Journal for aninnema

A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. Is not the mountain far more awe-inspiring and more clearly visible to one passing through the valley than to those who inhabit the mountain?
-Kahlil Gibran

I miss things. I was lying in bed Friday night, worn out from week two of Spanish intensivo and week three of “the dream.” I sat reading emails from recruitment, browsing pictures of friends, and anticipating the skype dates that awaited me in the morning. Amidst my kanoodling, I came upon a little known fact: I am roughly 5700 miles away from home. The pictures, the messages, the distance… I was overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed by the distance and how alone I am.

I have never been alone in this way. I sat in bed craving a s’more in front of Arley’s fireplace or an opportunity to facebook chat session with Veah while we sit next to each other in room 1. I needed a what’s-the-deal-with-boys/ Eliza-was-a tragedy-last-night session. I wanted a text message from my little brother or a scrub-worthy Tuesday afternoon with no class and one of Steve’s muffins. I scoured facebook, eagerly anticipating news of new members and updates on all the things 5700 miles of land and water and language separate me from. I started to tear up when it dawned on me that I hadn’t had a bowl of cereal or a cup of green tea in over 20 days… and with that, the last three weeks of fear and excitement, sadness and contentment poured out of me. I shut off my computer and I turned out the light and I stared out the window and I missed things.

I needed the tough moment. I usually do. Saturday was good - I still checked facebook twenty times for news of new girls, but letting the feelings out reinforced the opportunities I have to look forward to amidst all that is absent. I don’t get Steve’s muffins, I get mama’s paella every Sunday afternoon. I don’t get smore’s at Arley’s, I get churros y chocolate at Café Brasilia with Taryn. I can’t do campus tours because ‘tis the time for botellones, discotecas and late nights (well, early mornings actually). And scrub-worthy Tuesdays are actually scrub-worthy Fridays with no class. Nothing is replaced; new things are just temporarily included.

Yes, the ‘mountain’ is quite beautiful from the ‘valley’, more so than I realized while I dwelled upon it. I will continue to stand in awe and in yearning for the heights from which I have descended (to be nice and sappy and metaphorical) and I plan on scouring facebook on at least a (tri)weekly basis to remember the things that await me 5700 miles to the west. Saturday morning, however, found me staring out the window with a slightly different train of thought than that of the night before: its time to enjoy the valley that I have admired from the mountain for so long.

Posted by Alexandra M Ninneman at 12:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hola a todos!

Let me start by saying that my thoughts are very mumble-jumbled and all over the place right now. Amidst the various letters, journals, documents, languages and experiences I have been immersed in these last few weeks, I am having a tad bit of difficulty keeping everything all together. This blog is an attempt to share all this AND put my thoughts together into something understandable, that makes a little more sense than the late night scribbles and poorly conceived spanish conversations I piece together on a regular basis. I hope you enjoy, and I apologize if you get lost. I get lost too, but thats most of the fun :) So lets begin.

“Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.”
- Vaclav Havel

It started as it has every time before: the southwest blue skies touching the desert soils and black tarmac, the white wings of jet planes lingering somewhere between the two. Albuquerque to Denver, Denver to Philadelphia, and finally, after months of paperwork and anticipation, excitement and anxiety, one plane after another, it was Philadelphia to Madrid.
7 hours of flight time between one country and another. 8 hours between my real mother and my Spanish one. 80 hours in a Spanish Intensive Course during the month of January, and 6 months between now and the time I will set foot onto any desert soils beneath southwest skies familiar to me, again.

Time. Its heavy on my mind lately. Two whole weeks have passed since I left but many more lie ahead. I don't know which scares me more. The first days were hard; arriving in Madrid alone, unsure and unbelievably tired, I couldn't help but wonder why the heck I thought this was a good idea. The people weren't the friendliest nor the most understanding and I felt VERY much ALONE, in the most uncomfortable of ways. So I slept. I unpacked and repacked. I floated in a myriad of restless thoughts while I tried to bathe away my discomfort. I woke up at 2:00 am and packed some more. Finally, at around 9:00, I checked out of my hotel, made my way to the bus station, and waited to meet the place I currently consider home.

Since, things have improved tremendously. My host mother is AMAZING. She cooks us delicious food, does our laundry, and is the sweetest, most loving señora ever. Taryn and I have very much been included as parts of the family and "Ana Mama" as we call her has made it very clear that it is our house too. School is difficult - my lovely gee (miss you!) asked me how 4 hours of spanish a day were treating me. I had to correct her that its actually 24 hours of Spanish, 5.5 of which are spent in class, lol. I can always tell what kind of a day it will be first thing when I wake up: if my thoughts are in spanish, vale, things will be fine. If not, well, lots of coffee and and a little more work are required. Its getting easier - even though the 5.5 hours of class are resulting in long days and the realization that I need to study A LOT, they have already made understanding and speaking unbelievably better.

Other great things: Tapas are free with drinks here in Granada, something I know I am going to love (and hate when my clothes don't fit anymore) very much and miss when I venture outside the city. Beer and vino is also readily available (Granada has one of the highest bars per capita of any city in Spain. Perfect!). People like to dance ( Taryn and I didn't return until 6:30 am - early in spanish time - from dancing in a discoteca). I get nutella for breakfast EVERYDAY. The list goes on... I would say this whole Spain thing was a GREAT idea after all.

Ok. I need to study copious amounts of spanish grammar/sleep/stop babbling about things I have lots of time to share with you at a later date. In case you care to know, my address is:

Ana López Ruiz
Alexandra Ninneman
Fermín Garrido, 8 - Edificio Brasilia - Portal 1-1°D
18012 Granada SPAIN

Love is always appreciated :)
Un beso, and thanks for your attention despite the rambles!

Posted by Alexandra M Ninneman at 01:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)