'm desperate for friends here, and I can't refuse the accent.

but I just tried to speak softer, which I'm not really good at either.

anyways, at one point ana maria popped back in outta nowhere to tell us to stop speaking english, only spanish!!! she said to him. . . you both need to practice!! and I felt bad. she's was laughing and everything, but I felt lazy. . .
and also. . . kinda cool.

You remember when you were in like 5th grade or something and you got into a pig-latin kick, and thought you were so cool cuz you knew a secret language. it was kinda like that.

anyways, this whole discussion may seem immature, but I think in a lot of ways our languages, our accents are just more ways that we shape our own identities, and there may be something to be said for respecting the language around you. I don't know.

anyways, all of this was really just to say, I met a cute, tall british guy. haha. just kidding.

I also met a friend of Ana Maria's whose name is Gabriella, she 70 and Super cool. We rented movies and watched "When a man loves a woman" and "four weddings and a funeral" -both great. Gabriella is a widow. She's spunky and hilarious. I already love her.

I also met Ana Maria's daughter, six month year old grandson, and son-in-law last night. Funny, smart, and charming-they appear to be the perfect little family. They call babies wa-wa's here. ha. wa-wa. i love it.

I'm going to my first rotary meeting on Tuesday night, and I hoping to sign up for salsa lessons on Monday. promise I will write more soon.

I hope you and yours are happy and safe,

una aurora,
mere

Ode to the book (II)

Book,
beautiful
book,
miniscule forest,
leaf
after leaf
your paper
smells of the elements,
you are
matutinal and nocturnal,
vegetal,
oceanic,
in you ancient pages
bear hunters,
camp fires
near the Mississisppi
canoes
in the islands,
later
roads
and roads,
revelations,
insurgent
races,
Rimbaud like a wounded
fish bleeding
flopping in the mud,
and the beauty
of fellowship,
stone by stone
the human castle rises,
sorros intertwined
with strength,
actions of solidarity,
clandestine
book
from pocket
to pocket,
hidden
lamp,
red star.

We
the wandering
poets
explored
the world,
at every door
life received us,
we took part
in the earthly struggle.
What was our victory?
A book,
a book full
of human touches,
of shirts,
a book
without loneliness, with men
and tools,
a book
is victory.
It lives and falls
like all fruit,
it doesn't have light,
it doesn't have
shadow,
it fades,
it sheds its leaves,
it gets lost
in the streets,
it tumbles ot earth.
Morning-fresh
book of poetry,
return
again
to hold snow and moss
on your pages
so that footsteps
or eyes
may keep carving
trails:
once more
describe the world to us,
the springs
in the middle of the forest
the high woodlands,
the polar
planets,
and man
on the roads,
on the new roads,
advancing
in the jungle,
in the water,
in the sky,
in the naked solitude of the sea,
man
discovering
the ultimate secrets,
man returning
with a book,
the hunter back again
with a book,
the farmer
plowing
with a book.


ODA AL LIBRO (II)
LIBRO
hermoso,
libro,
mínimo bosque,
hoja
tras hoja,
huele
tu papel
a elemento,
eres
matutino y nocturno,
cereal,
oceánico,
en tus antiguas páginas
cazadores de osos,
fogatas
cerca del Mississippi,
canoas
en las islas,
más tarde
caminos
y caminos,
revelaciones,
pueblos
insurgentes,
Rimbaud como un herido
pez sangriento
palpitando en el lodo,
y la hermosura
de la fraternidad,
piedra por piedra
sube el castillo humano,
dolores que entretejen
la firmeza,
acciones solidarias,
libro
oculto
de bolsillo
en bolsillo,
lámpara
clandestina,
estrella roja.

Nosotros
los poetas
caminantes
exploramos
el mundo,
en cada puerta
nos recibió la vida,
participamos
en la lucha terrestre.
Cuál fue nuestra victoria?
Un libro,
un libro lleno
de contactos humanos,
de camisas,
un libro
sin soledad, con hombres
y herramientas,
un libro
es la victoria.
Vive y cae
como todos los frutos,
no sólo tiene luz,
no sólo tiene
sombra,
se apaga,
se deshoja,
se pierde
entre las calles,
se desploma en la tierra.
Libro de poesía
de mañana,
otra vez
vuelve
a tener nieve o musgo
en tus páginas
para que las pisadas
o los ojos
vayan grabando
huellas:
de nuevo
descríbenos el mundo
los manantiales
entre la espesura,
las altas arboledas,
los planetas
polares,
y el hombre
en los caminos,
en los nuevos caminos,
avanzando
en la selva,
en el agua,
en el cielo,
en la desnuda soledad marina,
el hombre
descubriendo
los últimos secretos,
el hombre
regresando
con un libro,
el cazador de vuelta
con un libro,
el campesino arando
con un libro.