Say YES to the unknown.
Whatever is holding you back from attending that information session, from starting an application, from participating in one of the most life-changing experiences, let it go. Let go of your fear of leaving the country, of being in a foreign land, of moving away from all of your close friends and family. Let go of the person that is telling you to stay because they can't "live without you", let go of the mindset that you have of any particular country, and open your mind to the new possibilities that exist when you choose to study abroad. Now is the time to make all of the hurtful, unintentional mistakes in your life, to live for yourself and for your community, to go out in the world and learn about a culture that isn't your own, a language that fascinates you and to connect with people from every corner of the globe. It's been over a month here in Mexico and I have already learned more than I could ever in a classroom.
Sunday the 4th of October, I was feeling particularly down for no apparent reason. The source of my philosophical state of mind stemmed from a song that touched me. I was thinking about the passing of time, the beautiful fleeting moments that we experience. My life has been so inconsistent in the past 6 months that I feel the desire to hold on to something tangible, but that's impossible because we can't hold on to anything. Only the moments that we have and what we learn from it, where we decide to go from there. And that's a beautifully sad thing. I think it's more with accepting and being okay with the passing and changing of these moments, moments within ourselves, of others, of the experiences that we share. But life, it isn't just composed of these sad truths, but also of incredibly profound experiences, people that touch our hearts, inspire us to be better than ourselves...and these moments, they are constantly occurring, every day of our lives. (Just some food for thought)
We have officially hit the halfway mark and this brings me a lot of sadness... I don't want to leave this magical place. Every morning, I walk to school around 8:10 to catch the bus at 8:30 and this is what I experience:
I see a young girl wearing a solemn expression as she sweeps the water out of the road from her family's business.
I count the number of crosses that swing from the dashboard of the cars parked at the school.
5....6...7...
I glance at the long line of students waiting for their daily dose of coffee.
I pass the spot where a man standing beside his makeshift stand sells breakfast for a couple of pesos.
9...
I stare at the sun peeking through the huge Juego de pelota statue from the Mesoamerican times.
12...13...
I see the same old man with the same brown button up sweater and purple hat, sweeping the leaves on campus.
16...
I pass the same little boy with a fancy iPad, too distracted by his game to look up.
I feel the gentle breeze flowing through the imported trees, causing me to shiver slightly.
23.
Our art history teacher had invited us to an opening of an artist's work. We had met the wife and his kids on our weekend extravaganza and the place where he did all of his work; the shack where his inspiration came to life, stacks of artwork leaning into one another. Kelly, Tina and I went there, getting lost at first and arriving 30 minutes late. I stared into each piece, a glass of wine held on by three fingers, trying so hard to predict what the thought process was behind each stroke, every color, the amount of pressure that was used. We met the group of exchange students from California. There were about 10 of them, all girls. They had arrived here about a week before we did. I was surprised to realize that this was our first encounter with them. We shared stories, similar experiences, and exchanged information, but I honestly don't expect to be seeing them again. They clung onto each other, conversing only with those in their program; familiarity restricting their experiences.
This weekend, Kelly, Tina and I went to Guanajuato, considered the cultural capital of the world. The Cervantino International Festival was taking place and we were told by some of our friends that this was the best weekend to go. Although we had the motivation to go, there was not a lot of planning in between, but somehow, like always everything fell into place. We took a taxi to the bus station and bought our tickets there. We had to buy two separate ones and transfer from Irapuerto to Guanajuato. The bus for the drive straight there was full. After the first bus, we had less than 10 minutes to transfer to the next one and I don't know where exactly, but I lost my ticket. Frantically looking for it, I had no choice but to buy another one and we were forced to wait for the second bus. 3 hours later, we arrived in Guanajuato where Mariana and her mom picked us up. Mariana is Kelly's friend who had lived in Oregon for a short period of time but loved Guanajuato so much that she returned. We were staying in her grandmother's place for the night; a 4 story house with a black and white color scheme and spectacular rooftop view. Mariana was like our very own guide. She took us to all of the famous must-see places, explaining to us the history behind each building and showed us how to get from one place to the next. After eating quesadillas and home cooked beans, we walked through the old tunnels where the public bus dropped us off. Then we explored the long and eventful cave full of booths, snacks, and people. The streets were so crowded. Tina and I walked up the huge steps of stairs toward the famous University that is a school to over 40,000 people. The movie "El Estudiante" was filmed here and as we walked through the different scenes, it felt as though we had jumped into the movie.
We stopped at a narrow street where a long line of couples waited patiently in line to kiss their loved ones. Mariana told us the tragic romantic story of a girl named Dona Carmen who came from a rich and prestigious background. She fell in love with a poor boy. Her father forbid her to see him and thus the boy saved every pesos that he earned to by the house across from the window where he could see and touch Dona Carmen. One day, her father found out and he stabbed her with a dagger. Her lover kissed her as she died in his arms.
