Thursday, December 23, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Where I'm From
A classmate asked me today whether I felt truly American, and, well the answer I gave him was no. All my life I've felt like a foreigner, a European raised in America. I've always stressed the fact that my heritage is from the other side of the Atlantic, that I wasn't even born in America. Of course, I've spent a good deal of time with family in their respective countries, listening and speaking (in Germany) in the language, experiencing the culture, eating the food, etc. especially when I spent two years in The Netherlands where my grandparents' house was just an hour away, but it's not quite the same. Sure, I have customs, mannerisms, ways of doing things that are very much German or Turkish, and I've been educated to compose myself like a German with the Germans and a Turk with the Turks, but as soon as I left home everything I would do was completely American. I learned the American school system, studied the American government, spoke American English (New Jersey style if we want to get specific), pledged to an American flag (which I actually stopped doing in middle school for my personal reasons (respectfully, of course)), watched American movies, played sports the American way, celebrated American holidays, I could go on forever. Of course, this entered in the home too, it wasn't like I suddenly went to Europe when I entered the front door.
The point I'm trying to make is, I often felt uncomfortable telling people I was American. I'd go into a large ramble about how my mom's German, my dad's Turkish, I was born in Canada and my brother in England, expressing my extreme pride for my heritage every time someone asked my where I'm from. I'd even written about memories of sitting on my grandparents' balcony eating apricots and frozen bananas on a hot afternoon in Istanbul and watching the cows from my grandparents' back lawn in Germany in a "Where I'm From" poem in the sixth grade. I had a lot of trouble differentiating between where I'm from and who I am, and although heritage is important, and all of those memories in the end count very much to who I become and where I've come from, the question, "Where are you from?" has changed a great deal over the past few years for me, due to not only mindset but also location. In short, I never really felt American. That is, until I arrived here.
One of the first large observations I made here was how much of an accent I had (have, I don't know about regularly but now and then I say something with such an American accent I feel like I'm speaking English) I used to think I had a decent accent and I found it a little amusing when I'd hear some of my classmates speak spanish with such an American accent it almost seemed on purpose. It wasn't my spanish accent that really caught me off guard, that one I had coming for me. It was the American accent I have that all of a sudden sounded so weird, so different...
The reason I bring up the accent is because one day I was explaning to a Canadian friend I have here that comes from French-Canada how I don't really consider myself an American, and she basically told me that to her I am American, I have the accent, the customs, I grew up there. And for the next few days that conversation stuck with me. I slowly began to realize that, well, it's not where my parents are from, its not where my granparents are from, nor is it the blood they passed on to me that gives me any certain nationality.
In the end I didn't give my classmate a good answer today. It wasn't well-thought-out, either, just a habitual answer I was so used to giving for that question, but I've come to quite the conclusion. I'm much less European than the Italian guy that came for a trimester or the Belgian girl I became good friends with. I floated toward an American friend (who, although from across the country, shares many of the same types of observations, notices the same little oddities, even likes the same manner of saying certain words as me) whenever I felt a little left out or didn't know what was going on during the orientations for a reason: something familiar. Something I could relate to. Something American, just like me.
I'd like to clarify that in the above post solely my opinions are being posted. It has been written without intention to offend in any manner and I am in absolutely no way stating that I feel there is anything wrong with being American nor is there a problem with feeling like a foreigner. This is simply a matter of opinion and open to discussion, however I hope everyone understands the angle I am taking here and am merely writing to express prior and present mindsets and don't mean to impose on the mindsets of others. Thank you for understanding.
The point I'm trying to make is, I often felt uncomfortable telling people I was American. I'd go into a large ramble about how my mom's German, my dad's Turkish, I was born in Canada and my brother in England, expressing my extreme pride for my heritage every time someone asked my where I'm from. I'd even written about memories of sitting on my grandparents' balcony eating apricots and frozen bananas on a hot afternoon in Istanbul and watching the cows from my grandparents' back lawn in Germany in a "Where I'm From" poem in the sixth grade. I had a lot of trouble differentiating between where I'm from and who I am, and although heritage is important, and all of those memories in the end count very much to who I become and where I've come from, the question, "Where are you from?" has changed a great deal over the past few years for me, due to not only mindset but also location. In short, I never really felt American. That is, until I arrived here.
