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My South American dream

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Yesterday, I sat across from Jeremy while we ordered breakfast from our favorite north-of-Seattle joint. On his white shirt were the words “Cerveceria Kuntsmann: Valdivia, Chile.” I was puzzled for the briefest moment: Chile? Where’d that come from?

Oh, right. From me. I was the one who spent ten short months in that long, thin country at the end of the world, visited that brewery, and spent ten minutes mulling over which shirt to buy him.

Outside today, the characteristic nothwest rain pounds away the very un-characteristic 10 inches of snow that fell this week. I lay curled under my favorite comforter in my best friend’s mom’s spare room in Bothell, Washington, switching between listening to Gotye and reading. And in this comfortable little corner, the reality of those ten months seems like something more akin to a dream I had.

There are occasional reminders that it did actually happen. My skin is still a touch browner than Jeremy’s. My favorite Chilean sends me quick messages to complain about the draining heat in the south of the world. Spanish words sometimes leave my mouth out of instinct. In those little notes, I remember that world that I left a month ago.

And that’s the thing — it really has been only a month since I left.

In that month, I’ve acquired a job, a car, and put a deposit down on a fantastic apartment in North Seattle. I’ve spent time with my family, my friends, my boyfriend, my dog, and my dad’s new cat. Nothing seems new, or different. Everything is just the same as it ever was.

I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. On the one hand, it’s comforting. And on the other, it’s monotonous and draining. I spend hours researching more ways to get away.

It felt as though I was actually doing something of note for myself while I was in Chile. Something distinct, something to set me apart from the pack of 20-somethings that are just like me. Here? Shelling out marketing materials for a start-up company that I don’t entirely understand? Sure, I’m making my living and getting by and allowing myself to spend time with people I love — and that’s the most important part of any life, the people you spend it with.

But I worry. I worry about living my life without any passion. I see friends around me doing things they actually love to do, and it makes me … jealous? Something akin to that. In any case, I feel like I could be doing more. I feel wasted.

While I had Chile, to look forward to, to live with, I had passion. I had something I could cling to and say “You see this? This is mine, and I love it and I don’t have to let it go.”

This isn’t to discredit everything I have here. I’m incredibly grateful to everything I have here. I just feel a bit empty.

Now that I no longer have Chile, what do I look forward to? What’s next? What dreams do I have left?

Chile was a reality, but it was a reality that I made out of a dream that I had once. So I’ll cling to my South American dream, and hope that I can find another one soon.

Because I just might go crazy if I don’t.

So this is normal.

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I have not, in my adult life, lived in the same city as a boy I’ve been seeing.

What? That can’t be right.

Right. Let’s examine this statement a bit more.

Let’s define “adult life” as life beyond high school. Let’s define “lived in” as being in a city with no immediate intention of leaving for extended periods of time. For the purposes of this study, “same city” actually means “same area code.” And let’s define “boy I’ve been seeing” as just that — any boy that I have seen, in any type of romantic setting.

That means in eight years — around six of which were spent in relationships — and over the course of a few different boys, I’ve never, ever lived in the same city as one of them.

It was an easy win in “Never Have I Ever” because almost no one can leave a finger standing and a drink untouched.

Welp, cross that one off the constantly decreasing “possible ‘Never Have I Evers.’”

I’m living in 425/206 area. My boyfriend is also living in the 425/206 area. I have no intention of leaving. Not school, not a job, not a raging desire to leave for the sake of leaving.

And it’s occurring to me that I have no idea how this kind of relationship works.

How often should we see each other? Is it okay to hang out at home doing nothing, when instead I could be hanging out with him? What do you do when it stops feeling like a special treat to be able to see him?

I hope I’m cut out for this.

Also, things are good so far. So don’t worry. More updates to come.

Nothing changes here.

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There’s a thick fog covering my hometown. The intense dark is only broken by the reflection of orange streetlight in the mist, giving an eerie, quiet glow to the streets I used to know so well.

I drove through it in my new car, my beloved dog on my lap, as I went to pick up my take-out drunken noodles from my favorite local Thai place. I felt like I should have felt something.

I didn’t.

Since I’ve been home now, I feel like I’m not feeling anything right. In the past week I’ve gotten a job, I’ve gotten a car, and I’ve found a place to crash for my first month in Seattle. Rather than feeling happy that everything has fallen into place so nicely, I’m suspicious, and panicky, and quietly worried.

“It’s happening too fast.”

“It’s not supposed to be this easy.”

“Something has to go wrong.”

“They’ve made a terrible mistake in hiring me. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

…are all things that I’ve been repeating this past week.

I’m not normally this pessimistic, so I don’t know what’s going on there.

I feel like I should still be adjusting here after 10 months abroad. While I was there, my friends and I would speculate the different ways that we would be culture-shocked. So far, the only things that have been true are that I keep forgetting that I can flush the toilet paper and I tend to say inappropriate things really loudly because I forget that the people around me speak English and can understand me.

Instead, I sometimes forget that I was even living in Santiago. Are there really these people that exist, that I spent so much time getting to know?

