Así es Chile

*Play song while reading*


This is the story of a boy. It is the story that began over a year ago and has endured ever since. The story is a fairytale, only understood by the dragons and princesses that lived the experience. The story takes place in foreign lands with strange languages and customs. And there is magic. There most definitely is magic.

And like all stories, this one must end.

Happy endings and ever-after’s in any context are subjective, and so it is that saying goodbye to Chile is a process filled with mixed and varied emotions.

For the past few weeks, I have painfully counted down the days, the parties, the final exams and the goodbyes until now. I have a few days left, but I do want everyone in Chile to know how much they mean to me. Especially, amigo, how much you mean to me.

With a wave of the finger, I put off this moment for as long as I could, refusing to acknowledge the wrenching emotions of being uprooted and torn from a life I have come to enjoy and normalize; of a life built and lived and enjoyed here in this city.

“It must be weird to go back to normal life,” said our program director last week.
“This is my normal life,” I replied.

I can’t pretend like I haven’t noticed the smiles over the past few weeks, the ones that so obviously concealed a hint of pain, of knowing that whatever moment we were in would never be reproduced because I am, by no fault of my own, transient in this country.

Transient, yes. But not fleeting. You see, it was tempting and at times easy to treat my time here in Chile like a vacation, or as if I were merely visiting this country of extremes. Understanding that I was here with limited time was never something I had to struggle with; however approaching it as something more than a tourist’s destination was what made my experience (and that of many of my friends) different, I feel like. Being a resident, albeit foreign, made being in Santiago for the last year much more rewarding in the sense that I was (am) able to integrate to some extent into a society which generally is very guarded towards outsiders.

A foreign resident. I guess that would be an accurate way to sum up this year. My status here has always been that of a “foreigner,” no matter how accepted I was in a given situation. People calling me “the gringo” or “the immigrant,” were endearing most of the time.

You see, friend, ever since the excited restlessness of “going home” began to leak into my bloodstream, making my body tense with anticipation and dread, I have been caught between two extremes of my experience: I’ve wanted for a while to see my family and friends, to drive down Soundview Drive with untied running shoes on my feet and a pair of $10 sunglasses on my face. I’ve longed for 6th Ave. and the Narrows Bridges and rocky beaches with cold waters. I’ve also missed desperately towering giants called Redwoods, cracked roads that stretch into the Bottoms and the Westwood neighborhood.

But despite all of these things pulling me back “above” the equator, there is absolutely nothing pushing me from, and out of, Santiago. I cannot bring myself to imagine saying goodbye to anyone for the last time. To realize that a single handshake, hug, kiss on the cheek and look in the eye could be (and probably will be) the last time I see many of my friends here is something that is impossibly difficult to grasp, not only because of its magnitude, finality and unfortunate truth, but because it is something that I have, like many people, never had to deal with. It is arguably something that shouldn’t have to be dealt with.

For a while, I will admit, I was worried about how I was dealing with leaving. While many of my friends told stories of crying while looking through pictures from this year or of plans for extending their trip by a couple weeks, I was starting my 10-day countdown, so far tearless, and making plans for the summer in Washington. I felt like maybe I wasn’t as connected to Chile or its people (my friends) as I thought I was. In all honesty, I would have rather spent a night crying while looking at parties from my first days here than being pumped on going home because that, to me, would have been an appropriate, understandable and healthy reaction to my present circumstances. Being excited to leave Chile was inappropriate, I thought. Let me rephrase, it was being excited to go back to the United States, not necessarily to leave Chile.

However, with 9 days to go, I shut down physically and emotionally and entered a 12-hour depression slump which, after some careful examination, was/is my response to dealing with leaving a place and an experience which I have loved. It wasn’t an outright breakdown, there were no tears, but there was a desire to not have to deal with the goodbyes or to face the fact that this, like everything, must end.

I had always imagined that weekend being epic- crazy parties that lasted until mid-morning and tribute songs and empty bottles and walks through the city at night. That’s how it was supposed to be. You see, in a twisted and dark context, all of this seems rather romantic. People hugging and saying goodbye, a tear falling over the edge of an eyelid, music in the background and balloons on the floor. It’s an ideal way to leave a country. However, as I must realize, that isn’t the only nor necessarily the right way to leave a country. Returning the USA might be as simple as packing my bags and getting on the plane. And is that a bad thing? Would that be a bad thing? For a while, I thought so. I still dislike the idea. I’d rather go out with a bang and leave a positive and memorable mark on Santiago, but I have to also be happy with this year as a whole and not base my “success” in studying abroad on one party in one weekend.

