Learn Another Language

AFS shared this on their Facebook page, so I am 'reblogging' it here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_4Q_N6J4xQ&feature=youtu.be

I thought it was pretty funny. :)

Also, as a note, I redesigned the blog, and added some of my favorite quotes that relate to the exchange experience. This is the same blog, it just looks different.

And also, non-Blogger users can add comments now.

Seven Months!

I have four months left. This is absolutely horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. I could cry. (Okay, not really. But it's that kind of feeling.)

Laura and Elif

This is actually tomorrow, which is the eternally-elusive Feburary 29th. It's a good thing 2012 is a leap year, otherwise I'd be freaking out about how I would hit the 8-month mark without the 7-month mark. And that's really confusing. 

I find that these points make good excuses to celebrate with the other exchange students...and that's exactly what we did last weekend. We met at the mall, watched a movie, an then went out to get crepes. These are not French crepes. Brazil has taken the crepe and...Brazilianized it, I suppose. They are much larger and flakier, and you can get them in either dessert form or dinner form (so, like, chicken, lettuce, tomato, etc.). This has been on the agenda for months, so now that's it's over, we're going to need another excuse to get together...

AFS Fortaleza 2011!

In other AFS-related news, three new exchange students arrived just before Carnaval. One from Germany (whom I have not yet met), and two from Thailand. Brazil has a lot of students from Germany and Thailand (and Italy). But I am most certainly not complaining. These kids are pretty legit. 

Some other exchange students and I want to plan a trip to Jericoacoara in April. If you don't know, Jericoacoara is one of the most famous (if not the most famous) beach of the Brazilian Northeast! If all works out, I will be totally pumped.

Rio/Paraty photos have been added. It took an hour to add them. Why must I always write so much...?

Cast of Characters

This post is more about the philosophy of exchange, I suppose. I'm not sure. No stories here, no action, just thought. This time it's mind, not matter.

One of the things I've noticed about going on exchange is that my surroundings are different. Call me Captain Obvious. I'm actually going somewhere with this.

Last summer, I read this book by Brent Hartinger called Project Sweet Life. Among other things, one of the dominant themes is whether you are who you surround yourself with. That really got me thinking. On one hand, it makes sense. Obviously, other people influence us. These have been psycholinguistical studies that show how syntax between close friends changes to become more similar. On the other hand, it begs originality. If we are who we surround ourselves with, then it follows that everybody has taken some part of themselves from somebody else. Obviously, something original had to spring up somewhere.

But it's an interesting question. I think that the answer is a bit of both. We have our unique selves, and then we have the parts of us that are bits and pieces of what we've encountered, and maybe they've been modified a little bit to become part of us. But I think those parts are traceable. I see my friends do something, and I think, 'You sound like your mother' or 'Annie always does that'.

So, inevitably, when you uproot yourself so abruptly, some part of you is gone. Just to avoid confusion, I'm gonna say this - you can't keep some part of you living back in your home country. I'm not saying anything to dispute that. Or maybe, in a way, I am. Doublethink it. (This is a 1984 reference. Read it, and then watch a happy Disney musical. Or go shopping for cute throw pillows at Target. Whatever floats your boat.)

A couple of years ago, whenever A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire was published, I read this book called Cast of Characters (hence the post title), and it detailed all of the significant characters in the New Testament. It described their role - why they were important. It was like a literary analysis of the Bible. I know that's really dorky. Work with me. I didn't particularly like it, but I thought the concept was interesting.

This crossed my mind Monday, when I was sick with nothing to do expect expand my ever-growing list of vocabulary words. Languages have so many words! (Once again, call me obvious.)

I think that, while real life is certainly not fiction, the elements of literature are definitely applicable. Granted, we're not in a story with a nice, tight plot and a dénouement and polysyndeton and conceits and all that jazz, but certainly, this stuff applies.

I just believe that everything is this big bowl of what is probably really disgusting soup. And so when you come across something new, into the soup it goes. And then that soup probably gets even more icky.

So back to the point. People.

Right now, my brain divides the people I know into two very distinct categories. There are the people I met before AFS, and the people I met after AFS. So friends, family, teachers, neighbors, etc. from Maryland are all in the first category. Anybody who I know because of AFS - volunteers, other exchange students, and everybody in my life in Brazil - falls into the second category. And as things currently stand, there's very little overlap.

