". . . Te parece./ La mariposa volotea,/ revolotea,/ y desaparece."

It's been a rough week folks.

It's a dark day here, dark and cold. Santiago is a dry city with dry summers. It never rains here unless it's winter. Never. ha.

It's raining hard, and it has been all day, and I'm in one of those moods, you know? I just keep eating chocolate.

I found out this week that I needed to get a Chilean ID card and register with the police with 30 days of entering the country, thanks to mom, who has been scouring all Chilean websites for random information. you know it's true mom. BUT, I am so thankful because I wouldn't have known without mom.

I also found out that my bank is being bought out and so my bank account numbers and check card will only work until March 9th (the first week I'm in Conce and when I have to register, pay my tuition, and buy books and stuff). Great timing. sweet.

But who cares? because I am officially a visiting Chilean resident of sorts. We went to get my chilean id card today, and it turned out to be quite an ordeal, even before it started raining.

Pancho and I set out at 8am. I already knew that I had to go to the International police to register Before I went to get my ID card, but Pancho just kept telling me that I could do that after, so. . . I shut my mouth.

Did I say it's been a rough week?

I totally blame Valentine's day, ha. just kidding.

Although this is a great time to say THANK YOU mom and dad for the wonderful package I got this week with chocolates, my backpack, a teddy bear, a really cool and nerdy calculator that instantaneously translates all metric units to/and from us units, along with a few other surprises. You are the best family ever.

It has been a challenging week also in terms of my language skills--I feel like I am sorta walking a tight rope. or walking a tight rope and juggling. or walking a tight rope, juggling, and chatting to the guy walking behind me. At least that was it seems like to me because I've taken eight years of spanish, eight years of verb conjugations and vocabulary that drifted in and out of my head between graduations, starbucks, final exams, and late nights. Years of living a life where it was fun to learn and study spanish, while my real life kept going on the side.

In English.

So, this week was sorta like a Welcome message,

Welcome to your new life. It's not in English anymore.

no really. seriously. think and breath and be, in spanish.

I had this moment this week (I have these moments a lot) when I looked up at Rodrigo, and I told him the reason I was more stressed was because I realized suddenly--Oh I'm not just studying this to learn it on the side, this is sorta for survival.

so on this tight rope I'm walking like I've been trained to do, one foot in front of the other, without panicking, and I'm taking deep breaths, but pretend like I'm juggling all the thoughts in my head, and in order to clearly carry on a conversation with the guy behind me. . . I have to have the thoughts aligned in just the right way in every moment so that my words come out right.

Are you exhausted? I am. Because this is not easy, and I knew it wouldn't be--but still- I'm doing so well in my language classes. I know the forms and the rules. I don't make mistakes on my quizzes. But trying to speak consistently and correctly--that's a whole nother thing- But it just takes time.

time.

time.

to fix my thoughts in my head. and people, in general, don't process that slowly when they listen.

I finally know what it is like to stutter. I get so frustrated because I have all the right words in my head, but now I'm trying to conjugate everything correctly (unlike when I first arrived ) and use all the right objects and pronouns in the right places and throw in my new vocabulary, and it just takes me a minute, and Pancho is sitting at the table looking at me, or saying "did you understand?" and of course I did, but I just want to scream:

JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE. I WANT TO SAY IT RIGHT.

but I can't so I just stutter and stumble, spit it out and then autocorrect and usually autocorrect again.

patience young grasshopper. I know. I know.

So, back to the registrar, I shut my mouth, got a number, and waited for about 45 minutes-and when they called my number I went to the module, and she asked me for my card from the international police, which of course, I didn't have.

So, we left and went to find the international police dept. This is the point where it began to shower freezing rain. Pancho didn't know where it was. I love the way people ask for directions here. They just steer the car as close as they can (without actually hitting) to the nearest other car and roll down the window and scream, "hey friend-where is_________?" I love it. we did it about three times before we found the place. I got a new number, waited about an hour until they called my number and when to the module. The plump and pleasant man went through the whole process with me, and then

asked me for my photo.

"ummm. . . photo? I don't have a photo. I didn't know I had to have a photo." I almost cried, but he just looked at me for about half a second, shrugged, stamped the paper and said "sin foto." (without photo)

God bless him.

