the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but...

(PS... incentive to read... there are photos at the bottom)

Sooooooo... lately I've been pondering exactly why Spain can be so frustrating to me. I mean, I have been incredibly lucky as far as my comprehension of the Spanish language has been concerned. Not to be prideful, but when evaluating my language competence in the most objective manner that I can, I would estimate my understanding is at about 80%... which is pretty good. The main problems I face in the 20% of comprehension that I lack are clearly a deficit in my vocabulary (which is slowly growing), but more so the sheer speed at which Spanish is spoken. You know, when you stop and think about it, we speak English at a fairly steady, slow pace. Sure, you can speak it quickly, but that takes specific effort. Spanish, however, is naturally spoken (or better said, rattled) at the speed of light. Por ejemplo, I went to a comedy show of two Spanish comics the other night, and a Spainard told me that even he had trouble deciphering the delivery.

"So... if you can understand Spanish, what is the problem, Julie Ann?" you may ask. Well, that's easy. It's the speaking. Plain and simple. As I believe I've mentioned before... it is my belief that when you can't speak a language, people assume you're a moron. Here in Spain, I'm an imbecile.

Imagine this:
You're in a situation or a conversation where you understand what's going on, you connect with the ideas people offer and exchange. Ooooooh, now you, too, have an idea in your head. It's a good idea, rather clever actually. It adds to and furthers the conversation. It's intelligent, like you are. You want to express it. You want to participate. As you begin to formulate this idea with the goal of verbalization, you realize that you don't have the words with which to express your idea, because in this new language (which you can comprehend completely) your vocabulary seems to be limited to that of an eight-year-old. Then, once you do begin to dumb your wonderfully brilliant idea down to the insufficient elementary words of a child, you stutter because in speaking a new language you get nervous and become increasingly aware of this odd accent you're trying to feign and uncomfortably concious of the sympathetic look of understanding from the other participants in the conversation. Your brain (clearly functioning at the adult level with your intelligent comment) moves faster than your poor little puerile mouth is capable, so after sputtering a few syllabals, you simplyopt for the silent alternative... which leads me to another idea...

It is impossible, or rather, extremely difficult to have a personality or anything which slightly resembles charisma or dynamism in a new language. With my stunted vocabulary and narrow ability to communicate, I cannot fully articulate and disclose all that is me. Therefore, I have come to another conclusion that I believe that these Spaniards are only experiencing Julie Ann at about 50% (which is unfortunate if you ask me.)

I have come to compare all of this to living in a tiny, intangible prison where you are held captive by impenetrable bars created by your inability to communitcate. Here, you are robbed of the freedom of expressing yourself, thus losing the amenity of gaining understanding from people around you and having absolutely no hope of dazzling them with your radiantly bright personality, because here your personality at best is only dimly lit.

This little inhibited, impalpable bastille has opened up an infinite amount of time to ponder the profound aspects of life and has led me to a few basic conclusions for all of humanity (or at least for me), two of which I will share here:
1) people have a deep need to be able to express themselves.
2) people have a deep need to be understood by those around them.

All that said, as frustrating as this is... I still feel I am where I need to be, I do not desire to be anywhere else.... I am simply saying that Spain is not all fluffy kittens and peanut butter cups. However, Spain is NOT without its fun... I will now insert pictures so as to prove so...

So the other night, my compañera Sylvia came back from being out of town for 11 days. So the next morning Beth came over and joined Mari and I making her a surprise American breakfast which included pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, apple topping, and dance music. (See cheesy foto to the right in which Mari and I give the affirmative "thumbs up" while Sylvia pretends to drink the syrup.)

Then Mari and Sylvia wanted to take a picture of the four of us posing "Julie Ann style" with one arm up in the air. Where did they get the idea that that posture is essentially customary behavior for me?

the who

(I promise this will be shorter than the last little story.) :)

For those interested in who I am living with... here are a few pictures!

First of all... for some reason, being an alien in a foreign country makes you prone to being a moron. I'm not only finding this out as far as language difficulties go (ie it is a personal opinion of mine, that if you hear someone stuttering through trying to speak your language, you immediately assume they are dumb... first you may disagree, but think about it... i'm right)... but also in simply living life. Here is a picture of me from the first week of being here where I was getting food from the frigadero and ended up dumping pineapple juice all over the floor. I'm dumb.

