Eyes Wide Open

Hello, loved ones, and Happy Friday!


Today is a “feriado” (official holiday) here in Chile—Día del Trabajo, which is essentially Labor Day. Therefore, there’s no classes (nothing new for me on Fridays!) and pretty much everything in the city is closed. As this severely limits possibilities for things to do today, I’ve spent the afternoon relaxing with my host mom, watching “Seven Pounds,” having lunch, and trying to keep my chilly toes warm.


Yes, that’s right—autumn has finally arrived. Lizzie’s mom told her that this is probably a good thing, as a “never-ending summer mentality” probably wouldn’t have provided us with the experience we were looking for. This is probably true, but that doesn’t mean I’m not complaining about the cold and the smog, which is now, due to the cooler temperatures, descending upon the valley and trapping Santiago in a huge, gray cloud. In addition, fall in Chile brings more humidity (we’re entering the wet season, so I anticipate that, soon, the expressionless Santiago sky may finally show some emotion in the form of lots and lots of rain!) and cooler temperatures. During the day, it’s fairly nice—brisk but comfortable weather for jeans and sweatshirts— but at night and in the mornings, it’s quite chilly, and everyone has begun bundling up. The worst part of the cool temperatures is that most houses and buildings here lack central heating, so there’s little to no relief for those chilly toes, even when I’m inside. Past students suggested an electric blanket, which I’ll need to invest in. Autumn seems to have come out of nowhere, but I’m told it’s officially here and it will get cooler, wetter, and smoggier for the next few months. Genial. (Great.)


Despite this recent climate change, which will be a more of a spirit/attitude challenge than a physical one (especially knowing that you all are beginning to enjoy the Midwestern spring I so look forward to!), I am still quite content here in Santiago. Last week Tuesday, I went with Jill and Lizzie to a trendy club in an old building, called El Catedral, where a cueca band plays every Tuesday night. The place was packed from floor to rafters with people of all ages doing the cueca! The band was entertaining and the environment, aside from the fact that I could hardly move a muscle, was really enjoyable. I was in sort of a strange mood that night, so I headed home earlier than usual, but I definitely want to go back. Last weekend, Lizzie, Caitlin, and I tried to go to a Cuentacuentos (Storytelling) event at a hip little café/restaurant/bar called Casa en el Aire (literally, House in the Air). We were excited to nourish our souls and enjoy some wine and were sorely disappointed when we could understand almost NOTHING that the storytellers were saying. Quite a hit to the ego, to say the least. We went out after that, with Jill and a bunch of kids from her program, and, thanks to a few Piscolas, I did the karaoke for the first time! We sang Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” (always a good choice), and although I’m sure my voice was not a great contribution to our group’s harmony, I had a lot of fun. On Sunday, I spent some time at Esteban’s, where I watched a lot of soccer (it’s almost like watching football on Sunday with my dad, but not quite!), drifted in and out of a nap, and enjoyed a fantastic lunch with his family. For the first time ever, I tried lamb chops… and, although I think it’s a strange and sad thing to eat lamb, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t absolutely fantastic.


This past week was pretty uneventful—I had a quiz in my Poetry class, we lost our third volleyball game (boo!!), I Skyped with Alex and Bridget and my family and called my Mommy on her 44th birthday this past Wednesday, and I received word that Zak and his unit have landed safely in Kuwait and that things with them there are going well so far (but keep the prayers coming!). I’m continuing to enjoy the unique character of Santiago, which has now begun to amuse me and comfort me in new ways, suggesting that I’ve entered either the “home” or “humor” stage. I was told, before leaving, that many study abroad students go through four “h” stages: honeymoon, hate, humor, and home, though not necessarily in that order.


In an attempt to capture and cherish every moment of my time here, I’ve tried to look at this now-commonplace but objectively distinct world around me with fresh eyes and a sense of humor. The things and people I see on a daily basis— inexplicable and sudden musical performances while riding public transportation, the blind man who sells alfajores for only 120 pesos on the corner by La Moneda, and the dozens of mullets, which are in fact fashionable here—have become everyday occurrences, but I’m trying to reclaim the newness of it all and find the humor and joy in the eclectic spirit of Santiago. This is a city that doesn’t charm instantly, like Buenos Aires, for example, but, if you stick around long enough, it attaches itself to you somehow. I don't want to become numb to all that it has to offer!