So, we went and got photocopies of everything. still pouring freezing rain,

and returned to the registrar. We're were in pretty good spirits the whole time. I wasn't even upset. We got my card (it won't come in 'til March 5th, so I'll have to come back to Santiago to get it). Everything has been so easy so far that I've almost been waiting for something to be a little complicated, the most important word I learned in serving learning at BSC was "flexibility." I pretty much carry the word around in my pocket here.

In terms of my classes, this week has been great. My grammar classes, like I said, are good, and Rodrigo helps me a lot and is just generally fun to talk to. He introduced me to a little Salsa music and told me about the live Salsa clubs in the city. I hope I get the chance to check one out. Dirty Dancing Havanna Nights, here I come. Ha, just kidding. maybe.

I went to Neruda's house this week, well, one of his houses. I found it all by myself. La Chascona-it means wild-haired-it's a reference to Matilda. Neruda built it for his lover, Maltida-her nickname was "Madusa," in secret. It's amazing. Like a tree house--The house could be a poem. that's how thoughtful it is. How craftfully designed. I can't describe it and do it justice, but a few details:

Neruda loved Walt Whitman, remember the poem "Oh Captain, My Captain"? Well, Neruda loved the ocean and he thought of himself as the "Captain" of this house. It's sorta designed like a ship. There's only one entrance/exit. The dining room is built like the main hull of a boat, a long and narrow room with a long wooden table, rounded ceiling, and large glass windows on one side. In its original form, there was a water cannal which ran along this dining room. So, I imagine, one felt as if they were actually in a ship. Neat huh? at the end of this room, there's a china cabinet, and guess what!! This is so cool--
there's a secret passageway in the china cabinet! I loved it. then you go into a small room which leads into a tall circular stairway (which is actually a stairway which came from a real ship!) and at the top of the stairs a room that was once a guest room I think, with a port hole for a window (that also came from a real ship). There were two more guest rooms in this area of the house--then we went outside, up some winding stairs and into a living room type place, which was built so that it feels as if you're standing in a light house. With almost all glass walls. Before the city was built up there was a beautiful view of the mountains. Up the stairs is the private bed room that they shared which leads out to a beautiful patio. Back downstairs and back out another door, we walked up to an outside bar and another living room-esque place, and then a library. All of these separate areas are in on different heights and it reallys does feel like a tree house. Ok, I didnt do it justice. My tour guide, Rogelilo (? I think) was great and almost ran me down after the tour was over (I was the only person on the tour) to walk me to the metro. He was super nice, cute, and way taller than me (super bonus here). It was nice to have the company because it was getting dark. Here's some pictures of the house:































































































































































































































































Isn't it beautiful?? sigh. I was only allowed to take pictures outside. You can take a virtual tour if you go to the website I think. The sun in the window simbolized La Chascona or Matilda, and the other simbol is a P connected into an M, Pablo and Maltida eternally united.

Macarena, my lit professor, and I are going to go to his other house, Isla Negra, next saturday together. I'm excited. It's supposed to be the most beautiful house. She invited me to come and visit her sometime during my winter break. I think we also may try and travel together next summer. She and I have had some really meaningful conversations. I'm glad we are friends.

Claudia has been sick all week, really sick, with fever. I met her boyfriend, he's very nice. They are totally cute together. I made some more cookies, for Claudia. Which dissapeared in less than 24 hours.

New things I have eaten this week:

Fried egg and green beans (try it-you like it)
carrot omelot (80% carrot-20% egg) the jury still out on this one for me-it's a little odd.
some sort of corn casserole, strange, but good.
home made tomato sauce-to DIE for.
Oh, and this isn't new, but I have fresh avocados every day-EVERY day. so goooooood.

Ok , I know this entry is really long, like always, but Berti and I went shopping today. I'm trying to find water proof, hard core winter shoes for concepcion. and. . . I hate to say this. I felt like such an american, but. . .

we ate McDonalds. I know. I felt really bad until I ate a fry. . . yummmm, those addictive chemicals.

I didn't find my rain shoes, but I did buy a pair of five dollar shoes.

You know how when you go shoe shopping, and they never have your size because your size is a "popular" size. Well, ha, at first I felt like I was pretty unlucky because sometimes they don't even have my size-- none of the rest of my family could even dream of buying shoes here. but it turns out that It's good because my size is always the size left-because they're much bigger than the average size here. ha-sweet.