Not to worry though, that misfortune was preceded by Beth's accident of putting entirely too much soap in the washing machine which cause a huge overflow of bubbles with which we were able to mop the floor. Sweet.

So we comprise the silly Americans trying to survive adapting to a new culture. Thank the good Lord for the grace and help from my two compañeras españolas, Sylvia and Mari (short for María Ángeles or Marian).

In the picture to the bottom left, Sylvia is posing in the pink on the left. She is (I think) 27 years old. She's from Barcelona and has only lived in Sevilla about 2 months longer than us. She is a fairly well known Christian singer with a beautiful voice, two CDs, and the sweetest novio who live just outside town. I think she works with Intervarsity here at the university. She cooks very well and feeds me. :)

Mari, on the right, is 29. She's originally from Málaga, but has lived in Sevilla for a few years now. She works with youth through Campus Crusade at a church across town. She makes me laugh because she loves (downloading) and watching American television shows and movies all the time. She has the FUNNIEST ring on her telephone... it literally is a female voice singing "ring, ring, ring... riiiiiiiiiiiiiing" in this soulful Whitney Houston-esque style. What?

Already I can tell that they are some of the most ridiculously passionate people I've ever met (which is saying a lot... I mean, I know some passionate people, me probably being one of them.) They both are like big sisters looking out for Beth and me, and we're already so comfortable together. The other night after watched a silly girly movie, we downloaded the Elton John song "Don't Go Breaking My Heart," looked up the lyrics online, and sang it karioke style (hys-TER-ical to hear with a Spanish accent). We've decided we want to do a monthly "American night" where we drink Coke, eat pizza, pancakes, and cookies. I'm there.

Finally, here is a photo of the four of us together taken through the window of our piso. Don't ask, who knows? We're weird. I'll fit in just fine. :)

home sweet home

There is a list in my little Van Gogh/Hemingway-esque moleskin notebook that I now (very appropriately, of course) carry around of different aspects of life abroad, specifically here in Spain that I would like to comment upon. I think, however it will be better to do so in pieces.

I find it appropriate to begin with maybe a more detailed (yes, long) version of how I secured a "humble abode" in which to abide. :) - An aside, I'm having trouble concentrating on writing this now, because there is currently a television show called "El precio justo" (aka "The Price is Right") on in the background, complete with a large spinning wheel, the Spanish version of "come on dooown" ("al jugaaaaar"), and its own shady looking host (see foto to the left). - Anyway... as I was saying.

So I left Lexington on October 1, arrived in Sevilla October 2, went to Granada October 3 to go to a pointless meeting which I loosely refer to as an "orientation" which failed to orientate on October 4, and then returned to Sevilla that night. On October 5, I first went to my school in Almonte , and by October 6 I knew (a) that living in the small town of Almonte would not satisfy and (b) that a kind group of professors who carpool the one way, one hour distance from Sevilla to Almonte was willing to include me.

October 6 marks the beginning of my ten day intensive search for a piso. Now to look at this time now, it's easy to think "ten days... no pasa nada"... but mind you... these were ten days, each with no end in sight. Not gonna lie, not a lot of eating nor sleeping happened during this period of time... no seriously, it didn't. I only hope that these words that follow can just begin to capture the immense desperation I in which I lived for those ten days which consisted of the following (and I refrain from exaggeration here in order to accurately portray my search):

- 4 websites which I check religiously (1 which was on an hourly if not half-hourly basis)
- no less than 30 different pisos whose owners I called and spoke with in Spanish
- no less than 50 euros spent on charging my phone to make said phone calls (all of which were clearly in vain)
- 4 hours spent walking around a certain areas looking for leads
- an estimated 10 hours (at least) spent in transit while physically going and looking at pisos
- 1 anuncio advertising my personal desperation to the world around me
- 1 pathetic email begging other "auxiliares" in my program living in Sevilla if they had any leads
- 3 pisos who agreed to meet me and then canceled I'm pretty sure because I'm American
- 4 pisos I actually visited in the flesh (two of which were with sets of two guys, one set that was super sketchy)
- 1 piso that I found out I had accidently agreed that I intended to buy (thank you, language barrier)
- 1 piso where I couldn't figure out why these two French girls wanted to share the same bed until they told me they were a couple... oooohhhh, I'm dumb.