I know, in the last post I said that my brain connects everything like soup, and now I'm saying it compartmentalizes everything like a waffle. It's yucky waffle soup. Or the astral dimension. Just work with it.

My brain also divides the influence from these people. Fluency in a language has been taken away from me, so I am forced to use other methods of communication (this isn't to say that I don't ever speak - I do, I'm just not fluent enough to understand everything that is being said towards me, nor am I able to articulate everything that I want to say). And therefore, I see things about people that I otherwise wouldn't. I spend a little more time pondering. It's like going to the beach and looking at all the shells, not just the smooth ones.

And the characters in my life - the people in my life - are different now.

And that affects me.

Just some interesting food for thought.

Will add pictures to the Rio post soon.

Christmas, Rio de Janeiro, Paraty, and Reveillon!

I am really making love to this blog today. :)


Alright, so I was working on this and then I realized that I told a friend about the trip and had it typed up anyway, so here's what I told her, edited for this blog and to make it more like a story and less like a mindless ramble. WARNING: This is a massive wall of text, (I like to write...it's a bit of a problem), so bear with me. 


I'll add pictures later. Let's go.
-------------------------------------------------------------------

I still can't believe it. Fortaleza seems so boring now. I live in a tourist destination and I think it's boring. This is so not good. Except not really. Fortaleza is actually pretty interesting place, and if you get the chance, you should totally come here. It's just that coming back from Rio, well, sorry Fortaleza.

This story actually starts on Christmas Eve, and then ends, well, it hasn't quite ended yet. It's one of those long and complex stories that sticks with you for a few months, maybe even a year, or a couple, although we haven't gotten there yet.

In front of one of the first cable cars
to serve Pao de Acucar (Sugar Loaf)

The kind that keeps you on your toes, because you never know when it might spruce up in your memory. 

Christmas Eve is a day designed for family reunions and parties, I think we can agree on this. It is strange for me, celebrating Christmas Eve without snow or cold weather that threatens the existence of my nose. But that's part of the experience - I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this. Well, I suppose it's more accurate to say that I 'kind-of' knew, but that's irrelevant

Normally, in the states, we spend Christmas Eve with my mother's family and Christmas Day with my Father's, unless we're doing Christmas Eve at our house, in which case we will probably still go see my Dad's family Christmas Day, but we see them anyway on the 24th. But we've never gone to both on the same day. This might be due to the fact that they live about 4 hours from each other. To put that into perspective, that's about the time it takes to drive from Gettysburg to New York.

I start to Skype with my family in the evening. (Right now, Fortaleza is two hours ahead of Eastern Coast US Time - we don't observe DST.) Then, we exchange gifts. My host mother has taken to calling me a monk, since I only brought one pair of shoes with me. So, I receive a pair of social shoes. As for me, I give books and chocolate.

After I am dressed in my spiffy new shoes (and new pants), we go to my host father's side of the family, situated on the outskirt of Fortaleza, to an area I'd never been to. I don't know most of the people there, but everybody was definitely in the Christmas spirit, and so I soon learned names and faces. 

From there - it is a quick visit - we go to my host mom's side of the family. Here, I'm going to make a note that Brazil is a very family-oriented culture. Extremely family oriented. So, in other words, of all of the family and extended family there, I know just about everybody by name and face, what their relation is, and other miscellaneous details. I try to think of somebody doing that with my family in the US and I want to cry. Except not really.

We start the party with a small prayer of thanks and appreciation to Our Lord and then everybody makes a beeline for the food. Food in Brazil is good. In fact, it's an absolutely wonder I haven't gained any weight (AFS says you'll probably gain weight. This is a lie. Come to Brazil. We're all getting thinner here.), since I love the food here (except for pineapple...there are a few stories about that), and the family-prepared dishes are excellent. Rice is mandatory at all important meals, and it is always accompanied by either beans or meat, such as beef or pork. Then there are a few quirky dishes - a sort of bread that at first glance appears to be a multi-tiered cake, but is actually bread and fish and cheese and some other things. Things that appear to be soft tacos, but are actually ground beef wrapped in a thin pancake and drizzled with sauce. And etc. 

With the grandparents. Not actually Christmas Eve.