Berti and I are leaving early tomorrow to go to the beach, which should be fun. It really wasn't that bad of a week. I'm just moody. It happens. It's all Greys Anatomy's fault, really. If Meredith dies, I refuse to watch it anymore. --sorry, had to throw that in there.

I hope you and yours are happy and safe-

una aurora,
Mere

Mariposa de Otoño

La mariposa volotea
y arde – con el sol – a veces.

Mancha volanta y llamarada,
ahora se queda parada
sobre una hoja que la mece.

Me decían: No tienes nada.
No estás enfermo. Te parece.

Yo tampoco decía nada.
Y pasó el tiempo de las mieses.

Hoy una mano de congoja
llena de otoño el horizonte.
Y hasta de mi alma caen hojas.

Me decían: - No tienes nada.
No estás enfermo. Te parece.

Era la hora de las espigas.
El sol, ahora,
convalece.

Todo se va en la vida, amigos.
Se va o perece.

Se va la mano que te induce.
Se va o perece.

Se va la rosa que desates.
Tambien la boca que te bese.

El agua, la sombra y el vaso.
Se va o perece.

Pasó la hora de las espigas.
El sol, ahora, convalece.

Su lengua tibia me rodea.
También me dice: - Te parece.

La mariposa volotea,
revolotea,
y desaparece.

"Sólo guardas tinieblas, hembra distante y mía,
de tu mirada emerge a veces la costa del espanto."

Friday morning I woke up around eight (I don't have class on Fridays) and had quite a breakfast conversation. I'm not even sure now how it got started, but I certainly wasn't alert enough at 8ish with my banana and toast to have a discussion on Pinochet. You see, General Augusto Pinochet took control of the Chilean government in 1973 on September 11. His controversial leadership lasted until 1990. For a quick overview of Pinochet, check it out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinochet

The point is that he's a controversial figure because his regime killed and tortured multitudes of people who opposed him. I'm going to try and keep my thoughts about this out of the blog because the truth is my perspective about Pinochet comes from a far. I'm not Chilean, and I can only imagine what it would have been like, the lives and the deaths effected on both sides, I am only a spectator, so maybe I'm not ready to know what I think about Pinochet's regime-

so, with all that awkwardly said,

Berti was telling me how she was angry that the current government had refused to recognize Pinochet's death in December. Don't even ask me how we got on this topic cuz heck if I know, but I don't think I had fully realized until this moment where the family politically stood. So, I was trying not to ask any questions because talking about Pinochet here is like talking about what we should do in Iraq--so I was trying to listen to whatever she gave me, to soak it in.

She described to me how Allende's government (the democratically elected socialist president that was in power when Pinochet's coup took control) was corrupt-there weren't any markets-People (I guess the government) could come into your home at any time and take whatever they wanted.

She told me that Pinochet was begged by a large amount of people to take on the government-that they wanted him to fight for the injustices that they were experiencing.

She said she was sad for all those who had had loved ones disappear, but that that those who had disaappeared weren't angels. She also said that many people had taken advantage of the situation in order to get money from the government for their "lost loved ones." (I'm not really familiar with what sort of recompensations the government has given to family members, so I wasn't really familiar with this situation) She also said that when Pinochet was in power the economy sky-rocketed, and that they felt happy and safe. They were never afraid.

all this was really interesting to me, it's just a perspective that I've never heard, and I am still soaking it in.

Then she said something that may seem simple to you, but I'm still chewing on it:

She said--(referring to the disappeared ones) "It was a war, and like in every war, there were winners and losers."

in every war there are winners and losers

war, winners and losers

losers

ok, I know it's not a hard concept, but seriously. . .

all i could think about was:

(this totally stolen from Wikipedia)
Gandhi's definition of Satyagraha relied on three basic tenets: satya or truth, implying openness, honesty, and fairness; ahimsa, meaning physical and mental non-violence; and tapasya, literally penance, in this context self-sacrifice.

In Gandhi's words:
“ In the application of Satyagraha, I discovered, in the earliest stages, that pursuit of Truth did not admit of violence being inflicted on one's opponent, but that he must be weaned from error by patience and sympathy. For, what appears to be truth to the one may appear to be error to the other. And patience means self-suffering. So the doctrine came to mean vindication of Truth, not by infliction of suffering on the opponent but one's own self."