Now, when I came back from my "orientation" in Granada, I spent the night with Beth, a friend of a friend in Lexington who is also in my program and who was temporarily living with two Spanish girls (Mari and Sylvia) before the couple who was living in her piso moved out and a friend of one of the girls moved into the room in which she had been staying. (Got it? That's confusing.) Anyway, the original plan was to spend the night once on her couch... or maybe the duration of the weekend, tops, before I found my own piso. Well, one night turned into two, then three, and so on, and I began worrying that my constant presence on their couch in the middle of their living room everynight, not to mention my three large suitcases in their foyer, was beginning to bother them, especially with no hope of a sign of my leaving. On the fourth day, Sylvia, out of the blue, told me "calm down, sweetie, you don't need to suffer, God has a place for you, and until then you are more than welcome to live with us, you already have a house in the mean time." We were walking down the street. I started to cry.

Now, during this time I went through periods of being positive, hopeful, and secure about the fact I would find a place to live, but it was very difficult to prevent my desperation from turning into utter discouragement and depression. On day 6, I had my first true breakdown (which I think was pretty good that I held out that long, considering the circumstances), crying into my journal and a few psalms, after which I had my first truly good night of sleep.

At that point, I began emailing people and begging them for prayers for my getting a piso. I had spent much time this past summer with some amazing people praying for my time in Spain, specifically where I was going to live, and during this time God was definitely beginning to answer prayers that we prayed (such as for friends and a community), but that of a piso was going unanswered. Beth told me that at meals when I was at school and she was home with Mari and Sylvia, that they would pray for my finding a piso as well.

On about day 8 of the search, Beth and I sat down on the couch with Sylvia who noticed we both looked pretty down, and she called Mari in the room with us. We all began talking and realized that each one of us was in what I fondly call "a funk" for different reasons. Beth was missing her family in the states, Sylvia was missing hers in Barcelona (she's only lived here for 2 months), Mari was something, and I, of course, was bummed about not having a piso. Well, our talk turned into a therapy session complete with cheetos, chocolate cookies, and coke and ended with us discussing the characteristics we want to see in our future husbands (funny how girls are girls no matter what country in which you live.)

So day 10 arrived, and I decided to bust out my journal and re-read many of the prayers I prayed about Spain and many of the talks I heard from very educated, respected speakers while out at the ranch. I felt very impressed to just focus on what God had done since I'd been in Spain, thank him for that, try to be joyful in the midst of my circumstances, and remain as trusting as I could. I sat down and wrote out exactly what God had done for me and for what was left that I was asking for. I also decided to be brave and boldly ask that God provide a piso for me that day. Well, that day I enviously moved Beth out of this piso and into her permanent one and spent the rest of the afternoon on the internet searching and calling. Then I decided that if I were gonna live as if I were trusting the Lord to provide, then I should do the things that I would do if I were already in my own piso that I hadn't done yet because I was just waiting... like running. So, I went on a run. Came back... still looking for pisos. It got to be about 11 at night, a little late (even for Spain) to find out anything from anyone about pisos.

About that point, my roommate Sylvia came home and checked her email on my computer. All the sudden she looked at me and asked, "Julie, if you could stay here in this piso, would you want to?" My answer: "hombre, claro" (translation: man, duh). And she explained how her friend had emailed right then, explaining that she felt that the Lord just really wanted her to stay in Barcelona where she was. At that point, the three of us each burst into tears, so excited. Then right there on our couch we prayed together and thanked GOD that I had a place to live!! I didn't even think this was an option, but Mari said she had just been thinking that I could stay if Sylvia's friend didn't come and almost suggensted that I move my bags into that room.