We mingle around for a bit until my host mother manages to Skype with Bella, at which point the same thing happens here which I expected happened at my house. One, maybe two or three, person talks, and then somebody else takes their place, either through Bella's own request or because they happen to be in the right place at the right time.

Dessert is delicious as well. Cakes, ice cream, and more quirky dishes that I don't know how to describe. Brigadeiro, a staple Brazilian dessert, is there as well.

Afterwards, presents are exchanged and we go home. Time to hit the hay, because tomorrow is going to be exhausting.

I wake up Christmas Day to the sound of my host father rappelling on the door. It is earlier than I care to know, and I am fighting to keep myself awake. Today is going to be a rather unconventional Christmas. I get dressed in the roupas de viajar, and we pack our luggage and leave for the airport. 

I have probably been in the airport more during this past year than I have in my entire life combined. We've at least touched base. I used to hate planes. At this point, I don't care anymore. It's a plane.

This is a reference to the story of another AFSer, Mary Beth.
Read it: marybeth-afs.blogspot.com/2011/10/barajas.html

At the airport, we meet one of the Aunts, who is flying to Rio and then flying to New York/New England/Vegas to visit her old host family (she went to the United States and we placed in Massachusetts, I think. East Coast - represent!) and promote a program for UNICEF. So, um, if anybody is interested in coming to Brazil and volunteering with UNICEF..

.

We get on the plane. My host mother has a philosophy that the window side is the best - it's hard to argue with that - and so Rapha and I are behind them, in window seats, watching Fortaleza as it recedes into the distance and is blocked from view by the giant cotton balls of the sky. During the flight, I read. There's a book in French that I bought at the bookstore, since I am forgetting my French. Oddly enough, I can read and understand it just as well as always, but when I try to speak, I have to think more, and it mixes with Portuguese. The book is titled J'aurais Préféré Vivre, just in case anybody cares. 

Eventually, after a good three and a half hours, we land in Rio. I cannot believe it. We are in Rio. Rio de Janeiro. That city with Copacabana Beach and the beautiful mountains and Sugar Loaf and Christ the Redeemer Statue. Yes, that city. Plus, they made a movie based off of it. Have you see Rio? 

This is a memorial on Copacabana. I think I make a pretty
good imitation, if I do say so myself...

The first three days blur by in my memory, (thankfully, I journaled about them) but we spend them in Rio. We stay in the apartment of one of Mae's cousins, about 2.5 blocks from Copacabana Beach. 


We spend the first day getting to know Rio, I suppose. It is already the afternoon by the time we arrive, and the place is alive and kicking. Besides the atmosphere of the beach itself, there are people everywhere - people walking with their dogs, jogging, breakdancing, trying to sell things to tourists - lots of activities. We eventually end up at Mass, and that ends the first day. 


It is here I note that normally, mass is at night. Sunday night mass. Christmas night mass. 

Inside of the fort.

On the second day, it rains. Again. It is here that I'm going to note that I shut down when it rains. I totally shut down. I get headaches before the rain, and then I'm usually in some kind of comatose, zombified state for the first bit of the downpour. It depends, although I haven't figured out why. Just to clarify, I am a human barometer. Yay fun.


We eat breakfast in the apartment (Brazilians never go out for breakfast) and head out for a full day of shopping. I still have not decided if the decision to leave my wallet at home was good or bad. On one hand, I really don't trust myself with a debit card in the malls of Rio de Janeiro, but on the other hand...

Does anybody know who this is?

We hit three malls. The first one is absolutely colossal and has literally everything, including a second copy of some stores. Rapha points out a soccer player - it is Rio, after all - and we are on our way. At the exit, one woman is absolutely distraught because she is separated from her 3-yr old son, and looks ready to tear the world apart with her own two hands. I hope that the police found him. 


We hit a second mall - the selection of stores here aligns more to my taste than the other - but it is for the chief and express purpose of finding an ice skating rink. I think this goes without saying, but ice skating isn't exactly a conventional activity in Brazil. I actually might have been better than some of the other people there. Unfortunately, the ice skating rink won't open until 5:00 - it is a little past 2:00 now - and so we are on our way. 

A minha mae in the garden of the museum.

The third mall is a fashion mall. I haven't the slightest idea how this distinguishes it from any other mall with choice clothing brands, but I don't ask. This time, the item on the agenda is a movie, but we ultimately decide against this, and so we head out. 