Winners and Losers

Losers.


___________________________________________

About two days ago, for the first time I felt a little lonely here (don't get me wrong I of course miss my family and friends tremendously). Since I arrived here I've been so excited and happy all the time, surrounded by people and constantly thinking,

and two days ago there was like a moment, when everything lost, only for about ten minutes, its newness. You know what I mean? and suddenly, I was walking in the park and looking at the couples EVERYWHERE, I mean come on people, do parks have signs that say "pda welcome: please come lay in the grass and canoozle"? NO. they don't. I mean I'm totally happy that you're in LUV and it's almost el dia del amor, but anyways. . .I got a little lonely when I almost tripped over a couple in the park. they're everywhere. This is a city full of couples. ahhhhhh. ok, I'm done.

that's about as long as it lasted, then I snapped out of it and realized, thinking back quickly over the last past couple of my boyfriends,
that I am way cooler single.

and then it was over.

I had a chance to speak with Enzo, the other son who lives and works in Miami. He messaged me to check and see how everything was going and whether or not I was enjoying my time with his family. It turned out to be a really entertaining conversation. His perspective is really interesting too. He really loves the united states. He believes that the United States is a place where if you work hard enough you can obtain any goal, you know-the american dream and all, but

I don't know, that's just not true, is it? for some, of course, but not everyone.

where is the tipping point? is there a certain level of education or determination that one needs to acheive this "dream." I mean come on, I read _The Working Poor_. There are tons of people in the US that work their pants off making minimum wage or less are are still barely surviving, if you call that surviving.

It's just. . . strange. He says we're sharing countries. He went there looking for something he couldn't find here, and I came here looking for . . . umm. . .

words, friends, new trees, poetry, yellow ice cream??? hmmm-

speaking of food, friday and saturday my stomach was feeling a little off, you know nothing gross or anything, just a little rumbly- a little uncomfortable, and all I kept thinking my stomach was saying me, "yeah, yeah, all this healthy stuff is great and all. . . but don't we get any pizza here????"

It's funny. You may not want to know this, but my smell is different here. the smell that just sort of seeps through your skin-you know how people sometimes tell you you have a distinctive smell?? ok, ha. maybe it's just me. not a smell in any gross or funky way. I guess you never know you really even have a smell coming out of your pores until it changes. And it really isn't better or worse, just different. must be just different nutrients or something. ok, I guess maybe you didn't want to know that??? ha. sorry, but it's interesting right?

jokes on me, though because last night Gianni and I were in the middle of our Lost marathon (he bought season 1 and 2 on ebay and I've only seen season 3--and no Dad, I don't just watch tv here). . . anyways, we were in the middle of our marathon when I said something about missing pizza, and he was like "you like dominoes?"

and I was like "si"

and he was like "you want some?"

and I was like totally.

I only ate two pieces and this morning I felt like there were a group of small cement men having a hopscotch tournament in my stomach.

I think I'll stick with the plums.

I promise if you keep reading there will be some pictures.

Ok, this is the perfect time to say: holy crap did you see greys???? I know I'm in a different country and that I talk an awful lot about Greys in my blog, but

Holy Crap did you see greys???? okk, well if you did-then, let's have a moment.

ok. thanks.

I had to right an essay on two short stories for my class tomorrow, and I, of course, procrastinated [haven't figured out how to translate that into spanish yet] all weekend, but I finished it earlier this evening.

Yesterday, I tried to make no-bake cookies, you know with oatmeal and chocolate? the most delicious things in the world, right? and they only take max about ten minutes to make, and they have oatmeal in them, so they are totally half healthy.

So anyways, I mix up all the ingredients-but the mixture just wasn't looking right, and then after they were all done-they definitely looked off. so, i tried them and it was so bad I wanted to wash my mouth out with soap.

and I was stooped. I couldn't figure out what went wrong. I felt like a failure. gringa tries to cook again and we get poisonous cookies.

then I started washing the pot and everything, and gimena looked over at the sugar container that I was washing, and she started laughing.

salt! You used the salt instead of the sugar, she told me.

brilliant, bloody brilliant, Meredith.

they've been laughing at me since then, but It's alright

I don't care--because the second batch turned out brilliantly.

salt. salty oatmeally chocolate cookies, yuck.