On that note, I’d like to offer a quick snapshot of Santiago, something I don’t think I’ve done quite enough of in my past blog entries. First, I should mention that one of the popular slogans we gringos have for Santiago, with all love and respect to the city, includes, simply, “Things don’t work.” I’ll be in the middle of a conversation on my cell phone and, suddenly, the conversation is ended because—surprise!—I’m out of minutes. Here, we buy minutes as needed, and the lack of a warning when they’re almost gone is irritating but, at this point, pretty funny. Similarly, buses don’t stop where one might think they would stop, and most things don’t function the way one might think they would function. To buy something from a store or restaurant sometimes, you have to first pay at the “caja” (window), then take your ticket to the counter and order your purchase and—in really extreme cases—go to a third location to pick up your purchase. In restaurants, if you need a refill of something or, for that matter, if you’d like the check, it is not abnormal to wait for over ten minutes to get the attention of a server. If you’re waiting in line somewhere, prepare to be “cut” because no one seems to understand that there is, in fact, a line. And, if personal space is at all important, stay clear of the Metro, where every part of you could potentially be touched by some part of someone else when the masses of people squeeze and push to get on and off the train. All of these things, which seem frustrating at first (and sometimes still are, for sure), have come to amuse me.


In addition, walking down the street is an adventure. People don’t move. They walk at a pace that is almost painfully sluggish, as if no one has anywhere to go. Little kids have no concept of how to walk through crowds, and often I’ll run into a backwards-glancing child who had absolutely no idea that he was wandering straight into my kneecaps. I enjoy the sights, sounds, and smells of the city—the mullets, the skinny jeans of all colors, often paired with Converse or Nike tennis shoes, the street “art” (people dressed as Spiderman, people lip syncing along to a CD blaring from the boombox behind them, etc.), the fanny packs, the stray dogs, and, of course, the street food. The other day, I tried my first sopaipilla, which is really nothing more than fried dough in the shape of a pancake (usually eaten with ketchup, mustard, or ají, a popular, spicy condiment here). It cost about US $.30 and was, though it made me feel a bit guilty, quite simply satisfying. It’s hard to walk by the many ice cream and pastry shops, but I’ve gotten a bit better at resisting the charms of Bravisimo and the like. The other day, though, baños de chocolate (basically like a “dipped” ice cream cone) were free with the purchase of any size of ice cream, so I caved in and enjoyed a “simple” (one scoop) of manjar, bathed in chocolate. Yum.


Speaking of baños, bathroom experiences are distinct here. Toilet paper goes in the garbage can because Chilean pipes can’t handle it. There are few public bathrooms, and those that can be found are usually not free of charge for public use. There is rarely toilet paper in women’s bathrooms, and sometimes the bathrooms also lack toilet seats, soap, and/or mirrors, making for a fairly primitive experience. Showering is more or less normal for me, though I have to turn on the gas beforehand to ensure that my water will be warm. I forgot this once and will never forget it again!


Living here is obviously different in many ways from my life at home, but because it’s been several months, I often neglect to notice these differences now. I insitictively offer kisses to everyone I meet, scarf down my “ensalada chilena,” tomatoes and onions, without so much as a thought for my former love, Caesar dressing, and accept the fact that going out of my way to ask for “agua sin gas” (water without carbonation, which most of the bottled water here contains) is just one of those things I have to do. I can’t wait to share all of these little oddities with my mom and sister when they visit (in a mere fifteen days!), and I imagine that their totally fresh eyes will provide me with even more morsels of Santiago life to share with you all. I think it's important to go through life like this always, soaking it all up. To be this "alive" in every moment is not an easy thing-- we get into routines, we get used to seeing the same things and the same people and the world around us loses its novelty. But, I'm trying.


On a different note, I should also mention that my service work is continuing to offer me plenty of food for thought; recall that I go, once a week, to a place called Cerro Navia, where they offer many programs, only one of which is the program for adolescent mothers, which I work with. The facility is able to offer many different workshops and resources, and there are professionals and volunteers with the knowledge and willingness to teach and share with those who are in some sort of need. However, much to our disappointment, this potential to help is not always capitalized upon, and sometimes, although we have a room, materials, and people, we do basically nothing in our workshops. It’s sad, too, because there are things that need to be addressed immediately.


