Everyone knows that is was my dream graduate program. Everyone knows that I was convinced without a shadow of a doubt that it was where I belonged and that the year spend in limbo waiting to find out if I would be enrolled in the fall of 2015 did not fall short of a hell-skewed purgatory. But what happens when you finally reach your goals? Is such an experience destined to be disappointing given that you've built it up so much in your head? And what if the things that had drawn you the most to that dream are now the things that are causing you the most pain? Up until this point I have resisted talking about this topic for a number of reasons: 1. I don't want to come across as ungrateful or whiny because I do realize how lucky I am to have this opportunity; 2. I don't want anything I say to be misconstrued against the integrity of my program, which I respect very much; and 3. Every single person I know who has gone on to graduate school has told me how awful it is at first and that you just have to push through it. But by not addressing this I feel like I have been dishonest -- not in the way that I have been inaccurately reflecting my experiences so far, but in the way that I have been omitting some very pressing feelings. And the point, after all, of this blog is to accurately portray my experiences. Besides, if anything can be learned from hours upon hours of lectures on the history of feminism it could surely be that consciousness-raising and sharing are essential components of improving the human condition. So screw it -- here goes my effort at consciousness-raising.
These past few weeks have been freaking hard. Firstly, there is the transition into graduate school. From what I've been told by my peers, this transition is always a difficult one. It seems like it should be like college, but it's not. People are older, they have their own lives and responsibilities that seriously cut into their ability and desire to socialize frivolously. That seems to be the general consensus, at least, from what I've been told by my friends who are pursuing higher degrees in the US. But how does that model of individual responsibility for one's education translate into a highly social culture, like Spain? On one hand, I am expected to be mature and diligent and hold myself responsible for getting all my work done in an efficient and professional manner but on the other hand I am expected to partake in the VERY social experience of my new culture. I have yet to find a happy medium between the two. The very sort of social isolation that seems to be inherent in graduate studies is basically impossible here. I mean, this city doesn't even have any libraries open past 9 PM on the weekdays or open at all during the weekends (unless it's exam time and we all know how likely it is to find a place at the library during exam time)! And that's including public libraries! So, the only place to go on a weekend to get work done is a bar or a café. That's right -- I have to go to a bar to work on my graduate studies. Welcome to Spain. So you might be thinking, "why doesn't she just work in her apartment?" Well, I do try. But just like anyone who has ever worked from can attest, it is so easy to get distracted when you eat, sleep, live, and work all in the same place. If living in a sorority house taught me anything (besides the fact that bathrooms with shared people DO need to be cleaned regularly) it was that you need to have a haven for the sake of your mental health. So I am doing my best to maintain the haven-esque integrity of my apartment, even if that means going to bars to work (it almost sounds like it could be an amazingly positive situation if I wasn't having to use all my mental functions to figure out what I was even reading). Secondly, there is the transition into Spanish graduate school, as a non-native speaker. Before I even arrived in Granada I was extremely apprehensive about the language component of this program. Despite the fact that I have studied Spanish for years I don't believe I have ever achieved fluency and, besides, I hadn't used Spanish in over a year when I finally did arrive here. I was terrified by the idea of attempting to do graduate level research in Spanish but I was assured by the knowledge that this was an international program and that surely there would be more people like me. Well, it turns out there aren't. As I've mentioned before, there were 3 non-native Spanish speakers in my cohort (one of which is a native French speaker, so that leaves 2 native English speakers). As of yesterday, the other native English speaker, who had become my closest friend in the program, dropped out. She was the second student to leave the program this month. Now, rather than feeling like part of an international program, I more accurately feel