Everywhere I looked, there were passionate couples holding hands, kissing, leaning against one another. We returned back to her house, rushing to change and crammed into her aunt's car. Everyone reunited at the fancy restaurant that she owned. There was a live band that played the best oldies music of all time and Mariana sang with them. Her voice was that of Goddess, someone with years of experience under her belt. We sat outside while I sipped on a cup of coffee with liquor and wine. It was the strangest, strongest, combination that I had ever had, regardless it was quite delicious. Finally, we returned to the centro for a night out with her friends and countless cousins. The street was filled with young, energetic people shouting, chanting, and laughing.
The next morning, breakfast was served, coffee was made, and we rushed to the bus station. Since we were a little late, our options were to either stand or 40 minutes or wait 30 minutes for the next bus to come. We chose to stand and then transferred to another bus. 3 hours later, we arrived back in Queretaro where for the first time since I've been here, it was actually kind of cold.
We have officially hit the halfway mark and this brings me a lot of sadness... I don't want to leave this magical place. Every morning, I walk to school around 8:10 to catch the bus at 8:30 and this is what I experience:
I see a young girl wearing a solemn expression as she sweeps the water out of the road from her family's business.
I count the number of crosses that swing from the dashboard of the cars parked at the school.
5....6...7...
I glance at the long line of students waiting for their daily dose of coffee.
I pass the spot where a man standing beside his makeshift stand sells breakfast for a couple of pesos.
9...
I stare at the sun peeking through the huge Juego de pelota statue from the Mesoamerican times.
12...13...
I see the same old man with the same brown button up sweater and purple hat, sweeping the leaves on campus.
16...
I pass the same little boy with a fancy iPad, too distracted by his game to look up.
I feel the gentle breeze flowing through the imported trees, causing me to shiver slightly.
23.
Our art history teacher had invited us to an opening of an artist's work. We had met the wife and his kids on our weekend extravaganza and the place where he did all of his work; the shack where his inspiration came to life, stacks of artwork leaning into one another. Kelly, Tina and I went there, getting lost at first and arriving 30 minutes late. I stared into each piece, a glass of wine held on by three fingers, trying so hard to predict what the thought process was behind each stroke, every color, the amount of pressure that was used. We met the group of exchange students from California. There were about 10 of them, all girls. They had arrived here about a week before we did. I was surprised to realize that this was our first encounter with them. We shared stories, similar experiences, and exchanged information, but I honestly don't expect to be seeing them again. They clung onto each other, conversing only with those in their program; familiarity restricting their experiences.
This weekend, Kelly, Tina and I went to Guanajuato, considered the cultural capital of the world. The Cervantino International Festival was taking place and we were told by some of our friends that this was the best weekend to go. Although we had the motivation to go, there was not a lot of planning in between, but somehow, like always everything fell into place. We took a taxi to the bus station and bought our tickets there. We had to buy two separate ones and transfer from Irapuerto to Guanajuato. The bus for the drive straight there was full. After the first bus, we had less than 10 minutes to transfer to the next one and I don't know where exactly, but I lost my ticket. Frantically looking for it, I had no choice but to buy another one and we were forced to wait for the second bus. 3 hours later, we arrived in Guanajuato where Mariana and her mom picked us up. Mariana is Kelly's friend who had lived in Oregon for a short period of time but loved Guanajuato so much that she returned. We were staying in her grandmother's place for the night; a 4 story house with a black and white color scheme and spectacular rooftop view. Mariana was like our very own guide. She took us to all of the famous must-see places, explaining to us the history behind each building and showed us how to get from one place to the next. After eating quesadillas and home cooked beans, we walked through the old tunnels where the public bus dropped us off. Then we explored the long and eventful cave full of booths, snacks, and people. The streets were so crowded. Tina and I walked up the huge steps of stairs toward the famous University that is a school to over 40,000 people. The movie "El Estudiante" was filmed here and as we walked through the different scenes, it felt as though we had jumped into the movie.We stopped at a narrow street where a long line of couples waited patiently in line to kiss their loved ones. Mariana told us the tragic romantic story of a girl named Dona Carmen who came from a rich and prestigious background. She fell in love with a poor boy. Her father forbid her to see him and thus the boy saved every pesos that he earned to by the house across from the window where he could see and touch Dona Carmen. One day, her father found out and he stabbed her with a dagger. Her lover kissed her as she died in his arms.
Everywhere I looked, there were passionate couples holding hands, kissing, leaning against one another. We returned back to her house, rushing to change and crammed into her aunt's car. Everyone reunited at the fancy restaurant that she owned. There was a live band that played the best oldies music of all time and Mariana sang with them. Her voice was that of Goddess, someone with years of experience under her belt. We sat outside while I sipped on a cup of coffee with liquor and wine. It was the strangest, strongest, combination that I had ever had, regardless it was quite delicious. Finally, we returned to the centro for a night out with her friends and countless cousins. The street was filled with young, energetic people shouting, chanting, and laughing.
The next morning, breakfast was served, coffee was made, and we rushed to the bus station. Since we were a little late, our options were to either stand or 40 minutes or wait 30 minutes for the next bus to come. We chose to stand and then transferred to another bus. 3 hours later, we arrived back in Queretaro where for the first time since I've been here, it was actually kind of cold.
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