|Those who remain|
I have reached the peak of leisure. The amount of responsibility I have rivals that of a weaning toddler. Well, ok, that’s hyperbolic. I have the responsibilities that come along with living alone (you know, like doing my laundry as little as possible, buying groceries and toilet paper, paying rent, etc.), as well as academic commitments, like the paper I should write, and that Spanish modernist literature exam that the upcoming new moon will bring. But the perk of being in exam mode is that classes are over, which allows me to wake up without an alarm, drink coffee on the terrace, occasionally read Harry Potter on the Mediterranean shore, and explore new corners of Granada. (How is this real?) I’ve moved out of my host family’s home, and into an apartment down the road from the Alhambra, where I will spend my last five weeks in Spain. My host family was really great (wish I could think of a better adjective), but I have welcomed the renewed freedom of independent living with my arms open as wide as my wingspan will allow. The following changes have taken place:
Cleanliness: My host mom is perhaps the cleanest human on this planet, and, well, I would be fine living with wolves. Thus I am, to put it lightly, exhausted from the daily tidying and clothes-folding and bed-making procedure I carried out during the past few months in an effort to convince her that I am not as uncivilized as my hygiene suggests. Now that I have no one to please but myself, I have been living in utter disarray-- complete chaos and disaster and mess. Imagine clothes (both dirty and clean) on the floor in piles, bed never made, half-eaten containers of yogurt lying on the desk, books and papers scattered, and you have a great idea of my living conditions. I am in my element!
|Lunch! From left: Elena (my host mom), Dani (her son),|
Johnny (her grandson)
Communication: I answer to no one. It’s like starting college, all over again, wide-eyed and wild. (Wait, I guess I didn’t start college that way. But, draw from familiar cultural stereotypes.) I don’t have to tell anyone in my non-native language that I’m going out, or that I won’t be home for dinner, or that I’m going for a run (not that I express the latter too often.)
I’m so lucky to have been able to live with Elena and get to know her family, though. I will especially miss the silly language hiccups, the routine of watching Saber y Ganar after the lunchtime news every day, the cultural sharing, the storytelling, and possibly most of all, Hugo’s precious face, and the way he makes eye contact with me as he breast feeds. Cutest Spanish toddler alive, hands down.
|Maribel (my host mom's biological daughter), holding Hugo. |
Fun Fact: Both boys are sporting recent haircuts.