We park back in front of the apartment and walk to Copacabana Beach, this time to the end, until we reach a fort that has now been converted into a mini-museum. Rapha and I break off to explore and take pictures, but he goes back before me. On my way back, I run into this group of guys speaking English, and I plaster a silly grin on my face and am totally like, "Yo, dudes! I speak English too!" And they look at each other, confused - so maybe it wasn't English - and it is all I can do to not fall to the ground and laugh. Instead, I walk back, calmly. 

More garden pictures...

That was really bad. I'm just a bad example. Don't do that. 


We head back along a strip of the beach that caters mostly to selling things to tourists. Mae, Pai and Rapha are occupied, but I am not in the mood, and so I find myself a tree and wait. There is some guy who tries to sell me popcorn (or at least, that's what I think it is). At first, I ignore him, but he doesn't get the impression that I am not interested in his probably-delectable popcorn. So what do I do?


I made The Face. If you have never seen the Jenna Marbles video "How to Avoid Talking to People You Really Don't Want to Talk to", this will probably not make sense. So Google it. Just be warned that there is some language. But for those of you with reservations, it looks a little something like this: 


[And like I said, pictures later! Desculpa gente. :P]


At first, he doesn't know what I'm doing. I just stand there, motionless. Then, after a few seconds, he starts laughing. I just stand there. Eventually, he takes the hint and leaves. Seriously. Works every time. 


That is also really bad. Don't do that either. I am just in a really weird mood today. 


We eat dinner at a small place on the side of the corner. I get a cheeseburger and acai - needless to say, I am completely satisfied. And it is on the corner of the street of the apartment. The apartment is right next to a supermarket. Right next to a supermarket. That is so cool. I honestly don't think I'll live in the city when I'm older, but if I do, Rio definitely makes the list of potential candidates. 


Day Three is overcast, but not rainy. asdfghjkl


We go to a museum on the history of Rio and Brazil, and I find some people from France. Sadly, I cannot make out what they are saying besides the obvious words - 'sont', 'tres', 'je', etc - and that one of them speaks Portuguese. That, and they have heavy accents, so I automatically know that I'm hearing legit French people. That, and I ask. At the moment, when I speak, my French is a weird mixture of French and Portuguese...like Portuench...or something.

Amazing shots such as this. Rio...que lindo!

We then go up to a point on one of the mountains and get some amazing shots - it is the same height as Sugar Loaf, minus the fee and atmosphere - and I can see the smaller satellite cities. We are that high, and Rio is that big. It's amazing. 


Afterwards, we go take the trip to see Jesus, but he's chilling in the clouds today. So no, I do not get to meet Jesus today. But eventually, I will. Now I have a legit reason to come back. 


We go to another mall, and this time I have my money. I buy a purple button down shirt for R$89.50, which is equivalent to $55.35 at the time. This is actually not a bad deal, since the model is new and the same shirt would have costed me anywhere from $40-$60 in the US. And I like it, so there's that too. But generally, clothes in Brazil are much more expensive than clothes in the United States. I am coming to appreciate that the US is a cheap place to spend your money. The catch? We have high taxes, or we get paid less by the hour, or something. I have yet to figure it out.


There is a lake around which we go biking, and in the middle of this lake there is a large Christmas tree. I am completely and utterly confused as to how I did not pass the Christmas tree (I thought it was at the other side, silly me) until I reach the point where I started, and then my brain puts two and two together. It was a long day, alright? Don't blame me. 


The entire distance around the lake is 8km, and this is the first time I pick up a bike in 5 months. Also, no helmet. Please, parents at home, don't kill me. (My Dad was a paramedic, and they're both nurses. Helmets are mandatory under pain of death.) I asked for a helmet, and they laughed at me. 


We go to bed early, because tomorrow, we are going to Paraty. 


This story can be broken into four different parts - Christmas, Rio de Janeiro, Paraty, and Reveillon, hence the title. Christmas is the first two days, Rio de Janeiro is the second through fourth days, Paraty takes the next three, and Reveillon is the final two. So if you desire a water/bathroom/popcorn break, this is where I recommend you do so. We are halfway done, give or take.