I got a new phone yesterday. ha. that's right I'm in another country, and I have a cell phone. Look:













































ha.ha.

pretty sweet, huh?

if you have an international calling card handy and you're feeling chatty:

you can contact me at: 011 56 96114800

Here are some pictures I took while we were driving around randomly throughout the city:


































































Sooo. . . today Berti and I went to the pool. She has a membership through her old company. There weren't many people out and we took in the sun and swam for several hours. Here's some pictures of the place:
























































































































This is about a close a picture as you're going to get of me in my swimsuit.






Everything was grand except for all the ant action. And I told Berti ahead of time that no matter How Much sunscreen I slathered all over every inch of my body, there would be random burn splotches in odd and comical places on my body. And sure enough there are about three leopard like square/triangle spots on my arm, a biggish ugly patch on the top of my right foot and a smaller square quarter sized spot on my left foot, a small dot around my belly button. ha ha isn't it funny, once again I look a little freakish. ahh, it adds character.

alright, I'm super tired. I promise I'm still working on my postcards. I'm going to try and send some tomorrow.

"You guard only darkness, my distant female,
sometimes the coast of dread emerges from your stare."

Hope you and yours are safe and happy,

una aurora,
mere

English and Spanish below:

Inclinado en las tardes

Inclinado en las tardes tiro mis tristes redes
a tus ojos oceánicos.

Allí se estira y arde en la más alta hoguera
mi soledad que da vueltas los brazos como un náufrago.

Hago rojas señales sobre tus ojos ausentes
que olean como el mar a la orilla de un faro.

Sólo guardas tinieblas, hembra distante y mía,
de tu mirada emerge a veces la costa del espanto.

Inclinado en las tardes echo mis tristes mis redes
a ese mar que sacude tus ojos oceánicos.

Los pájaros nocturnos picotean las primeras estrellas
que centellean como ni alma cuando te amo.

Galopa la noche en su yegua sombría
desparramando espigas azules sobre el campo.

Leaning into the evenings

Leaning into the evenings I throw my sad net
to your ocean eyes.

There my loneliness stretches and burns in the tallest bonfire,
arms twisting like a drowning man’s.

I cast red signals over your absent eyes
which lap like the sea at the lighthouse shore.

You guard only darkness, my distant female,
sometimes the coast of dread emerges from your stare.

Leaning into the evenings I toss my sad nets
to that sea which stirs your ocean eyes.

The night birds peck at the first stars
that twinkle like my soul as I love you.

Night gallops on her shadowy mare
scattering blue wheat stalks over the fields.

concoci a cada uno de sus hijos/ y en mi las extaciones camiaban/sucecivas, llorando o floreciendo.

My thoughts overwhelm me.

How can worlds that are so different always seem to be so similar at the base of every thing. We are all human I guess.

How come there are some frases that always translate? and some there are no words for?

I have a bunch to say about my classes, but I will leave that to last in case literature isn't your thing. I understand, I still like you if it's not.

For the first time in my life, I feel like a real foreigner. In england, I never felt this way. Here I am different, alien, I stand out. my height, my coloring, my skin, my frame, my eye color- any one of these things individually wouldn't make a big deal here, but all together I feel like a walking neon sign. Yes, I realize that these are MY feelings and the way I am perceiving my existence here, and not necessarily how they perceive me. But sometimes (I overanalyze way too much) I feel as though in a single look I can feel the weight of a single person's feelings about the US. is this a little over the top or crazy? of course. I could be german, british, etc., etc., really even Chilean. Twice now, people have asked Berti if I'm her daughter. she always says yes. I guess it's easier than explaining. There is nothing particularly prominent about me that screams "I'm AMERICAN" or is there? I guess I'm not sure.

Rodrigo, my grammar professor, was telling me today that Americans have a very distinct spanish accent, but he said that mine wasn't that bad. Yeah! I guess?

So, I'm not sure what else to say about being a foreigner. It's not like I'm one of those people that likes to blend in necessarily, but . . . I don't know-it's an interesting feeling, how do we size up people on the streets in the US when we think they're not from "around here" there clothes, their skin, their voices. what do we imagine?

what grand mass of images do I represent to the people here. All I have to say is, thank god my hair isn't blonde.