like an international student in a Spanish program. The nuances may seem subtle but they are powerful. As someone who has always relished learning and the academic experience, it is quite troubling to now find the classroom as an intense source of anxiety and frustration when I feel like I cannot fully participate. And I confess -- there have been many moments where I have felt doubtful about my place here-- here, in this program, in this country, in this field, in all of it. I have very VERY rarely doubted my decisions to turn down other graduate programs for this one. And I have never experienced painful homesickness for America before in any of my times abroad. But I have experienced both, in pretty strong waves, during this past month and a half. And it is perhaps these feelings of uncertainty, doubt, and fear that have caused me the most distress. But the world has a funny way about it. I was writing this blog post in between classes and left the post unfinished while I returned to attend my second class of the day. The news of my friend's departure from the program was fresh and I happened to run into an alum of the program (who now works in the office here at the university) in the hallway on my way to class. Knowing that I was close with my friend, she wanted some clarification on why she decided to leave. After listening as I tried to walk the balance between being honest and not oversharing my friend's personal thoughts, the alum responded: "I understand that there are parts of this program that are difficult, but that's the point -- to get outside your comfort zone." The truth in her words hit me like a brick wall. It's true -- on an intellectual level, this program may deal with gender studies and feminist theories, but it has a whole other--practical, experiential, tangible--level and it is the latter level that sets this program apart from all others. Now, just because I can see the silver lining doesn't mean the tough parts aren't hard, because BELIEVE ME they are. And I honestly don't think they'll get any easier. This is just going to be one of those things that you have to get through, trying to find a way to smile as you are gritting your teeth. And the irony of this seemingly happily ever after at the end of a post with a title and original intention to question the very concept of a happily ever after does not escape me. Maybe it just solidifies my point that my mental health has been taken an exhilarating or dangerous joyride, with the perspective depending on the time of day and day of the week. But maybe that's life? There is no assurance, I suppose, that we are on "the right path", if one even exists. Or maybe I'll just have to embrace that saying that "it's not the path, it's the journey", even if the journey is full of seemingly ever increasing-obstacles. Through the departure of my friend, the dialogue has become much more open both within the cohort and between ourselves and the administration. Apparently, almost every student has had doubts about staying. I'm not sure if that makes me feel more comforted since I am not alone in my discontent or more validated in having that discontent, but irregardless it feels good to be part of another hermandad. And while I have felt some distance between myself and the other girls because of the language barrier and my own insecurities, I have come to realize that they really are my colleagues and my sisters in this experience. We need each other -- we simply cannot do this alone. Many situations have arisen where I have been asked about sororities in the US and what they're really like ("is it really just like "American Pie" and "House Bunny"??") and now I have the best answer: "it's just like us--it's a group of women, united in friendship and common beliefs who support and strengthen each other." How ironic that something that has been taken on as one of the most prevalent symbols for women's disempowerment has been, throughout my adult life, the thing that most inspires me to continue in the feminist fight? I mean, come on, everything looks a little brighter when you're singing "I Will Survive" at the top of your lungs, with women from all over the world, in your sister's flat.
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As many of you know, I have a tendency to be very high strung; it's just my nature. And while I do tend to revel in the anxiety of my high strung moments, I also try to keep the big picture in mind. This mentality was what drove me to attend a local feminist program this weekend even though I had piles of articles to read and essays to write. After all, my work will get done (eventually) and it is important to participate in the real time experience of the movement. If I just get a degree in theory but don't put it to use, what was even the point?