Paraty is a historic city on the Costa Verde, or Green Coast, of the state of Rio de Janeiro (just like there's a state of New York and a city of New York, fellow Americans). If you are ever given the chance to go, YOU MUST GO. Seriously, it is absolutely beautiful. 


It's not your conventional tropical paradise, but that's why I loved it so much. Paraty has a little something for everybody - an old city full of history, interesting architecture, beaches, boats, kayacking, horses - it is impossible to not be able to love this place. I'd even go as far as to say I loved it more than Rio. 

Statue in the museum garden

Paraty is divided into two areas - the modern district, which is exactly like every other small Brazilian town (therefore, almost nobody cares about it, but you should go there anyway), and the historic district, which is stunning (if not inconvenient at times) and therefore, everybody cares about it. There are several hostels and inns, all relatively cheap, too. 

This may be a terrible thing to say, but I don't like seeing modern technology and conveniences in places that don't have modern everything else. I know that's a horrible thing to say, but when you live in a three-room, one-story brick house along an interstate highway in a town so small that it only takes five minutes to drive by...I dunno. It kills the atmosphere and it makes me feel like the place is losing its culture...like the Sinification of Manchuria. Which is why I liked Paraty's historic district, which was cobblestone and colonial. The horse poop in the street is part of the charm. 

Speaking of horse poop, we take a tour of the historic district on a carriage, and while we are stopped in front of the church, our horse starts to pee. And this American couple behind us gives it this wide stare, like they've never seen a horse pee before. Is it bad that I now laugh at American foreigners? I can always pick them out. We make absolutely no effort to blend in. Stay classy, United States. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

The drive to Paraty takes a while - it is long enough that we stop for lunch in a nearby city, Angra dos Reis, for lunch, and we arrive sometimes in the evening. After confirming our place of residence for the night, we take the aforementioned house and carriage tour. Afterwards, we walk around the downtown area. At night, there are lights in the windows, and it is beautiful. It's really very calming. 

Museum Garden Fountain

The second day, we take a small detour to a place that produces cachaca. For those of you who don't know what this is, cachaca is the most popular distilled alcoholic beverage in Brazil, made from fresh sugar cane juice. Pai offers me a tiny amount - like, 2 mL - and so I taste it. I immediately wish I hadn't - it feels like my throat is about the dissolve. This stuff is strong. I don't know how people down it. I really don't. 

For the record, this is the national alcoholic beverage of Brazil. I tried it purely for cultural and educational purposes. 

Oh, and by the way, there are over 2000 different names that are/were used to describe cachaca. So if you go to Brazil and get some alcoholic beverage of which are you not familiar, chances are, it's some type of cachaca.

Church in the historic district

We return to Paraty and wander the streets a bit more, this time when it is daylight. We decide to stay at a different hostel tonight, one that is actually in the historic district (our other one was just outside it). I feel like such a Brazilian when one of the monkeys that we saw in Pipa begins to amaze all of the tourists. Yeah, I fed one of those a banana. And he dropped it. And it was adorable. What now, gringos?


At a beach, Rapha and I kayak for about an hour. I am not such a great kayak-er, but I like doing it, if that counts for anything. I separate from him when I see a stork on some rocks and want to get closer. Unfortunately, I scare the stork away. Drat.

I do this pose a lot...

Today is my five-month mark in Brazil. I cannot already believe that it is five months. Where did all of the time go? I think back to watching the capoeirists at Pipa, or walking the streets of Sao Paulo, and it seems like so much more than four months ago. Almost as if it was years ago. 


On the third day, we take a boat trip around the bay and some of the islands. There are a total of 365 islands in the Costa Verde, all with different names. We go swimming and eat lunch and I get this absolutely miserable sunburn on my knees and the back of my hands. It has already peeled (it healed pretty quickly, in just one week) and some of it faded, but not all of it, so it looks like I have some weird skin disease. I do not have a weird skin disease. I just have abnormal peel lines. I swear. That's kind of disgusting, sorry.

Then we drive back to Rio. It is night by this time, and so we arrive and sleep. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. In Portuguese, this is called Reveillon. Everybody wears some kind of white base (for purity and cleansing, I think) and then you may add other colors for what you want the New Year to bring. No Labor Day here, so it's all cool.

From the observatory atop Sugar Loaf. 