An example of this realization came last night when I went grocery shopping for the last time. For a few months, (Baby) Tay(lor) and I have had the tradition of going grocery shopping at the local supermarket every Sunday night. We’d meet on the corner in between our buildings and then walk under street lamps by San Borja Park where gender-ambiguous teenagers would meet, as if that park was a designated refuge from the judgmental eye of the conservative streets that surround it. We’d wheel our red baskets through each and every aisle, every week, starting with produce and ending with buying bread and maybe even some cookies. But last night, I didn’t meet Taylor. I normally catch her online sometime during the afternoon and we make plans to meet; but because of school, she wasn’t online. So, I slowly stumbled down the street in my sweats, past the park and through the plaza and around the corner into the fluorescent lights of the doorway of the market where a merchant was selling hats, flags, scarves and banners for the next day’s World Cup game against Switzerland (later won by Chile 1-0). Clumsily and with heavy eyelids, I grabbed my basket and began the shopping routine that I had countless times repeated with Taylor, recounting the adventures of the weekend. But this time, I was alone. A nondescript song played from my iPod as I weaved through the aisles, thinking about all the things I would never have to buy again in Chile. It was a somber experience. While looking at the chocolate, I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I turned around, I pulled a headphone out of my left ear and then saw a red-faced Taylor.

“I’m so sorry. I totally spaced,” she said, with watery eyes. “I just ran here.”
I gave her the customary kiss on the cheek and hug and told her that it wasn’t anything to worry about and that I understood.

“It’s no big deal, really. We can just go shopping next Sunday before my flight.”

Pulling away, I saw that the tears had started.

“No, I feel so stupid,” Taylor said, wiping her cheek. “I love shopping with you!”

You have to know, friend, that this was a ritual for us. And this last day was an important one for both us that, for many reasons, meant a lot.

It was in that (not-so)romantic movie-scene moment that my last week in Chile officially began. And it is because of friends like Taylor and many others that I’m so happy with my year abroad.

However, I can’t pretend that the past few weeks haven’t been enjoyable or that they haven’t brought relief. Ending this semester in school is, like always, a relief- to be done with this semester marks the end of my junior year and the beginning of my senior year, a transition which, also given its finality, makes it seem like a big deal. Today being the first day of winter (or summer, depending on your hemisphere), it makes sense that I/we discuss change and its significance and inevitability in life. But as much as change has been a theme of this fairytale, as they say, some things never change.

So, just like our first night here when we stumbled upon a riot in Plaza Italia, it also makes sense that I should experience another riot in the same place today, but after Chile’s win against Switzerland in the World Cup. I would be lying completely if I said that standing amidst thousands of people in red soccer jerseys wearing red, white and blue face paint jumping up and down, waving flags, lighting fire crackers and throwing confetti (and throwing bottles at police cars, cornering a group of riot police against a building, fighting, pick pocketing and vandalizing buildings) is something I wouldn’t miss. In fact, if you put the word “Chilean” in front of anything, it’s quite probable that I will miss it.

Sadly, this could quite possibly be my last blog update from Chile. And if that is the case, my friend, know that this year has been the most memorable of all. Know that I don’t take anything back. Know that I have grown and changed and evolved in indescribable ways. Know that, in this fairytale, I saved the princess and killed the dragon. Know that this story does have a “happily ever after” ending. And know that you have made it all significant and important.

If you want to be a ´Jack

http://thehood.raptorhideout.com/t_pain_dom.mp3

There are things you wrestle with, you know.
Things that are life decisions, or that change your daily life. They are decisions that you don´t take lightly and they are ones which require a lot of thought.
Wrestling with these options and choices and alternatives and pros and cons and why´s and why not´s and what have you is difficult. It´s tiring. But it is always important.
What I have found, though, is that God speaks to me in impulses (Side note: The problem with this sort of communication is separating ¨divine¨ impulses with normal ones, if the two are really even that different).
So, when I not-so-accidentally received the Humboldt Cross Country meet schedule yesterday, my aching longing to again run for that team and my impulse to E-mail the new head coach were the answer to the question that has been bothering me for the past several months: should I run next fall or not?
I urgently sent out a few E-mails to friends seeking advice, even though I already knew what I was going to do about the situation.
Deciding to run Cross is the right choice, I think. It does change my outlook on this coming semester and how I was approaching it. But, in the end, I do think that it is a decision that is truer to who I am than the decision to not run.
Going back to Humboldt will be interesting. Not only will I have been away for a year, but also it is my last year; additionally, Sandy won´t be there as a coach and a few of my best friends have left Humboldt. Running then, isn´t just something that makes me happy and that I want to do, but it is something that familiarizes a place that, upon return, will be completely different.
But change is something that must be embraced, just like Primetime TV shows have told us for years. Change isn´t something that happens on occasion but it is a state in which we live constantly and inescapably. A process of elimination leaves optimism and opportunism as the only two logical and healthy reactions to what is now going on in my life.
Less existentially, as I ran today, I ran a normal distance on a normal route, but I felt better. I felt like me. I felt purposeful.
Running alone in Chile for the next month will be difficult and boring, but it will be a lot better than not running, and it will be a lot better now having something to run for.
So with this difficult decision behind me and a whole season of possibilities ahead of me, I´m excited. And most of all, I´m happy with the decision I made.