There's home in your eyes

I feel like I’ve been putting off updating my blog because the thought of trying to process and write down the montón of things I’ve seen and done since last writing makes me frighteningly sleepy. I suppose that’s a good thing, though. Since getting back from my trip to the south, Chilean Independence Day, in all its empanadas-mixed-with-chicha glory has finally officially ended, I’ve had my first Chilean sleep-over followed by geography field trip, I’ve been to my very first Chilean dermatologist after contracting my very first bought of mysterious insect bites all over my body, I’ve survived my first week going out four nights in a row (up from the usual three), I’ve (unsuccessfully) introduced a Chilean to peanut butter—with both jelly and bananas, though clearly not together—I’ve finally lost my first article of clothing, my host mom’s birthday has come and gone—complete with three cakes, I’ve discussed Chilean machismo and whether or not the U.S. is “for living in” or not over large hunks of salty asado, and I’ve decided that, if the kind of opportunity you’ve always dreamed of suddenly presented itself, such as to spend three months traveling and writing, there’s no way I could so no.

I’ve always been overly contemplative, but I think this environment has raised that propensity to lose myself for weeks on end in thought by a few dozen factors. The main thing my meandering, day-dreaming mind has kept coming back to recently has been the fact that I feel completely overwhelmed by what has fallen into my lap. I honestly don’t know when it happened, or who did all the work or why, but I often catch myself hurrying down the street between class and therapy, on my way to a friend’s apartment in Valpo, strolling along the rocks by the casino, picking my way through the windy, mural-covered paseos that line the hills, or taking that early-morning micro back to 4 Norte and Libertad, look around and realize that somehow I found myself a little life all the way at the end of the world. It’s sickeningly trite to say that the thought of what I’ve blindly stumbled upon here actually takes my breath away, but there just aren’t appropriate synonyms. I don’t quite understand how friendships can just suddenly form without you really having done anything to deserve them; or how you can mistake a month-long history with people for ones that have lasted all your life. I suppose that kind of thing is overwhelming for everyone, but with the language/cultural barrier on top of it—and a dose of personal insecurity—I’m left stupefied, especially given how I was feeling about my chances of making friends just a few weeks ago. And then, of course, I read over what I’ve just written, and I want to gag myself because I sound like a gushing, love-sick lunatic. Or maybe Chile just brings that out of me.

Another development of the past week or so is that my feelings about my family have improved. I’d come to the decision around Pucón time that I wanted to change families, and I even had a list of three possible ones that I was going to go visit, but things have been better—I may even be starting to enjoy some of their ridiculously obnoxious eccentricities. It didn’t hurt that they took me to a tasty asado today, or that over lunch yesterday they discussed how they’re going to remember me above their other students after I’m gone, or that the kitchen’s been oozing vegetables, non-fried chicken, and pevre the past few days. They may not be the sushi-eating, theater-going intellectuals Alex gets to live with, but they have their moments. Plus, they're enthusiastically helping me deal with all my insect bite-related fumigating needs.