As the title states, I've been pretty busy lately, and I apologize for the lack of contact and blog posts. I've been trying to balance all the trips I'm doing in April and on top of that trying to keep all my school work organized (of course, they had to pile up all the tests and projects before we go on our end of course trip). And, as also mentioned in the title, I've been trying to leave the house and I've had soccer. So, overall, my to-do list is piling up and, believe me, it's not getting any shorter.
But, I found a moment to relax, so I decided to update the blog. I don't have any pictures to upload, I know I promised the ones from the Canary Islands, but I just haven't gotten around to it...
So anyway, overall I'd say I'm doing well, as usual. In school we've been doing a lot of cool projects and watching movies and the suchlike, so I've been pretty interested in what I'm doing, which always makes things better. In soccer our team isn't doing so well, and I've been having a sort of "down" period, but I think I've finally gotten out of that and we'll see how things go in the next few weeks.
Other than that, the time's been going by really quickly, but nothing's waiting up for me, so I'm sad to say I'm going to have to cut this post pretty short, and if I encounter a little time in the next few weeks I'll be sure to keep things updated.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
A little more kultura
This weekend was rather relaxed. I didn't have a soccer game, so friday night after going to soccer practice I was free to do what I pleased. Then, Saturday morning a friend and I went to San Sebastian to go for a walk and we took our cameras along. It was a really nice day out and there was some pretty good lighting, so I guess I'll upload those pictures to facebook along with my pictures from the Canary Islands (which I'll get to next weekend, I promise, I know it's been over 3 months...).
Then, for lunch we went to a Sagardotegia. It's a restaurant-type place where they have giant barrels of sidra (alcoholic apple cider) lined up and, while eating typical Basque food, a guy will call "Txotx!" and everyone lines up in front of the sidra barrels. There's a little hole in the barrel that they open up and a small line of sidra pours out, and everyone lined up catches the sidra in their cups, trying not to let any of it spill on the floor. Once the last person is done, the guy closes the tap and everyone returns to their tables to eat. This, in reality, is how I guess I percieved it to be the way its supposed to work. When I went, everyone basically just went whenever they wanted sidra (usually the groups of people eating together would go together for sidra) and open the tap themselves.
Aside from the sidra, the food is a pretty important part of the sagardotegia (sagarra, by the way, means apple in Euskera). And, if I may say so myself, the food is delicious. For appetizers they gave us txorizo (basque sausage) and bread. For the first course there was tortilla de bacalao con pimientos (a tortilla with a certain fish and green peppers). For second there was bacalao con pimientos (this seemed a little repetitive to me, but equally delicious and didn't bore me, even after eating the tortilla). Then came the best part: the txuleta. It's basically a giant steak, the basque pride lies in this simple plate. Whenever someone asks me if I've eaten/if I like the food here, they'll always be sure to mention the txuleta and how good it is, and they're right. Then, after having eaten all that and watching the adults get sidra and seeing how it worked, of course, there had to be dessert. Another very typical Basque plate, cheese, walnuts and membrillo, a gelatin-type food made out of apple (dulce de manzana, basically) or the quince fruit which is kind of like a pear. It was a pretty memorable meal and if I ever go back to a sidrería, I'll be sure to bring a camera.
After this large, long lunch (another very typical thing here, along with the mentality that eating lunch before 1:30 is practically like eating breakfast), I met up with my friends around 5 o'clock, and spent the rest of the afternoon with them in Urnieta looking for places where there would still be sun as it was slowly setting, but eventually giving up when we found a comfortable place to sit.
It was quite a nice day, and today I've spent most of my day studying history or getting distracted, but tomorrow is my last test this trimester, so I'm pretty happy about that.
On another note, I've been hearing on the news and everywhere about what's been going on in Japan and, of course, I've been following the movements in the Arabic world. I consider myself very lucky to be where I am and live where I do (and have lived where I have), always feeling extremely safe and hardly facing more than a large storm or blizzard. I think we should all keep the Japanese in mind and hope for the best in such a terrible situation.