The program took place over two days and brought together members of the entire Andalusian province to discuss feminist issues, including: care and dependency; sex, gender and sexualities; unemployment and work; education and co-education; citizenship and participation; and violence. For my first session, I decided to attend the seminar on sex, gender, and sexualities. The event was open to the public and I was pleasantly surprised to see a wide variety of people our group. There was about 30 of us participating with ages ranging from high school to (I'm guessing) 60s and basically an even mix of men and women. I was taking a moment to reflect on the situation and wondering if I had ever attended an event so well attended in the States or if it would even be possible when I realized that the older gentleman in the group was posing a question at ME! I did my best to hide my startled panic as I attempted to catch up with his train of thought (which isn't easy to do in your non-native language, by the way) before he finally got to the point: "And I would like to pose this question to my North American colleague -- how have religion shaped the expectations of gender roles in your country?" UHHHHHHH, EXCUSE ME? Let me take you through all the things that raced through my mind in the first 10 seconds that followed that question: 1. IS THAT A SERIOUS QUESTION? HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO ANSWER THAT? A. Couldn't this be a doctoral thesis? 2. This man just hijacked the session and made it about religion when that wasn't even the topic. Rude. 3. I have spent the last month immersing myself in Spanish culture and Europe history to learn about the context in which feminism developed in Europe... as if I can even remember anything from America! A. I am a horrible American. 4. But seriously, what is the answer.......? A. Do I talk about the historical context? Quakerism was incredibly influential in the abolitionist and suffragist movement..... But, shit, that's more about feminism which CHALLENGES traditional gender roles.... B. Do I talk about present times? How can I possibly generalize when there is SUCH a variety in religions practiced in America? i. Or maybe it is the lack of religious influence.....? ii. I am the worst anthropologist. I can't even analyze the religious cultural aspect of my native land. iii. And what, as if all other countries are completely homogenous? a. Wait, but I mean traditionally Spain was basically homogenous with Catholicism..... b. Maybe I just don't understand the gravity of the influence of Catholicism and that's why I don't get the question....? C. Or I could speak about my own experience.... i. Oh god what IS my own experience with religion forming my expectation of gender roles?? 5. I definitely don't feel comfortable exerting my opinion/experience. I feel like it's going to be taken as the representative opinion/experience of any group and I am not comfortable with that. A. I am the worst feminist. I don't even feel comfortable expressing my opinions. B. How am I ever going to be a professor?? 6. I have been studying gender for years now... I have been understanding how to deconstruct what we know.... I don't even know what the public "knows" now! A. Again, I am the worst feminist. B. Again, how do I ever expect to teach anyone? 7. YOU WANT ME TO ANSWER THIS IN SPANISH?? So, in the ten seconds it took for these thoughts to fly threw my mind, the entire room has turned around to stare at me while they anxiously await my answer. In the end, I ineloquently blurt out a combination of 4 and 6. But before I had even gotten to the part where I made a fool of myself, the man had turned around and was talked to his neighbor, another man. EXCUSE ME? YOU ARE GOING TO CALL ME OUT IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE GROUP AND THEN NOT EVEN LISTEN TO MY ANSWER? THAT IS SO INCREDIBLY RUDE! I could not even believe it. After my disastrous attempt to participate, the group moves on (seemingly unfazed) to other topics while I cannot shake the deep rooted sense of shame and disappointment I feel in myself at not being able to represent either myself or my country in a more educated and eloquent manner. I had felt this way once before in Spain, when I was studying abroad in 2012 and my host mom and her friends asked me all their questions about American culture, most of which I was unable to answer sufficiently. The question that stood out to me the most was a question about how our healthcare system worked: could a person be turned away from a hospital (and possibly even die) if they didn't have insurance. At that time, I was 20 and I didn't know anything about our healthcare system. I had always been covered under my parents' insurance-- I had always gotten the medical care that I required and I had selfishly never thought to question the system that was working for me. Since then, I have been beefing up my knowledge on the American medical system (even working on the periphery of the healthcare sector for a few months during my gap year). Go ahead, ask away! But I still remember how awful it felt to not have the answer. But this problem goes deeper than not knowing the answer (especially the question is nearly impossible to answer, as I think the question from the feminist event was): the problem is that I don't have enough confidence to voice my own opinion. Now I know what those of you who know me must be thinking -- "surely she is joking. I don't think I've ever met someone as vocal