One of the first large observations I made here was how much of an accent I had (have, I don't know about regularly but now and then I say something with such an American accent I feel like I'm speaking English) I used to think I had a decent accent and I found it a little amusing when I'd hear some of my classmates speak spanish with such an American accent it almost seemed on purpose. It wasn't my spanish accent that really caught me off guard, that one I had coming for me. It was the American accent I have that all of a sudden sounded so weird, so different...
The reason I bring up the accent is because one day I was explaning to a Canadian friend I have here that comes from French-Canada how I don't really consider myself an American, and she basically told me that to her I am American, I have the accent, the customs, I grew up there. And for the next few days that conversation stuck with me. I slowly began to realize that, well, it's not where my parents are from, its not where my granparents are from, nor is it the blood they passed on to me that gives me any certain nationality.
In the end I didn't give my classmate a good answer today. It wasn't well-thought-out, either, just a habitual answer I was so used to giving for that question, but I've come to quite the conclusion. I'm much less European than the Italian guy that came for a trimester or the Belgian girl I became good friends with. I floated toward an American friend (who, although from across the country, shares many of the same types of observations, notices the same little oddities, even likes the same manner of saying certain words as me) whenever I felt a little left out or didn't know what was going on during the orientations for a reason: something familiar. Something I could relate to. Something American, just like me.
I'd like to clarify that in the above post solely my opinions are being posted. It has been written without intention to offend in any manner and I am in absolutely no way stating that I feel there is anything wrong with being American nor is there a problem with feeling like a foreigner. This is simply a matter of opinion and open to discussion, however I hope everyone understands the angle I am taking here and am merely writing to express prior and present mindsets and don't mean to impose on the mindsets of others. Thank you for understanding.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Video of the AFS trip from New York to Madrid
Click
All credits go to Jacob Spetzler, fellow AFSer, American, and, at the moment, fellow resident of the Basque Country.
All credits go to Jacob Spetzler, fellow AFSer, American, and, at the moment, fellow resident of the Basque Country.
Autumn and the "Home" Feeling
Well, it's not exactly autumn anymore, but I feel as though I've been cheated out of the most beautiful season of the year. Everything's still green here. That's not to say the trees aren't bare or holding on to their browned leaves for dear life, just that Autumn wasn't quite as marvellous as I had expected it to be when I first arrived here, thinking about how the green would slowly turn into a marvellous mix of yellow, orange and red as I'm so used to seeing in the leaves back home. It didn't quite live up to my expectations. I still see a large mass of green as I look out the window and the only color changing that's really taken place was one of the hills which actually turned white a couple times due to the snow. That's not to say I'd give up all this green to have autumn back, although I could do without all the rain. I suppose it's just another one of those changes where you remember that it's not good or bad, it's not better or worse, it's just completely different.
And that slowly brings me onto my next topic. As I walk across Urnieta from home to the polideportivo (basically a sports center where there's a gym for handball games, a swimming pool, a soccer field, tennis courts and other facilities as well as the showers. every town has one) I generally have a little chunk of time to myself, alone, just to think about whatever or listen to music. Friday, on my way to practice, as I passed by this little park for kids that I have to go through every time I go to practice, to meet with my friends, the bus station or even just to buy lettuce from the supermarket if I take that route, I got this strange, warm feeling inside me all of a sudden. I didn't quite know what it was at first, but it felt familiar. Today, it happened again, as I was lying on the couch attempting to take a siesta, but in the end didn't manage doing so, but I felt so comfortable under a warm blanket just looking at the reflection of the little streak of clouds in an otherwise clear sky in the glass of a large painting hung in the living room. But as I mulled over, once again, what the feeling could possibly be, I remembered back to those days in Tenafly where I'd go out for a short walk with some music just to enjoy the fall weather and, of course, to marvel at all the colors that surrounded me. Those were the days where I'd get that very same feeling I've been having lately, and I've finally discovered what it really means: it's that "home" feeling. That warm feeling you get on the inside when you just feel so safe and, well, at home, with your surroundings, where everything's so normal to you, and you feel as though you could walk around with a blindfold on and still find your way because you're so sure of where everything is and what's going on around you.
