Katie's Blog

 Welcome Home to the Land of Ice and Snow

(I should admit at this point that a large factor in my decision to come to Hendrix -- besides the Odyssey program and the low student-to-faculty ratio and all that other great stuff -- was that Conway, Ark., is generally much, much warmer than, say, Gambier, Ohio, or Grinnell, Iowa.)

But I'm here, and it's cold, and I'm trying to get over it.  It's been a slow process.

Step 1: Hibernation.  I spent the first week at home sleeping in my bed most of the day.  Waking hours were used to Skype and Facebook chat with my friends from Mexico.  (We actually mainly use MSN messenger, but that noun doesn't form itself into a verb quite as easily.)  I also began reading On Mexican Time by Tony Cohan.  It chronicles his move to San Miguel de Allende, the awesome colonial town I'll be visiting in February thanks to an Odyssey grant. 

The first week was also when I really got over any "Oh yeah, I guess they don't do that in America, do they?" culture shock.  Like greeting people by kissing them on the cheek.  I went back to my high school to visit some teachers, and the first few I visited received warm hugs and cheek kisses.  People don't really do that in America ... .  Oops.  I also transitioned back to "Huh?" instead of the Spanish "Mande?" and substituted my favorite exclamation, "Ay!", with some choice four-letter words.

Step 2: Get out of the house.  Preferably to visit Mexican restaurants, or places where people will be speaking Spanish.  I went to visit Indiana for a week to see my twin sister direct a play.  An Argentinian play, in Spanish.  And afterwards she, the cast and I went out for Mexican food.  That was Monday night.  The rest of the week, I slept.

Step 3: Re-bond with Hendrix people!  My favorite Hendrixians are out of school and/or back from their study-abroad programs now.  Thursday night I drove two hours west to Columbia, Mo., to see my friends in the Hendrix choir perform their Candlelight Carol service on tour.  Afterward, during the real, oh-my-gosh-it's-been-seven-months-since-I-saw-you reunion, I cried.  I am a crier.  Tonight my friend and soon-to-be roommate Sarah had a birthday party.  It was a joyful event that also involved my friend Emily, my former and future roommate.  Sarah, Emily and I will be living in one of the campus-owned apartments together this spring.  I've been spending lots of (OK -- too much of) my time on IKEA.com, trying to come to grips with the fact that I could be buying furniture now that I will be using for the rest of my life.  And do I really want to be bringing guys home when I'm 25 and inviting to sleep in that prissy white bed?  Or will I get totally bored of that green table in two days?  These are life decisions!

This step also involves very vivid dreams of being back in Mexico.  In fact, last night I was in Oaxaca -- a southern state I never even actually visited.  I was buying Christmas presents for people -- better presents than the ones I actually did bring back.  But the recipients don't need to know that.

I'm sure there will be more steps to come, but I haven't taken them yet.  I think trimming the Douglas Fir my family just bought and gift-wrapping Christmas presents is about all I'll be up to for the next few days.  I can't decide if I'm more relieved or upset that the deep, aching emptiness I felt as I flew away from Mexico has faded.  My last night in Mexico, I swore I was a changed person.  I thought about permanently inking the "Hecho en México" henna tattoo I had stamped on my hip in Acapulco.  I didn't, and the henna has faded now.  And from day-to-day interactions with me I guess you can't really tell that I've studied abroad.  But I know that the memories I made in Mexico -- the streets I walked, the friends I hugged, the salsa I danced, the Spanglish I heard and the chavo I quería  -- are strongly, deeply present with me.  And I guess I couldn't ask for more.

Dec. 2, 2008

The hard goodbyes started last Saturday, Nov. 29.  I had already said farewells to my classmates and teachers, and to the routine I established throughout the semester.  The end was near, I knew. But when my nine best friends and I got together that morning, several still red-eyed from the teary farewells of the night before, it really hit home that everything was about to change.  And not in that good, Barack Obama kind of way. 

Standing in the kitchen of the Canadian girls’ house – where not so long ago we had planned our first group outing, where we toasted Sam’s birthday, and Jordan’s – I was overcome by the sense that I was losing my own family members.  I started to cry, and it was just the beginning of our 17-hour Last Day Together.  We started the day with a hearty homemade breakfast.  We ate our scrambled eggs on tortillas with refried beans. We sprinkled our pineapple chunks with chili powder.  We are part Mexican now.

Afterwards, we gathered in the living room for a long-awaited Secret Santa swap.  (I gifted a Juno soundtrack CD and received a turquoise sundress.  Thanks for asking.)  Gifts exchanged, we headed to a local flea market, where we ordered 10 matching T-shirts to be airbrushed, gangsta style.  Each says “MTY’08” on the front and is personalized like a jersey on the back.  Mine, number six, says “Arroz” on top – the Spanish word for my last name, Rice.

About half of our T-shirts still incomplete after hours of waiting, we gave up and headed to our last dinner (Last Supper, if you will).  Rick, the only European and by far the classiest among us, picked out an Asian fusion restaurant named Riviera. It’s funny – I had to come to Mexico to appreciate sushi.  In between courses, the nine and I (we call ourselves “The Originals”) took more group pictures than you’d imagine possible.  Our dinner, which started at 8, ended at 10:45, as we hurriedly paid and raced across the street – to a Starbuck’s that was about to close.  It was going to be a long night, and we needed to be fully caffeinated!

Back at the Canadians’ house we played a Spanish version of Twister (“pie derecho, rojo!”) for hours.  As late night turned to morning we headed to the park across the street, where back in August we played a very short-lived game of “Never Have I Ever …”.  The weather now frigid, we played a game we call “Guess Who?” until we were shaking with cold.  (One of my favorite things about my friends, both in Monterrey and at Hendrix, is that our party games don’t have to be drinking games.  Especially since we wanted to be sober enough to remember everything.)

Around 4 a.m. we headed inside again, we congregated in Sam and Natasha’s bedroom to officially recall our favorite moments of the semester.  I have them recorded on my trusty digital audio recorder.  Around 5, with poor 19-year-old Mario fully asleep and the rest of us elders wandering in a state of extreme confusion, we parted ways.  I bid adieu to Holly of Portland.  Seven hours later, after our last breakfast together in the school cafeteria, I said goodbye to Ronak (of Hong Kong), Jordan (of Seattle), and Jonathan (of Iowa), my best amigos from the dormitories.  Last night, after a 3-day stay in Acapulco, I said goodbye to Sam and Natasha (the Canadians) and my dearest friend, the Dutchman Rick.  He and I met on Orientation day and have been confidantes ever since.  I’ll likely miss him most.

So now, sitting alone in a tiny hostel room in Acapulco, my tears dried for now, I am prepping to return to Monterrey.  I have three days to say goodbye to everyone else in my life – my R.A. Otho, the girls from my dorm, my friends from the trip to Washington, and my Pollo (boyfriend) and his friends.  These will be some of my hardest goodbyes – although I am planning a trip to Monterrey in February.  For the next few days, though, I’ll be that sunburned gringa with mascara smeared down her cheeks, wincing every time someone hugs her too hard.