and determined as Nora!" And yes, I recognize the truth in that. It's true that I feel comfortable (possibly TOO comfortable) expressing my opinion about frivolous things (like what I want to eat or what I want to later that night), but how many of you actually know my opinion on contestable issues? Sure, maybe we've discussed them, but did I actually share my opinion with you or did I just politely listen to yours and ask questions? Have you ever successfully gotten me to explain something to you? I lack the vocabulary to describe the sensation accurately (it's not a fear or a phobia or anxiety or discomfort exactly) but there is a sense that I feel, especially in terms of feminist topics, that makes me more than apprehensive (basically incapable, really) of expressing my thoughts. I feel this overwhelming pressure that I am somehow representing an entire group of people and that a combination of my privilege and insufficiency overshadows any insight that I might be able to provide by sharing my own experiences. I am so afraid of doing it wrong. I am so afraid of misrepresenting, of misinforming. I am so afraid of coming across as dim or ignorant or uninformed. So I just keep quiet. I don't speak in class. I don't command presence in the room when I speak. And I wish I did. During coffee beak of the session, I confided my feelings in my two classmates who had attended the event with me. They empathized with the pressure I was feeling as a non-native speaker, commented that they had noticed that I don't speak up in class, and encouraged me to work through it. Now, this whole vignette might seem too personal, but I wrote it with the intention of accountability; I am asking you to help hold myself accountable. Ask me questions. Listen when I answer. Get engaged in this conversation with me and let's see where it can take us! Many of you are familiar with the popular “young, adventurous person traveling through Europe alone” trope that seems to have taken on a life of its own when it comes to studying abroad. I have to confess, that whole idea has never had much appeal to me but I decided to try it out this weekend and take a much needed recharge break in Madrid. Now, I know you are probably thinking, “Nora, you have been in Spain for only a month so far, basically living your dream and you’re saying you need a break!?!” Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying. This past month (and trust me, it feels like it’s been much longer than only a month) has been full of so many drastic changes: I’m living on my own for the first time, I’m living in a new country, speaking a language that is not native to me, being thrown back into the academic world, and rebuilding a new daily routine from scratch. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining—I LOVE my new life. I love the challenges and the adventures and the excitement that each day brings. But trying to cope with all of these changes has got me exhausted. Every mundane task takes so much more energy when you have to do it in you non-native language. I needed some time to recharge. And while I certainly could have tried to do that in Granada, sometimes it takes a change of scenery to really get completely out of your head. And as this weekend happens to be a long weekend since Monday is a national holiday here in Spain (basically the equivalent to the 4th of July in the States) and one of my professors from Instituto Franklin (shout to you, Javier!) invited me to check out the Cervantes festival going on in Alcalá de Henares this weekend, I figured it was the pretty opportunity to take a Madrid getaway! Despite my best attempts to convince them otherwise, none of my friends were keen on coming with me so I decided to go alone. I reasoned that it would be a good compromise to the idea of traveling alone since I am already familiar with Madrid and wouldn’t feel overwhelmed with that “I have to make the most of this visit!” panic. And so off I went. I got in to Madrid around 9:30, which was perfect since I had tickets (awkward, I had one ticket since I was going alone….) to a sexual health comedy show that evening at a hipster bar in the Centro at 11:30. I’m not going to get into graphic detail about that experience (hit me up if you want details) but the exciting part was that I understood the act! I understood what the comedian/educator was saying and I even got most of the jokes! For those of you who are attempting to learn a second language, you will understand how much of a highlight that experience was for me. The next day (Saturday) I was planning to spend the entire day in Alcalá, but exhaustion got the best of me and I didn’t end up making it there until 5 (which is still pretty early by Spanish standards, to be fair). It’s truly so surreal how much impact a place can make on you. I only spent a month studying in Alcalá but as soon as I stepped off that train it like I had just been there last week. I still knew how to get to my apartment, how to get to my school, and most importantly, how to get to my favorite bar. Now, this is the part of traveling alone that I really just don’t understand. I am completely fine with the actual traveling portion (taking a bus or train or a plane) but what do you do when you get there? I mean really, how do you pass the time in social spaces when you are alone? I’ve been trying to figure it out for 2 days and I still don’t know. But that bar carries a certain brand of Swedish cider that is not available in America so I wasn’t going