Sunday 12 July 2015
As an apology for not posting for over a week, I finished my post that I started last Friday and wrote a follow up, both on the same day. To ensure the most views, though, I posted them on different days.
(Note: Aurora just said that she is turning on the air and I cried a little tear of joy. I feel like the Wicked Witch of the West. I’m melting, melting! Except in my own sweat. You’re welcome for the lovely image.)
Now, having gone over fashion in Spain, I would like to comment on my personal experiences and how I would edit my packing list after having lived in Sevilla for 8 ½ weeks.
Strangely enough, aside from the one time at the music festival where a bartender thought we were from Cádiz, the times when I have been treated as a native have been at my local Chinese restaurant, Wan Bao. Both times that I have gone to just grab some tofu and rice to go, the waiters have spoken Spanish, have been super nice, and have not treated me like an American (even though I went in wearing a t-shirt and jean shorts the other day).
I don’t know how people identify me as an American. It could be my freckles. It could be my height. It’s probably the way I dress. Actually it’s definitely all three put together. I’ve tried to dress like a Spaniard, but it is just so durn hot. I stoped trying after the first few weeks, once the temperatures started escalating to Hade’s hot yoga room.
Being American is like having a pimple on your face. You try so hard to hide the pimple and pretend to be normal, but nothing works. You can try covering it with makeup as much as you want, but it is somehow still noticeable and you don’t know how. You’ll be talking to someone, doing your best to draw their attention away from your pimple, making it seem like another one of the many freckles on your face. Somehow, though, their eyes always stray to it. Depending on the person, you may receive different reactions. Here are a few examples:
The polite ignorer. The polite ignorer tries her very best to ignore the growth on your face. They will look and take note of it one time, and continue on with the conversation, pretending as though they don’t know your secret.
The starer. You might not even be having a conversation with him. He is probably a good ten feet away from you, yet your pimple reflects like some sort of super lighthouse, calling all people with lovely skin to notice the pimple and stare. Just stare. They don’t talk to you. They don’t know you. They just give you a once over, a little sneer, and go on their way, making you feel like you were somehow just violated, but you don’t know how or why.
The pitier. As though he has been training his entire life to notice when people have pimples, the first thing he notices about you is not your intelligence or your fashionable outfit, it is your pimple. He didn’t even ask if it was a pimple or not, he just assumed [correctly]. Just like that, he starts to speak in baby-talk, refusing to acknowledge that you have been living in Spain for 8 ½ weeks and gosh darn it you know how to speak Spanish! Ahem.
The questioner. After a few minutes of interaction with her, she notices a slight discoloration on your face.
“Is that a pimple?” she asks.
“No. It’s, uh, a freckle.”
“Are you sure? It looks pretty red to me.”
“Yeah, I have weird skin like that heh heh. Oh look, a unicorn!” (Runs away)
There is no explaining to the questioner that you do not need her help despite your best efforts at distraction.
Moving on, before I suddenly start comparing my status as an American to something equally disgusting.
Looking back on my time here, I would like to edit my packing list a tad. Some items I wish I had brought more of, some less, and some I wish I hadn’t brought at all. For instance, you cannot have too many socks if you are a regular exerciser. I had to buy more for myself. I also would have brought a different bathing suit top. For some reason, I thought I had brought my favorite strapless top as well as the one I had brought. Now I have weird tan lines from the one top that I brought. Regrets.
On a daily basis, I either wear a dress or shorts and a nice shirt. If I had more acceptable dresses in my closet at home, I would have packed more dresses. As it were, I didn’t. That’s not a problem, really, but I wish I could find more dresses that I like in general.
Okay, mom, I did not pack too much underwear. One of the girls last session brought two pairs. She also apparently did not shower every day. Or every two days. She showered every four days or so. Grody.
In terms of shirts, I would have brought more tank tops – day to day and comfortable. Some of the shirts that I brought I don’t really wear here, as I prefer to wear them with jeans, and tank tops are just that much cooler. When lounging around the casa, I like to wear something more comfortable, because there is no escaping the heat no matter where you go. I would rather not sweat in my nice clothes if I can help it. Knowing this now, I have some lovely sorority tank tops (Tri Sigma woo!) that are super confortable that I would prefer to wear in general and for pajamas.
I think that I should have brought one more work out outfit. Had I brought the comfortable tank tops, though, I would have brought another pair of lounge shorts, and I wouldn’t have to wear exercise clothing around the casa. Then I wouldn’t have this problem. Never mind.
In general, I am pretty happy with what I packed. I would have changed some of the shirts that I packed, knowing what I do now. There isn’t much that I would have altered, though. A few things here and there, but nothing has been dire. I managed to fit everything in one suitcase, and I plan on keeping it that way when I go back home.
One lesson that I have learned from being here is what I do and do not like to wear. I brought clothes from home that I didn’t wear there and don’t wear here. I can now tell myself that if I don’t wear something in the States and I don’t wear it in Spain – where I literally do not have any other options – I probably won’t wear it anywhere and should donate it to someone who needs it. Thankfully, Sevilla has these handy dumpsters for clothes donations, so I can open up some space in my suitcase for when I come back. I can make room in my suitcase for gifts and give to a person in need at the same time. It works out perfectly.
Sunday morning I made more pan de plátano (banana bread) for the fam. They love it, so I managed to make somebody’s day just a little bit better, which, in turn, made my day just a little bit better. I hope your day is even greater.
Shoutout to one of my best friends, Rebeka. She also reads my blog on a regular basis and has sent me some lovely puns. Lurve you, chica, and hope you feel better.
I Hear Stories 