Then, for lunch we went to a Sagardotegia. It's a restaurant-type place where they have giant barrels of sidra (alcoholic apple cider) lined up and, while eating typical Basque food, a guy will call "Txotx!" and everyone lines up in front of the sidra barrels. There's a little hole in the barrel that they open up and a small line of sidra pours out, and everyone lined up catches the sidra in their cups, trying not to let any of it spill on the floor. Once the last person is done, the guy closes the tap and everyone returns to their tables to eat. This, in reality, is how I guess I percieved it to be the way its supposed to work. When I went, everyone basically just went whenever they wanted sidra (usually the groups of people eating together would go together for sidra) and open the tap themselves.
Aside from the sidra, the food is a pretty important part of the sagardotegia (sagarra, by the way, means apple in Euskera). And, if I may say so myself, the food is delicious. For appetizers they gave us txorizo (basque sausage) and bread. For the first course there was tortilla de bacalao con pimientos (a tortilla with a certain fish and green peppers). For second there was bacalao con pimientos (this seemed a little repetitive to me, but equally delicious and didn't bore me, even after eating the tortilla). Then came the best part: the txuleta. It's basically a giant steak, the basque pride lies in this simple plate. Whenever someone asks me if I've eaten/if I like the food here, they'll always be sure to mention the txuleta and how good it is, and they're right. Then, after having eaten all that and watching the adults get sidra and seeing how it worked, of course, there had to be dessert. Another very typical Basque plate, cheese, walnuts and membrillo, a gelatin-type food made out of apple (dulce de manzana, basically) or the quince fruit which is kind of like a pear. It was a pretty memorable meal and if I ever go back to a sidrería, I'll be sure to bring a camera.
After this large, long lunch (another very typical thing here, along with the mentality that eating lunch before 1:30 is practically like eating breakfast), I met up with my friends around 5 o'clock, and spent the rest of the afternoon with them in Urnieta looking for places where there would still be sun as it was slowly setting, but eventually giving up when we found a comfortable place to sit.
It was quite a nice day, and today I've spent most of my day studying history or getting distracted, but tomorrow is my last test this trimester, so I'm pretty happy about that.
On another note, I've been hearing on the news and everywhere about what's been going on in Japan and, of course, I've been following the movements in the Arabic world. I consider myself very lucky to be where I am and live where I do (and have lived where I have), always feeling extremely safe and hardly facing more than a large storm or blizzard. I think we should all keep the Japanese in mind and hope for the best in such a terrible situation.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Iñauteriak!
This weekend (Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday) marks the annual celebration of Carnival, in spanish Carnavales and in euskera Iñauteriak. It's basically like an extended version of halloween in that everyone gets dressed up and there are parades in the streets, but there's no asking for candy involved. On Saturday my friends and I went to Hernani, a neighbouring town, where everyone basically gathered in the streets and in bars dancing, socializing, and, well, drinking. I have been to Hernani before and it seemed to me like there were less people than there ordinarily are when there are "fiestas". I figured out why yesterday. There's a huge celebration in another large town called Tolosa about half an hour away in train, and you'd probably have to look pretty closely to find someone not dressed up. People of all ages, babies, toddlers, teenagers, adults, I even saw a few grandparents dressed up in full-on clown costumes. I got a few good pictures on my phone but I'm not sure how to download them so as soon as I find out I'll add them on to this post. Today's supposed to be the biggest night so I'm sure I'll get some more pictures.
Other than the celebrations, rides (they had bumper cars and your typical amusment park rides, except for roller coasters, of course), and all the people gathered in the street, I really enjoyed Tolosa and I think I'm going to go back one day when there aren't any celebrations going on just to see what it's like. I found it to be a really beautiful town and I really liked the atmosphere.
The next few weeks will be rather calm after Carnavales finishes and once April comes around I'll have a lot of stories to tell.
Other than the celebrations, rides (they had bumper cars and your typical amusment park rides, except for roller coasters, of course), and all the people gathered in the street, I really enjoyed Tolosa and I think I'm going to go back one day when there aren't any celebrations going on just to see what it's like. I found it to be a really beautiful town and I really liked the atmosphere.
The next few weeks will be rather calm after Carnavales finishes and once April comes around I'll have a lot of stories to tell.
Twenty-Eighth Week
Carnavales. My friends and I dressed up as football players. And we weren't the only ones. I guess the sport is so weird here they've turned it into a costume.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Just another day...