to let social stigma stop me from enjoying one before exploring the medieval fair. The experience of drinking alone was just as awkward as I anticipated but the cider was delicious so it’ll go into that “good thing to try once but ideally not again” category. But the fair, oh man – it was so surreal. All the streets surrounding the central plaza of Alcalá were full of tents and booths and people in medieval garb. The smell of sizzling meat and fresh olives filled the air and in the distance you could hear the beating of marching drums. It honestly was like taking a step back in time. Now, for those of you who don’t know, Alcalá de Henares is actually the birthplace of Miguel Cervantes (so it’s kind of like a Kentucky/Illinois type situation with Abraham Lincoln). After exploring the feria on my own for a bit, I met up with my former professor from Instituto Franklin. I can’t be reflect and think of how lucky I have been with teachers and professors in my life – there have been so many that have truly been invested in my future and I feel so lucky to continue to connect with them long after our time in class together has ended. Sunday ended up being a lazy, rainy day. I had intentions of exploring the city and maybe going back to either the Reina Sofia or Prado but the rain and laziness kept me homebound until the middle of the afternoon. Finally, I convinced myself I had to spend some time in the city – after all, I could spend a lazy Sunday in my bed at home in Granada. The top of my list for things to do in Madrid was see the Palacio de Cristal. I have spent so many afternoons in Retiro but somehow I had never managed to stumble across the Crystal Palace (sidenote: the Crystal Palace was used during the World’s Fair to exhibit flowers from the Philippines)! Unlike in Granada, where the weather basically alternates between November and August twice a day, October is alive and well here in Madrid! It was the absolute perfect day to spend some time in Retiro. I finally found the famous lake with rowboats and I even found the Crystal Palace! In fact, I am writing this entry on a bench directly in front of the Crystal Palace (speaking of which, this experience has taught me that if traveling alone is something I intend to do again then I need a selfie-stick, in a non-ironic way. That wasn’t an easy conclusion to accept)! And I hate to say this because I love both Millennium Park and Central Park, but Retiro has got you guys beat, no questions asked. What I think is so magical about this park, and the city in general, is that it has a unique combination of the fast-paced city life we associate with cities like Chicago or New York, but it also has the calm, relaxed, tranquil sort of ambiance that characterizes Spain as a whole. And while I have always enjoyed my time in both New York and Chicago, I’ve never felt the desire to live there. And after walking around this afternoon, I am struck by how strong my desire is to live here at some point in my life. Years 24 and 25 are already spoken for, but who knows what’s going to come after that?
The rest of my stay should be pretty chill -- after enjoying a leisurely walk throughout the rest of the park, I intend to wander down to Puerta del Sol (I saw an advertisement for Steak N Shake and I need to know if it’s the real deal) and ultimately end up at a Starbucks because one of the things I miss most about Amerca is the real, grande-sized coffees and cushy chairs where I can do some research for my upcoming term papers (yes, I am going to work on my mini-vacation). I head back to Granada tomorrow afternoon and even though it may not seem like the most exciting of weekends, I could not be more pleased with my mini getaway. *Listed in order of occurrence, not significance
**Degree of seriousness varies but each item listed is nonetheless a difficult situation to navigate in a second language
Disclaimer: this is a very personal, introspective post
As many of you know, I had a lot of reservations about coming back to Granada for graduate school. For a number of reasons the spring of 2012 was a very emotional time in my life and I was very apprehensive about returning the physical place that represented so much for me both mentally and emotionally. On one hand, I was nervous about coming back here alone after having had such amazingly positive experiences here in Granada: it was the first time I fell in love; it was my first time traveling alone, let alone living outside my native country; and I had a truly amazing group of friends who were studying abroad with me. Going into this new venture, I was very aware that I could never relive that experience but I simply could not imagine coming to a Granada without Meg, Megan, Kokaale, Emily and Kelsey. How could my new adventure possibly live up to the other when that one had been so amazing? On the other hand, the spring semester of 2012 was in large part defined, for me, by a lot of painful personal growth. At that time in my life, I had been repressing some pretty serious baggage and it all came to a head while I was in Granada. Especially exacerbated by some events from the past year (including an ill-fated visit to Granada by myself in the summer of 2014), I was very apprehensive about having to face those memories alone. As it turns out, my time here in Granada has been free (thus far) of any emotional turmoil. I've learned already in this last month is that it is entirely possible to value both of my experiences living in Granada in totally separate (and