We go to Pao de Acucar in the morning, although there is already a long line, and it is ever increasing. Eventually, we get through (the fee is R$53, or about $30) and hit the cable cars. On the first level, Mae actually sees people that she knows. Only she would find somebody that she knows on Pao de Acucar. I mean, seriously, what are the odds? My Aunt is like this, but jeez, my host mother. She's in an entirely different class.

And during lunch that day, I found a
little piece of home that made my day. :)

We go back to the apartment around 5:00 and wait for the arrival of some other cousins. Then, we gather around the couch and sing songs in tons of different languages - Portuguese, English, French, Italian, Latin, Japanese - basically everything that I know, since I don't know any songs in Spanish, for some reason. All kinds of stuff, too, from Ave Maria to Puff the Magic Dragon and Sakura. Then my host father would join in with a song that I don't know, and I just make up some kind of harmony as we go along. If you ever get the chance to do this, I highly recommend it. Music knows no language.

Towards the back, it is jam-packed.

And then go went to Copanabana Beach. It. Is. A. Party. Seriously. I don't think I've ever seen such a lively scene. It's raining, so nobody is running (because that's really unsafe in crowds), but all of the people basically shut down the street. We make out way onto the beach, about five meters from the shore, and watch the fireworks. I have it on video, which I'll put up whenever I get around it to. This is totally crazy. Totally crazy. People are jumping up and down and it is screaming. It is raining, but nobody cares. We are all wearing ponchos, and I have a Disney Princess umbrella (because I'm a princess?). And there are film crews! I want to talk to them, but my host mom doesn't let me. So, whatever, fine. I won't be on national TV. No big deal. Just national TV. And actually, considering how weird I am this week, that's probably for the best.

Just before we got on the beach
to watch the fireworks

Almost as soon as we get back, I am in bed, asleep. We wake at 4:30 and head to the airport around 7:00. Our flight back to Fortaleza is at 9:00. I find a lovely piece of mail sitting on the kitchen table, stating my acceptance to Allegheny College. This seriously brightens my day. Then we go and eat beef. I feel like such a Brazilian. 

The first thing I notice about Fortaleza is how hot it is. As mentioned, it was cool in Rio due to the clouds and rain. But Fortaleza is just hot. It's not dry and not humid either, just hot. It makes for excellent beach weather, although we do not go to the beach. We sleep and go to mass and then sleep some more.

And thus, the end of that trip. 
----------------------------------------------------------------
Except not really. I never got to see Jesus! This is such a problem. I have to go back. I'm already making plans. 

On Reading

Titled just so I can feel like Stephen King. On Writing. Yes, I realize how self-indulgent that is. Just work with me.


Last night, I finished reasing the translated version of "Hush, Hush" by Becca Fitzpatrick. I'll be honest - I only understood about 80% of what was going on, but I understood all of the major developments (I think). I accurately predicted about two-thirds of the ending. I got lost in the pages for the last ten chapters and forgot I was reading a book. 


I picked up new words. I improved my reading comprehension immensely. I took it slow and page by page, chapter by chapter. I looked up important or recurring words that I didn't know. I understand the language a little better. 


I'm a visual person. You can talk to me all day, but if I don't see it or write it or visualize it, I probably won't remember it. I map and chart everything (well, if webbing in my head as I go along counts). My thoughts, my experiences, plots from books I've read, song lyrics, dreams - all of it. I have a hard time doing simple math in my head. (Like 149 + 12 or 67 * 3. Like that.) I have a hard time remembering the words to a song unless I look them up. I have to see things. 


I have to split, distribute, and add, all on paper. The benefit of this is that it makes checking easier. I can see and understand exactly what I did.


So for me, reading is an important thing to do. It's important to help me learn the language - how can I know what somebody is saying if I've never seen that word before? Important to help me develop connections with people. I love books. My friends love books. And we talk about books. 


I know that's really dorky. 


One of the things about this exchange year if really learning a lot about myself. One of my aunts is very much into philosophy and nature. I remember, during a family vacation to Maine a few years ago, she would get up to meditate on rocks by the beach and eat unidentified berries that grew along the sidewalk. This isn't craziness. This is a type of self-discovery. While I am not getting up that early to meditate any time in the near future, I do appreciate these kinds of things. 