I guess getting that feeling is supposed to be a big feat in my year here, finally feeling comfortable and confident with where I am, having overcome the initial overall feeling of just being completely lost in another world based on completely different morals, history, geography, culture, language, and customs than what I've grown up with. But I think it has had a different meaning for me. It's been more of a catalyst for me. It's sparked new trains of thought running through my mind, new perspectives of the two lives I've now become accustomed to.
I once told my host mom how I've never felt like I've ever really "belonged." In every place I've lived, every place I've gone to school, for one reason or another, I just never quite felt completely at peace with myself, as though there was just something "off" between the harmony of me and my surroundings. But getting that "home" feeling on my way to practice, reminding myself all of a sudden of those days where I'd go from the track to the gym at school after track practice or waking up at 8 in the morning christmas break to go run ten 400's in the freezing cold, made me realize the true meaning of the word "home." You don't quite have to fit in with everybody else to feel at home, and you don't even have to feel like you belong. Home isn't the place where you were born, and it doesn't even have to be where you've spent all your life. For many of us, well, that may be the case. It could be where you grew up, where you are now, where you spent your time studying, whether it be college, boarding school, even studying abroad, but it's not the where that makes the difference. The "where" is what we often call "house," but the real "home" is, well, that's you. Home lies within all of us, and it takes a while to dig deep down enough to unlock it, and a whole lot longer to interpret it your way. For me, home is normal. Home is that place where, as I said earlier, you feel like you can walk around with a blindfold on, just because you feel so safe and secure, so sure about yourself and where you are. It's that harmony I talked about earlier between you and your surroundings that I've always felt was a little off-beat. What I've come to realize is, you can't always be in harmony with the world. In fact, you're almost never in agreement with "home," but those precious moments where you get the "home" feeling remind you that it doesn't matter whether or not you're in the town you grew up in or whether or not you still go to the same supermarket to buy chicken or whether or not you're even with your family. It reminds you that, in the very least, you're secure, comfortable, and, most importantly, safe.
And that slowly brings me onto my next topic. As I walk across Urnieta from home to the polideportivo (basically a sports center where there's a gym for handball games, a swimming pool, a soccer field, tennis courts and other facilities as well as the showers. every town has one) I generally have a little chunk of time to myself, alone, just to think about whatever or listen to music. Friday, on my way to practice, as I passed by this little park for kids that I have to go through every time I go to practice, to meet with my friends, the bus station or even just to buy lettuce from the supermarket if I take that route, I got this strange, warm feeling inside me all of a sudden. I didn't quite know what it was at first, but it felt familiar. Today, it happened again, as I was lying on the couch attempting to take a siesta, but in the end didn't manage doing so, but I felt so comfortable under a warm blanket just looking at the reflection of the little streak of clouds in an otherwise clear sky in the glass of a large painting hung in the living room. But as I mulled over, once again, what the feeling could possibly be, I remembered back to those days in Tenafly where I'd go out for a short walk with some music just to enjoy the fall weather and, of course, to marvel at all the colors that surrounded me. Those were the days where I'd get that very same feeling I've been having lately, and I've finally discovered what it really means: it's that "home" feeling. That warm feeling you get on the inside when you just feel so safe and, well, at home, with your surroundings, where everything's so normal to you, and you feel as though you could walk around with a blindfold on and still find your way because you're so sure of where everything is and what's going on around you.
I guess getting that feeling is supposed to be a big feat in my year here, finally feeling comfortable and confident with where I am, having overcome the initial overall feeling of just being completely lost in another world based on completely different morals, history, geography, culture, language, and customs than what I've grown up with. But I think it has had a different meaning for me. It's been more of a catalyst for me. It's sparked new trains of thought running through my mind, new perspectives of the two lives I've now become accustomed to.