yet complementing) ways. I was in a totally different place in my life in the spring of 2012 than I am now, in the fall of 2015: the ways I see the world, experience the world, and understand the world have evolved. This is a different leg of my journey and I know that my experiences in 2012 have enriched my appreciation for this current one. And every time I go for a stroll in the Lorca park, I can't help but smile thinking of the wonderful afternoons spent there with my girls. Furthermore, all of the pain associated with that time in my life from 2012 had been compressed to a single episode on a trip to Cabo de Gata, a beach and national park a few hours away from Granada. Without going into details about what transpired on that trip, I have spent a great deal of energy in the last 3 years trying to move past the hurt, betrayal, and pain that I associate with that place. Invigorated by the positive experience I've had thus far, I decided to go back to Cabo de Gata yesterday. It wasn't a trip organized by my program, but it felt like an important step for me to initiate on my own. I admit, when I first saw the familiar rocky formations looming in the distance, my stomach dropped and I felt a slight sense of panic -- was I ready to face this? But after the initial shock wore off, the panic subsided and I ended up having a very lovely day at the beach (besides getting a sunburnt backside, ouch). The point of this vignette isn't that now my life in Granada is a perfect dream -- it's not. It's regular life: full of daily drama, boredom, stresses and adventures. The only difference is now I am free of the fear that has plagued me since finding out I would be returning to Granada. Facing your fears is never easy or comfortable, but once you're ready to jump off that cliff and face the fall... man, the exhilaration is incredible. Cheers to the future, my friends -- it's going to be an exciting ride! 1.Stoplights and crosswalks are not at intersections; they are in the middle of the road. I have yet to understand the logic behind this but it is in fact the case.
2.In grocery stores, you don’t have to buy the whole 6 pack—you can choose however many you want! Clearly the Spanish are more understanding of the single person household lifestyle. Although when it comes to Fanta Limón I will always buy the entire 6 pack. No shame. 3.Siesta. I know I have mentioned this in earlier posts, but it is worth mentioning again. Many businesses close at 2:00 for the rest of the day (like banks, which are only open 8:00 to 2:00) or for a mid-day break and reopen again around 4:00 or 4:30 (like commercial shops and some restaurants). In the case of the latter, they are then open until 9 or 10 at night. Usually I am on board with this whole mid-day nap idea but it is so no inconvenient when you are trying to take care of business. 4.Dogs don’t use leashes. And yet they stay with their owners in the streets and even cross the streets with them! Increíble! 5.It is never too late for coffee or too early for wine. I know many Americans believe this too, but it is simply culturally acceptable here and not a matter of shameful behavior. I am 100% on board with this aspect of the Spanish lifestyle. 6.Military Time. While Spaniards speak about time the same way we do (aka “It’s 5:00”), they use military time in writing. This is a very important distinction to note if / when you ever come visit because it could lead to some very confusing bus ticket mishaps (shout out to you, Rachel!) 7.They don’t keep ice trays in their homes. Whenever you need ice, you have to buy it. This could seem problematic when you want to enjoy a cold beverage immediately upon purchasing (aka when buying your alcohol for the night), but every liquor store sells ice and will even give you a plastic cup with your purchase! 8.There are old people EVERYWHERE. Or maybe it just seems like they are everywhere because in America we isolate our old people. But seriously, they’re on the streets, in the cafes, in the bars…. Doing all the same things as the 16 year olds, 25 year olds, and 40 year olds! 9.Chinos. The closest one can come to a convenience store in Spain, Chinos are small shops owned by presumed-to-be-Chinese people (frankly, the Spaniards don’t care if they’re actually Chinese or not) where one can buy all sorts of goodies. There are two varieties: the first are small shops where one can buy snacks and alcohol (you can find one of these on almost any street); the second are giant Walmart-like stores that have everything from household products to wigs and costumes to school supplies to underwear. The options are nearly endless at the latter variety of chino and the prices are ridiculously cheap. These stores don’t operate on the normal Spanish siesta schedule, so you can run errands at the chino almost any time of day and night. Frankly, I don’t understand how the Spanish culture would operate without chinos. 10. People don’t have printers in their homes. If you want to print something, you put it on a flash drive and take it to a store that specializes in making photocopies and printing. You pay about 10 Euro cents per page. I can’t decide if I think this is brilliant or a huge inconvenience. |
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Meet the Author:Graduate student of GEMMA Eramus Mundus Master's Degree in Women's and Gender Studies. Currently living in Budapest, Hungary. Originally from the American midwest. Archives
October 2016
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