While I’ve felt completely and utterly happy when all of my friends are gathered, such as at our New Year’s Eve party, outside of that I felt something missing. Something not quite right, that rubs me raw and drives me crazy. I can’t pinpoint it.

I just know that I’m feeling it all wrong.

I’m terrified of failing. I feel like there’s so much at stake, but there’s not.

I’m excited to move to Seattle. I desperately don’t want to leave my family here.

I’m completely at odds with myself.

Someone tell me how I should be feeling.

dos semanas. the sun won’t go down.

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and instead of saying all of your goodbyes
let them know you realize that life goes fast
it’s hard to make the good things last
and you realize that the sun doesn’t go down
it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning ’round.

flaming lips, do you realize?

It’s funny how quickly days fly by when jam-packed with school, with grades, with pools, and dinners, and birthdays, and trying desperately to claw at each minute we have left here.

14 days. 6 in Santiago. 8 in the south: Valdivia, Puerto Montt, Puerto Varas, Chiloe.

Am I happy to be going home?

Depends on the hour that you ask me.

The point is — I’m done with teaching. Now it’s loose ends, it’s packing, it’s savoring what’s left.

It’s looking forward to hugs and kisses and reunions with people I’ve missed desperately. And it’s finding that perfect place in Seattle, it’s picking up where I left off, and it’s planning for the next big adventure…even if I do have to wait 4 years to do as much.

And mostly, it’s remembering that this isn’t the end, not if I don’t want it to be. The sun doesn’t ever go down — it’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning around.

And it’s trying to sleep every now and again.

stay positive, and love your life

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I wake up kind of early. The Grandma Gross rolls my mom and I made the night before would have risen by now, so I’d preheat the oven. The catch, of course, is that I always forget — what temperature do I preheat it to? I knock on my parents’ door, waking them up, to ask.

350. I set it, then turn the TV in the living room to channel 8, NBC. I always estimate the timing of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade incorrectly — it starts later. In the meantime, I watch the coverage in my pajamas, keeping my nose alert for the smell of the sticky buns warming in the oven. They’re the best part of the morning. A family recipe, bread dough rolled thin and smeared with tons of butter, brown sugar, walnuts, and raisins. Soon, I’ll have to take the tin foil off so that the tops get brown and crispy.

When they’re finally ready, the parade is starting. I quickly pluck a few rolls onto my plate, spooning the caramelly syrup from the bottom of the pan over them. I pour myself a glass of ice-cold milk, then settle onto the couch to watch the parade.

Soon my mom will be up, to start with the cooking. I’ll be called into help, but mostly she’ll do it herself so that I can return to the parade. Then the family will start arriving: aunts, uncle, grandmas and grandpas and cousins and their family dogs.

We’ll gather together, and we’ll be thankful.

…

But not this year. Not even this year without me.

This year, I’m working a full day teaching English in South America, preparing for finals, and shopping at the Chinese Mall, and tanning on my friend’s rooftop.

This year, my parents are celebrating in different places altogether. This year, my mom wouldn’t have been there to remind me of the correct temperature, or to start cooking. The turkey wouldn’t be in the oven. In fact, it’s doubtful that oven will ever see a Thanksgiving turkey again.

I could be sad about all of this. Well, I am sad about this. In fact, I’m fending off tears in the teacher’s lounge as I type this.

…

Instead of waking up to my Grandma-Gross-roll-anticipating stomach, this morning I woke up to my usual 6:45 alarm. I put my phone’s music player on shuffle while I took my morning shower, and as I turned the water off, sad at the thoughts that I’ve been trying to avoid since August, I was assaulted with lyrics from a teenage favorite:

One thing I’ve got to say before sales dive
Stay positive and love your life

I smiled.

Things won’t be the same. That fucking sucks, and I’m angry about it, and I’m sad about it, and I want it to undo itself. But there are still so many good things about my life, including that I have the opportunity to live and work abroad. I have a boyfriend and great friends who all love me. My family, as much as I might hate the reality they’re in now, is awesome.

There’s plenty to be thankful for. And this Thanksgiving, I’ll remember it.

Even if it’s not to the taste of perfectly cooked turkey and Grandma Gross rolls.

…EDIT

Given the info that I’ve learned in the two hours since writing this, I felt compelled to add a bit more.

I found out during my last class that one of my students took his own life last night.

I didn’t believe it at first…surely, the student who was constantly smiling, giggling his little laugh, and was incredibly good at English couldn’t have been in a suicidal place.

I was wrong.

It just goes to show that we can never know if someone is depressed. I should have already known that — I was pretty damn good at hiding it myself back in March-June of 2010.

But I realize that I’ve been sort of blessed in that I have an incredible outlook. Even though I can be cynical and ridiculous about a lot of things, I have an eternal optimism that has been shaped by the positive people, the positive music, the happiness that I’m lucky enough to have in my life.

Stay positive. Love your life. It’ll never be perfect, and as Tall Brewnette wrote on my facebook today, “heartbreak comes in many forms…but nothing changes when you’re comfortable.”

And most importantly, share that positivity. You never know who needs it most.