I woke up this morning at 7:05, thinking it was 7:30. When I realized what time it was I took a shower, after which I got dressed and combed my hair, and, thinking it was 7:45 and getting dressed in a half-rush, I heard my 7:30 alarm go off, which I guess calmed me down a little. I got to school at 8:25, as usual, but realized the entire fourth floor was dead silent. I knew we had a trip to a university to learn about renewable energy first and second period, but, being stupid enough not to read the paper, I didn't realize we were supposed to meet at the bus stop. Dropping my backpack off in my locker and asking the secretary where everyone was, I then realized where I was actually supposed to be.
So, at 8:30, I went running to the bus station, which is only about 3 minutes away on foot. Not to mention, it was raining and for some reason I decided to leave my umbrella in school. But, after having run down to the bus station and seeing that the bus was no longer there, I walked back to school, running into another girl that had forgotten we were supposed to go to a different location, too. Luckily, she carried her umbrella.
Then, the secretary called our teacher for us, and after some exchange on the phone I didn't understand too well, we ended up having the secretary drive us to the bus station to get us there quicker. I wondered at that moment how I could have missed a giant bus on a fairly empty street. When the secretary brought us around the corner to another bus stop that I wasn't familiar with, I really started regretting not reading the 5 simple lines they wrote on that paper informing us about what the plan was. I got on the bus and a friend of mine asked me, "What, you don't realize anything that's going on around you?" and, truthfully, I answered, "No."
On top of that, in the cafeteria today they gave me a spoiled apple for dessert.
Oh, and I just realized I left my umbrella in school.
So, at 8:30, I went running to the bus station, which is only about 3 minutes away on foot. Not to mention, it was raining and for some reason I decided to leave my umbrella in school. But, after having run down to the bus station and seeing that the bus was no longer there, I walked back to school, running into another girl that had forgotten we were supposed to go to a different location, too. Luckily, she carried her umbrella.
Then, the secretary called our teacher for us, and after some exchange on the phone I didn't understand too well, we ended up having the secretary drive us to the bus station to get us there quicker. I wondered at that moment how I could have missed a giant bus on a fairly empty street. When the secretary brought us around the corner to another bus stop that I wasn't familiar with, I really started regretting not reading the 5 simple lines they wrote on that paper informing us about what the plan was. I got on the bus and a friend of mine asked me, "What, you don't realize anything that's going on around you?" and, truthfully, I answered, "No."
On top of that, in the cafeteria today they gave me a spoiled apple for dessert.
Oh, and I just realized I left my umbrella in school.
Twenty-Seventh Week
This painting appeared in the chapter I just started learning about in Spanish literature a few days before my brother saw it in person.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Twenty-Sixth Week
Making cile kek on a Thursday afternoon.
You would not believe how much this Turkish pastry I learned from my dad has triumphed here.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Spring...?
While the snow's been melting back home, I've noticed some very early signs of spring here. Today, as I was running down a small road between my town and the next one down I noticed two bushes with bright red flowers sprouting from the tips of their bare branches. We've been having a good amount of sunny days lately (today not included) and more to come. So, I guess that's another new experience for the list: spring in February.
Apart from that I've really began to appreciate the everyday life here. Lately time has been flying by, but I'm pretty sure it's because I've come to a point where everything has just become "normal." And yet, I'm absolutely okay with that. It might seem like a year abroad for an exchange student must be such an adventure, learning and doing new things every day, which, the first 5 months was kind of the case. But I've grown to feel that confidence inside where I'm not afraid to speak up in class, even if they're speaking in Euskera and I only partly understand the topic. I'm not afraid to buy myself a train ticket or walk through Donosti (San Sebastián) trying to calmly avoid the manifestations in the streets in support of officializing the use of Euskera in all facilities across the Basque Country (which actually went on the other day). I'm not afraid to buy myself a book or run down the Zurriola beach heading back for a friend's umbrella which in the end disappeared anyway. Here I am, sitting the same room where, only a few months back, I had to think twice before understanding, 3 times before writing and ten times before speaking. Everything I used to do got a second thought, and just 5 months later it's become second nature.