I once told my host mom how I've never felt like I've ever really "belonged." In every place I've lived, every place I've gone to school, for one reason or another, I just never quite felt completely at peace with myself, as though there was just something "off" between the harmony of me and my surroundings. But getting that "home" feeling on my way to practice, reminding myself all of a sudden of those days where I'd go from the track to the gym at school after track practice or waking up at 8 in the morning christmas break to go run ten 400's in the freezing cold, made me realize the true meaning of the word "home." You don't quite have to fit in with everybody else to feel at home, and you don't even have to feel like you belong. Home isn't the place where you were born, and it doesn't even have to be where you've spent all your life. For many of us, well, that may be the case. It could be where you grew up, where you are now, where you spent your time studying, whether it be college, boarding school, even studying abroad, but it's not the where that makes the difference. The "where" is what we often call "house," but the real "home" is, well, that's you. Home lies within all of us, and it takes a while to dig deep down enough to unlock it, and a whole lot longer to interpret it your way. For me, home is normal. Home is that place where, as I said earlier, you feel like you can walk around with a blindfold on, just because you feel so safe and secure, so sure about yourself and where you are. It's that harmony I talked about earlier between you and your surroundings that I've always felt was a little off-beat. What I've come to realize is, you can't always be in harmony with the world. In fact, you're almost never in agreement with "home," but those precious moments where you get the "home" feeling remind you that it doesn't matter whether or not you're in the town you grew up in or whether or not you still go to the same supermarket to buy chicken or whether or not you're even with your family. It reminds you that, in the very least, you're secure, comfortable, and, most importantly, safe.
Seventeenth Week
Messing around on a Sunday afternoon... Just enjoying some free time while the others are taking a siesta
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
December!
With the arrival of December, everything in school's calmed down (actually finished projects and tests December 1st) and the breaks are arriving. Decorations are slowly appearing on the trees and everybody's getting in a festive mood (I even started an advent calendar).
I'm in the middle of a 5 day weekend right now and in a couple of weeks Christmas break begins. Yesterday I went to watch a "ciclo-cross" competition where some of the world's champions competed. I also got to see a friend of mine from AFS who actually lives in a small town right next to where the competition was. Later that day, my host father and sister and I went to see the local proffesional soccer team Real Sociedad from San Sebastián play against Athletic de Bilbao which they call the "derbi" here because of the rivalry between the two teams. Real Sociedad won 2-0, one goal was a penalty and the other an own goal, so all in all we left the stadium happy.
Today, we went to an old amusement park for kids on top of one of the hills of San Sebastián where we got a really nice view of the whole city, the ocean and everything. We went on some of the rides, played some of the games and overall just had a good time. Then, we walked across the city so that I could get to know the streets a little more and my host sister went to meet up with her friends while my host parents and I went to the movie theatre to watch "Biutiful" directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu and starring Javier Bardem which was placed in Barcelona. It turned out to be a really good movie, I'm not sure if it'd be in theatres in America but for anyone that encounters it I seriously reccommend watching it.
Overall I've been have a pretty good time with my family and just been relaxing lately which has been nice. I've been given a lot of time to think and just to mull over all the things going on in my head lately which has been nice as well. I've been laughing lightly a lot lately (just about little things) and overall just been having a good time.
I'm in the middle of a 5 day weekend right now and in a couple of weeks Christmas break begins. Yesterday I went to watch a "ciclo-cross" competition where some of the world's champions competed. I also got to see a friend of mine from AFS who actually lives in a small town right next to where the competition was. Later that day, my host father and sister and I went to see the local proffesional soccer team Real Sociedad from San Sebastián play against Athletic de Bilbao which they call the "derbi" here because of the rivalry between the two teams. Real Sociedad won 2-0, one goal was a penalty and the other an own goal, so all in all we left the stadium happy.
Today, we went to an old amusement park for kids on top of one of the hills of San Sebastián where we got a really nice view of the whole city, the ocean and everything. We went on some of the rides, played some of the games and overall just had a good time. Then, we walked across the city so that I could get to know the streets a little more and my host sister went to meet up with her friends while my host parents and I went to the movie theatre to watch "Biutiful" directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu and starring Javier Bardem which was placed in Barcelona. It turned out to be a really good movie, I'm not sure if it'd be in theatres in America but for anyone that encounters it I seriously reccommend watching it.
Overall I've been have a pretty good time with my family and just been relaxing lately which has been nice. I've been given a lot of time to think and just to mull over all the things going on in my head lately which has been nice as well. I've been laughing lightly a lot lately (just about little things) and overall just been having a good time.
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