So, I usually get on the subway with my earphones in my ears, grab the nearest pole, and try to people watch without staring. I literally TOWER over the women. ok, maybe I'm exaggerating, but that's how I feel. and the metro doors, they are that type of tinted glass, I don't know, almost like a television screen, that projects a fuzzy almost curved reflection of its characters when the metro pulses through dark tunnels. and when I see my reflection, I don't know, sometimes I am surprised.

So, I get off the metro, turn right and walk down about fifty feet, and turn left to walk up the stairs. At the top of the stairs I take another left, walk about 15 ft, and then go right through these little swinging mini doors (you know the kind in subways) and take another left to walk down a long stuffy hallway. On the left all along this hallway are little shops: a hosiery shop, a snack store, a small cheap gift store, etc. then when the hallway dead ends I take a right up the stairway into the sun onto the street. I walk about three blocks, dodging people, and quickening and slowing my pace to sinc with the flow of the crowd, and then when I see the Lan Chile sign in front of me I turn left.

and I this is the street I walk down . . . all the way until











I reach this stop light. I wait to cross, cross, and then












begin to walk over the bridge. This is the view midway on the bridge, looking left.












as soon as I cross the bridge, I see this tree on my left. My favorite tree. I seriously have a relationship with this tree.












This is the view of my next stop, right past the tree.












This is the view down the next two blocks, and no--that man is not always in front of me--

























This is my street sign: Los Conquistadores. I turn left here.












and this is my street! I walk half a block and then












My house is on the right. cool huh?












Yesterday after lunch, all on my own, I went to find La Moneda (it's like the Chilean white house), and I was a little disoriented and got a bit lost for about ten minutes but I since I was alone I didn't want to take out a map or basically paste a sign on my forehead which said "Hi. I'm alone and not from here. Pickpockets or just generally theives of all kinds welcome," so I tried to play it cool and acted like I, of course, knew exactly where I was going. Then, I walked over to a park like area in between the roads and sat in the grass under the trees. Then, I took out my map, figured out where I was and went and found La Moneda.

Once I got there, I was a littled overwhelmed and flooded with my own personal images of the coup (when Pinochet took power in 1973 and violently stormed La Moneda). Again not wanting to look to much like a tourist, I only took one picture:









When I got home Berti told me that there is actually a museum down inside. So, I need to go back and go through the museum. Claudia also told me last night that up in one of the top right windows you can see bullet holes in the glass from the snipers.

"May you go forward in the knowledge that, sooner rather than later, the
great avenues will open once again, along which free citizens will march
in order to build a better society. Long live Chile! Long live the
people! Long live the workers! These are my last words..."

--Salvador Allende, in his final radio address from La Moneda
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In other news,

last night a friend of Gianni's came over, Kayse, he's really nice and Claudia, Kayse, Gianni, Berti and I sat around the table and talked for a few hours. I Almost understood everything that was said. good times.

Then Claudia and I watched two more episodes of Grey's Anatomy. Seriously, 1) if you're not a Grey's lover-you should be. 2)you got appreciate how grey's messages transcend cultures and languages-I mean we are seriously bonding over Grey's, and I've been downloading the new episoded on itunes, but watching the old ones is like reliving an old precious memory, ok I'm being dramatic, but if you're a true Grey's fan, you understand.

I digress.

WARNING: If you don't like to talk or think about books, their deep and life changing meanings, and all that jazz, skip down to the poems.

I have fallen in love. . .


with my literature class. my profesora, Macarena, is working on her Doctorate in linguistics but she loves literature and has studied latin american literature, so we are read four stories this week, two from one author and two from another. and it's so funny because I almost feel like the literature gods are punching me in the back and saying, "see? this is what ignites you."

First we read two stories “El páramo” y “El témpano de Kanasaka” (tempano means iceberg) from Francisco Coloane, a Chilean writer whose stories focus on a lot on the arrea of Chile which is called the Tierra del Fuego, the very southern area of the country, that isn't as "civilized."

Next, we read two stories "La compuerta # 12" y “Quilapán” by another Chilean author names Baldomero Lillo. And I won't go into too much detail about our analysis of these. But it amazes me how similar the literary themes are between what we have read so far and the themes I have talked about in many an american or british lit class.

-the big ideas:

(Coloane) how man relates to nature. In most of Colane's stories nature always control, is the immense and powerful personified character, that punishes man when he tries to hurt nature.