Babies are drinking Coca-Cola in bottles. Moms, exhausted and young—fifteen or sixteen—are still breastfeeding their toddlers, many of whom communicate very little with anyone other than their mothers and demand more breastmilk every five minutes; the moms, to calm down the children, submit to the will of the children, thus further reinforcing the attachment the child has to the mother and the antisocial behavior the child exhibits when away. Some pregnant teenagers are even smoking. These things, clearly, need to be addressed, and we thought that the purpose of these workshops was to do exactly this—to help these women become good mothers, to answer their questions and talk about their concerns, and to offer a safe space for them and their children. Last week, Lizzie and I brought the snack for the group and got to talk a bit more with them, which was progress, but I am hoping that things start seriously progressing SOON.


Last Friday, I went with Julia and Amanda, two other girls in my program, to a child care center that is part of Chile’s HUGE umbrella organization, Hogar de Cristo (established by my University’s namesake, the late Jesuit priest and recently canonized Saint Alberto Hurtado). I spent the morning playing with children, ages 2-4, and trying to keep order in the center. It was stressful and tiring because many of the kids don’t have very good manners, don’t know how to share, and don’t communicate effectively. They are beautiful children, but it was hard not to get frustrated with them sometimes. Still, I know that their behavior problems are not their fault, and I tried my best to be patient with them as they repeatedly smacked each other with toys, refused to eat their vegetables (I guess some things are universal), and made a mess of everything.


My host mom believes strongly in the power of family and home, and as a single mother who believes she raised her daughter quite well, she puts a lot of pressure on parents of all kinds to step up to the role they are in and take responsibility. Chile is a country made up of a lot of single mothers; in fact, our Poetry instructor, Marcelo, told us that it’s probably easier in Chile to find a single mother than to find two parents raising a family together (this is definitely truer in certain parts of town than in others). Anyway, Gladys is constantly talking about the importance of a safe, educational, healthy home life, and she believes that pretty much every problem a person has is due in some way to their upbringing. I think she’s right in some ways, but that’s also sad because many parents are not given the resources they need to be good parents and/or they are tired, poor, and completely on their own. I look at the girls at Cerro Navia and can hardly believe they are, some of them, five or six years younger than I am. To me, they look much older, but that’s just life wearing on them, I think. Inside, I believe they are scared, confused, exhausted little girls. I want to get to know them and share with them, but I haven’t been able to form a meaningful relationship with any of them thus far. I know this can take awhile, but I’ve only got until July 22nd!


Among many lessons Chile has taught me so far, I think this is one of them—I can’t come here and make a huge difference in six months. Perhaps my time here is less about “doing” and more about “being,” as I think I’ve mentioned before. More about listening and observing and less about directing and criticizing. Less about expectations and more about patience and a willingness to understand things from a different perspective. Sometimes, our slogan reigns so true: Things don’t work. But, that’s often because of the way I expect things to work, and frankly, that’s not the only way. I think everyone should have this sort of experience—living in a totally different place for a significant chunk of time—if only to understand that there are a lot of ways to do things, and having a plan of action or an idea of how something should be isn’t always the best way to approach a situation. It’s hard, here, to feel like I’m pretty passive in most of the “work” I’m trying to do, but I think I’m being an active contributor in different ways—listening, watching, learning, and reflecting, perhaps—and that will help me when I return home.


That being said, I have received a lot of exciting news from home recently. I’m going to be a Manresa Scholar next year, which means I’ll be putting in about 15 hours/week working, in some capacity, at Milwaukee parish. This could mean I am doing anything from Confirmation or young adult ministry to retreat planning and other outreach opportunities. I’m hoping to be placed in a community with a large Hispanic population, but I don’t know yet where I’ll be. In addition, I’ve recently been told that I’ll be the Student Director for Marquette’s most “intense” retreat, Marquette Experience. I’ll be working on MUEX22 in the spring with a PHENOMENAL group of people, and I am so blessed and humbled to be offered this position. Next year, I’ll surely have a plethora of opportunities through which I can continue to process and apply all of the lessons I’m learning here in Chile.


I hope this message finds you well… and warm! I am thinking of all of you who are enduring your last week of classes and/or Finals Week, and especially in my thoughts are all of the beautiful graduating seniors who have been a light to me thus far in my career as an undergrad. Congratulations to you all!


Happy May, Happy Friday, and Happy [Chilean] Labor Day, everyone, and remember— I love you!


Until soon, un besito,


Amanda