Perhaps this is why I work by association. Give me a word, and my brain spider webs (yes, I verbed that) in a thousand different directions. And it goes from there, and it goes from there. Some may call this Attention Deficit Disorder (disclaimer: I have never been tested for anything of the sort). I call it making connections and taking enlightening detours. Life is all about looking on the bright side. : D


So, if I don't write down my thoughts, lethologica ensues. 

You should also write down those vocabulary words.

I just opened my school binder to the Physics section. We did vectors today. Vectors remind me of Despicable Me. (You need to watch the movie to understand this.) That movie reminds me of a friend from last year, who hosted an exchange student from Portugal. Right now, she's at Cornell. I'm applying to Cornell. I think I need to interview with them. I already interviewed with Middlebury and UChicago, and I'm scheduling one with Georgetown. My interviewer from Middlebury lives in Brazil, and he was a Physics major. 


Oh, look. Physics. Back there. But really, this could have gone anywhere. For UChicago, I wrote an admissions essay on how Play-Doh relates to Plato. It's this sort of nonsensical comparison that I am so good at. 


Everything we do is relative. You can't isolate any experience. 


Before I left, I was a little afraid that this year would seem like a dream. But even our dreams and imaginary worlds are alive in our heads. And there, they're just as real as everything else. 


This kind of thinking applies to the language as well. For example, take the Portuguese word "teto". It looks like the French "tête" which you may know from the expression "tête-à-tête". That expression literally means head-to-head, and is sometimes used as a superstitious way to say 'discussion' or 'talk'. You already know that the Portuguese word for 'head' is 'cabeça'. So think abstractly. Your head is the highest point on your body, so 'teto' probably has something to do with being high, or the highest. 


It means ceiling, in case you were dying to know. 

I taught them Charlie's Angels.

So, through this, you can see how reading in the language of your host country, even though you aren't fluent and may not understand everything, because that much more manageable. I probably knew only about 50% of the words in that book. 


This is a new part of your brain. A new muscle group to target. And with a little work, those muscles get stronger, and it gets easier. And you start to understand more, and remember more words, not just meanings. 


Language is comprised of thousands of little keys that fit just as many locks. You have the locks. You need to find those keys. And you need to learn them. 


Words are those keys.


How are you supposed to put the key in the right lock, if you don't know which key you're holding? How can I know what somebody is saying if I've never seen that word before?


Once I see it, I know which sound to associate with it. I can visualize it. And I remember it.


That's how I learn.


Just some food for thought. 

This is a One-way Door?

I came to school this morning and noticed that I had forgotten my sweater. The classroom is like an icebox - in Brazil, it seems, it's always hot outside and always cold inside - so I always wear it.

So I went down to the ground floor with the intention of getting it. According to my clock, it was 7:05. I had twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to cross the street, go to the apartment, get the sweater, and come back. Piece of cake.

I was walking quickly and I shouted to the doorman that I was just leaving to get my sweater. And I made for the doorway.

He told me I couldn't leave that way.

What? I thought. What kind of nonsense is this? A one-way door?

Basically how I felt.

He explained that you could only come into the building through this door until it was time to leave, at which point you obviously exited. But if I wanted to leave now, in the morning, before class, I had to use another exit.

Oh. Right. Because that totally makes a lot of sense. Does it matter how I exit, as long as I do so without causing a disturbance? I really hope there's some logical reason behind this.

So, I headed to the other side of the school, and I checked all of the exits that I knew of. And, lo behold, they were locked too! The doorman most likely knew this too, duh. I probably just missed one.

More annoyed than anything else, I made my way back to the classroom. It was still ten minutes before anything was scheduled to start - a lot of kids hadn't even arrived yet. I've left the apartment five minutes before class was due to start and still made it on time.

From Turkey. Also not understanding something.

The reason I'm telling this story is because I don't understand why I wasn't allowed to leave. He knew my intentions. If I wanted to cut class, I wouldn't have come to school, and I certainly would not have left my belongings in the classroom. I would be back before class started. Almost every day, he sees me go to school either wearing that sweater or with it in my arms.

So why is this an issue?

Perhaps it's just a quirk. It might just be the simple reason that once you're in the building, you're not allowed to leave, for whatever reason, until the end of the day. But I don't understand this either, since if I wanted to skip class, I wouldn't have come.

Not understanding. That seems to be the order of the day.