(Lillo) man's reflection about his existence-being trapped in his place in the world, the cyclical nature of life, how the burdens of survival are passed down from generation to generation

-and of course the biggest of all, the struggle between "civilization" and "nature" or the "barbaric"

what does it really mean to be "civilized"

We've had many discussions about indigenous peoples because Lillo's second story is basically the story of a rich white landowner who comes in and takes an indiginous chilean man's land by force, and eventually leading to this man's death.

The points:

-This indiginous man doesn't speak the white man's language.
-The indiginous man doesn't believe in the concepts of "buying" or "selling" land
-because he is at once and always at one with the land, a part of it, and can not conceptualize being its owner
-he fights with his family to protect his land against the white man, but
-his house his destroyed, his family terrorized, he is tortured, and left to die,
-only when he is about to die does he return to the land to die in a hole and reunite with his earth

ok people. sound familiar?

it's fascinating.

Coloane's work projects the image that nature's immensity and profundity are at all times bigger than we can imagine and ultimately in control. all that was before us, humanity, will be here after, even if we are not aware of it-and when we lose respect of that immensity, nature, we will be punished.

Lillo, on the other hand, seems to project the idea that ultimately we are helpless in any fight against "civilized" man's domination. "Civilization" can and will take over every inch of the world eventually. and this "civilization" in reality, is much more "barbaric" than we could ever imagine, much more so then the "uncivilized savagery" that civilization so easily writes off and destroys.

hmm, hello english major.

For the past two days Macarena and I have rode the metro home everyday and so we've talked about so many things like the civil rights movement, native americans in the united states and the mapuches in Chile, race and race relations, elections and the political process in both countries.


Chile. . . I am engaged with your stories.

Rodrigo, my grammar professor, is helping me a lot. Thanks to Domcekova's advanced spanish grammar, I already know all the forms. So, we're just reviewing, and I'm doing much better than I thought I would. I think it's because I'm actually using all these forms on a daily basis. I feel really excited about how quickly we are going. Today we spent about half of the day doing grammar stuff and the other time in conversation. He asked me about what movies I'd seen lately-so I told him about Blood Diamonds and Stranger than Fiction (haven't seen them? you should-if you love textual analysis, stranger than fiction is a gem). I think the dvd is coming out in feb., and I want it.

anyways, we also talked about latin american authors, Eduardo Galeano (de Uruguay), who I love, and Robert Boleano (Chileno). I've read one of his books, but he recommened his last collection, 2666. We had a nice convo.

I'm writing this at about 8:28 pm, and it's my favorite time of the day because things are beginning to cool off, the light beginning to only lightly blanket the city, and there's a lovely breeze. Here's the view from the left of my window as I write this:










Alright, I've got a essay due on Monday and a bunch of grammar homework, so I'm out.

Hope you and yours are happy and safe.

"I met each one of its sons
and in me the seasons succeeded one another,
weeping or flowering."

una aurora,
mere

Spanish and English below:

"Insomnio"

En medio de la noche me pregunto,
qué pasará con Chile?
Qué sera de mi pobre patria oscura?

De tanto amar esta nave delgada,
estas piedras, estos terrones,
la persistente rosa
del litoral que vive con la espuma,
llegué a ser uno solo con mi tierra,
conocí a cada uno de sus hijos
y en mí las estaciones caminaban
sucesivas, llorando o florecienco.

Siento que ahora, apenas
cruzado el año muerto de las dudas,
cuando el error que nos desangró a todos
se fue y empezamos a sumar de Nuevo
lo major, lo más justo de la vida,
aparece de nuevo la amenaza
y en el muro el rancor enarbolado.

Here’s the English. I didn’t really like the way the English version in my book changed the line breaks and the punctuation so this is my translation.

Insomnia

In the middle of the night I ask myself,
what will happen to Chile?
What will become of my poor dark country?

From loving this thin ship so much,
these stones, these little farms,
the persistent rose
of the coast that lives among the foam,
I became one with my country.
I met each one of its sons
and in me the seasons succeeded one another,
weeping or flowering.

I feel that now,
with the dead year of doubt scarcely over,
when the mistake that bled us all
is over and we begin to plan again
a better and more just life,
the menace once again appears
and on the wall a rising rancor.