And the biggest revelation I've had lately was that the lifestyle people have here is beyond anything I could imagine asking for. In 15 minutes you could find yourself at the beach, in the mountain, the small town or the big city. The culture dates so far back historians have yet to discover where the people actually come from, the education system is organized in a way where the focus is working and studying what you like to earn money rather than studying and working just to earn money. Not to mention, no matter how different each of the individuals you'll encounter here is from the next one, each and every one speaks two languages fluently (when I say this, I'm mainly talking about those that go to my school and the many more that attend schools that teach in Euskera as there are schools that only teach in Spanish as well). I could go on with the list for a good amount of time, but the point is that all these luxuries aren't things you need to have money for, they're basics, just background music for the modest lives of my classmates. But the best part about it is that they know they're lucky to have all this, they appreciate it. And that's just another thing I love about this place.
Apart from that I've really began to appreciate the everyday life here. Lately time has been flying by, but I'm pretty sure it's because I've come to a point where everything has just become "normal." And yet, I'm absolutely okay with that. It might seem like a year abroad for an exchange student must be such an adventure, learning and doing new things every day, which, the first 5 months was kind of the case. But I've grown to feel that confidence inside where I'm not afraid to speak up in class, even if they're speaking in Euskera and I only partly understand the topic. I'm not afraid to buy myself a train ticket or walk through Donosti (San Sebastián) trying to calmly avoid the manifestations in the streets in support of officializing the use of Euskera in all facilities across the Basque Country (which actually went on the other day). I'm not afraid to buy myself a book or run down the Zurriola beach heading back for a friend's umbrella which in the end disappeared anyway. Here I am, sitting the same room where, only a few months back, I had to think twice before understanding, 3 times before writing and ten times before speaking. Everything I used to do got a second thought, and just 5 months later it's become second nature.
And the biggest revelation I've had lately was that the lifestyle people have here is beyond anything I could imagine asking for. In 15 minutes you could find yourself at the beach, in the mountain, the small town or the big city. The culture dates so far back historians have yet to discover where the people actually come from, the education system is organized in a way where the focus is working and studying what you like to earn money rather than studying and working just to earn money. Not to mention, no matter how different each of the individuals you'll encounter here is from the next one, each and every one speaks two languages fluently (when I say this, I'm mainly talking about those that go to my school and the many more that attend schools that teach in Euskera as there are schools that only teach in Spanish as well). I could go on with the list for a good amount of time, but the point is that all these luxuries aren't things you need to have money for, they're basics, just background music for the modest lives of my classmates. But the best part about it is that they know they're lucky to have all this, they appreciate it. And that's just another thing I love about this place.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Twenty-Third Week
My soccer team after winning the game that would put us in first place in our group in "La Copa"
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Giving Directions
Yesterday was the first time I gave directions to someone in my year abroad here. It seems like such a basic little thing, but I felt like it was a pretty monumental moment. As an exchange student, what makes everything so difficult in the beginning is having to start all over again. But it's not just a new school, new friends, new people, not even just a change in culture and language; it's everything. You start over in every sense of the word. New family, new food, different air, different house, different lighting, different bed-sheets, different curtains, down to the way you sharpen your pencil, it all just changes. It feels like in the blink of an eye I've been hurled into an entirely different world - but that's not to say it's a bad thing. As AFS likes to remind us, it's just different.
So, when an older woman asked me, "Ey, txiki, Sarobe... non dago?" meaning "Hey, girl, where is Sarobe (local theatre)?" (txikia in Euskera means small, but txiki is a way older people tend to call kids or teenagers), well, although we were fairly close to the theatre I was pretty proud after having given them directions without any struggle at all explaining it to them or remembering how to get there. I felt as though I had been living in Urnieta all my life and I was just another local teenager passing by in the street.
So, after 4 and a half months of building my world from scratch, I felt as though I had accomplished something big. Not only that, but I was actually on my way to the bus station when the lady stopped me because I had plans to meet with a friend in San Sebastián and I actually took the bus alone for the second time, just like, well, I guess I'd have to say just like any other normal person from here.
Taking the bus and the train alone, for me, has always been a little difficult (especially the bus) because I tend to get nervous about where I need to get off and whether the driver's going to stop or not or whether I pressed the button on time and all of that, but everything went smoothly and so far I've never gotten lost in my experience abroad (I wouldn't say it's easy to get lost around here, but for a 15-year-old exchange student in the first couple of months even just spinning around a few times was all it took to lose my orientation).
So there's my monumental moment for the weekend, it's no trip to the Canary Islands, but, large and small, in the end all the experiences contribute to my 10 months away from home.