Needless to say, I now have a lovely Spanish piso with small, functional little room that I LOVE. (I've taken two about 5 hour trips to IKEA to get things for it, but that is a story for a different blog... as well as thoughts on pisos in general.) But I wanted to include a few pictures of my oh so cherished, newly decorated room. The walls are a light orange and two of the pieces of furniture (a large wardrobe and desk/table thing) are both bright red. I had no idea what to do color-wise, so I just decided to bring in blue and did a blue comforter, blue curtains, and blue little accents with candles and flowers here and there. These pictures can give you a little tast of what it looks like in kinda a 360 degrees fashion.

Well, hopefully soon I'll have pictures of the rest of the piso as well as Mari and Sylvia so you can see the absolute angels with whom I live. You know, what's ridiculous, when this whole process ended, I was almost a little sad (don't get me wrong, I was overwhelmed with relief), but there is something precious about being in a time of desperation (perhaps much more recognizable in hindsight). Also, for a time, I was just kicking myself for not having the foresight to come to Spain earlier and get a piso before I started work, but if I had done that, I would probably be living in the lost, tiny little town of Almonte rather than Sevilla and I wouldn't even know these amazing girls. It's crazy how this whole process worked out... from developing a friendship with them before moving in to the fact that Sylvia's friend didn't think to email until the day before she was supposed to arrive to say she couldn't come (which happened to be the day that I decided to boldly ask the Lord for a piso.) Wow. God is good. Simply.

in the beginning...

Breathe.

It's what I have to stop and remind myself, not just every day, but about every moment now.
Can we please recapture the chaos that I have fondly called my life for the past six months?

Let's see... May 2006... graduated from here, Wake Forest University in the quaint tobacco-producing metropolis of Winston-Salem, NC (see beautiful foto thanks to the talented Joe Martinez to the left.)

Then spent the summer from May until August being a crazy backpacking, white water rafting, biking, and climbing things here (see foto of the barn and big top to the right) at the cherished JH Ranch in dear, sweet Etna, California, population under 1000.

Now, after the short month of September of feeling guilty for simply exisiting and relaxing at home in the horse capital of the world (which could be a lie, I just thought it might apply) Lexington, KY (note foto to the left is neither my house nor my horse farm), I find myself in yet a new and evermore different location.

Since October 1, 2006, I have been in Sevilla, Spain (see foto of the Torre del Oro along the picturesque river) struggling to grasp and piece together how I have been so blessed as to have expereienced all of these incredibly distinct, equally wonderful places. I am still very much in shock and reeling from the multitude of transitions which has taken its toll on my body and my mind in many and varied ways (not excluding my poor skin being one of them... no worries everyone... it's starting to clear up now.)

As I have lived these past six months, sometimes I get nervous that that is all I have done. That is... just live. I suppose at some times in life that is simply all you can do is "just live." I think my concern is at some point it is easy for me to feel like life is just happening to me or even worse... life is just doing me instead of me doing life. Live is a verb and it is something that I would like to do myself, thank you very much. I don't know why transitions like this are so hard for me. Perhaps it is because I empty so much of myself into whatever it is that I'm doing at the moment that when I have to end it, I feel like I'm leaving so much of myself behind... that when I move onto the next stage, I'm actually only a portion of myself. The good news is that the Lord is faithful in filling that part back up, and not once have I been left in the cold... even this time. :)

I will not lie, I've had some pretty difficult transitions which I've cried myself through... moving from Alabama to Kentucky, leaving Kentucky for Wake, then leaving Wake for... "the real world" (my Mom says this is a "thing" of mine that I've been doing since I was a child, when we moved from Texas to Alabama at the age of 4, my Mom had to stop the car and console me because I was crying so hard), but (returning to what I'm not lying about)... this transition to Spain has by far been the hardest (being "homeless" for two weeks while looking for a piso)... which is why I have been here 17 days without getting in touch with anyone. I figure that no one likes to hear people complain, so I spared the grief. However, I will say that things are more than looking up now... I am absurdly excited to fully begin life here... and I can honestly look back at the past two weeks and already see the good from them. My lesson: hard times are not necessarily bad times.

Ok, enough thoughts for now... I have school in the morning. :) More on life here in Spain, school, the people, my piso, and pictures to come.