So, when an older woman asked me, "Ey, txiki, Sarobe... non dago?" meaning "Hey, girl, where is Sarobe (local theatre)?" (txikia in Euskera means small, but txiki is a way older people tend to call kids or teenagers), well, although we were fairly close to the theatre I was pretty proud after having given them directions without any struggle at all explaining it to them or remembering how to get there. I felt as though I had been living in Urnieta all my life and I was just another local teenager passing by in the street.
So, after 4 and a half months of building my world from scratch, I felt as though I had accomplished something big. Not only that, but I was actually on my way to the bus station when the lady stopped me because I had plans to meet with a friend in San Sebastián and I actually took the bus alone for the second time, just like, well, I guess I'd have to say just like any other normal person from here.
Taking the bus and the train alone, for me, has always been a little difficult (especially the bus) because I tend to get nervous about where I need to get off and whether the driver's going to stop or not or whether I pressed the button on time and all of that, but everything went smoothly and so far I've never gotten lost in my experience abroad (I wouldn't say it's easy to get lost around here, but for a 15-year-old exchange student in the first couple of months even just spinning around a few times was all it took to lose my orientation).
So there's my monumental moment for the weekend, it's no trip to the Canary Islands, but, large and small, in the end all the experiences contribute to my 10 months away from home.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Twenty-First Week
Today, I spent the entire day in pijamas.
I suppose exchange students don't go on crazy adventures every weekend...
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Christmas, New Years, and the Canary Islands
Supposedly one of the most difficult periods of an AFSers experience, I found this Christmas-time to be a very pleasurable one. Well intergrated into my host-family, it didn't feel quite so out of the ordinary. Of course, it was a little weird, but I suppose in the very least I could say that's natural. We spent Christmas eve at home eating a quiet but very tasty dinner with my host-uncle and afterwards opened all the presents we had given eachother. I was both surprised and pleased at the thoughtfulness of their gifts, not to mention thankful. Over all I'd like to think the most important part was that we were there together happy and healthy, warm at home with a nice dinner and lots of laughs. We all cut the night a bit short to get to bed on time because the next day we had to get up at 5 in the morning since we had a flight to catch. The 25th of December in the afternoon we arrived in Lanzarote, one of the Canary Islands belonging to Spain that lie next to Africa.
Spending 14 full days in short sleeves and running shorts was certainly a great way to bring in the new year. We visited the famous sights and spent a lot of time at the beach, forgetting our busy lives for a moment to take in the sun and relax.
On New Year's eve we gathered by the television, tired out from the day's excursions and swimming in the ocean, and waited until the clock ran out, 2010 finishing and starting the next year together. We celebrated a typical tradition from here, where each of us took a cup full of 12 grapes and in the last 12 seconds of the year, swallowed a grape every second until the new year started.
Overall we came back pretty tanned and very content. Although admittedly I wouldn't have stayed a day longer I wasn't dying to go home either. It may sound pretty negative since I put it that way but in reality it was the perfect amount of time to have been there, I wasn't regretting leaving and wasn't desperate to go home, it felt like everything just went so smoothly, I couldn't have spent my winter break any happier. I saw my friends again today, glad to be with them, and we had a good time as always. Tomorrow school starts again, but I'm not too upset about that either. After all, that is what I'm here for, I've learned to make the best of it.
Spending 14 full days in short sleeves and running shorts was certainly a great way to bring in the new year. We visited the famous sights and spent a lot of time at the beach, forgetting our busy lives for a moment to take in the sun and relax.
On New Year's eve we gathered by the television, tired out from the day's excursions and swimming in the ocean, and waited until the clock ran out, 2010 finishing and starting the next year together. We celebrated a typical tradition from here, where each of us took a cup full of 12 grapes and in the last 12 seconds of the year, swallowed a grape every second until the new year started.
Overall we came back pretty tanned and very content. Although admittedly I wouldn't have stayed a day longer I wasn't dying to go home either. It may sound pretty negative since I put it that way but in reality it was the perfect amount of time to have been there, I wasn't regretting leaving and wasn't desperate to go home, it felt like everything just went so smoothly, I couldn't have spent my winter break any happier. I saw my friends again today, glad to be with them, and we had a good time as always. Tomorrow school starts again, but I'm not too upset about that either. After all, that is what I'm here for, I've learned to make the best of it.
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.
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