It has almost been two weeks since I first landed in Chile, and I am not sure how time can move both so fast and so, so slow. This paradoxical passing of time is part of the magic – and genius – of SIT’s study abroad programs, where the tightly-packed schedules keep you so busy the days go by in a blink of an eye, while the enormous and ever-growing list of activities accomplished and places visited makes it inconceivable to the mind that you’ve only been here for such a short period of time. Yet, believable or not, twelve days have already passed and I am quickly feeling myself fall into a semblance of a normal routine.
After four long, grueling days of orientation in the same hotel room, I, along with the rest of my program, was able to move in with my host family and finally have the freedom to explore and live in the city on our own terms. Now, I live with my host sister, another exchange student on a program similar to my own, my host mom, and my host dad, who is ever-full of dad jokes (apparently bad puns and punchlines are a universal trait of all fathers) that, admittedly, never translate well to English. Together, we live in Viña del Mar, a coastal and tourist city, in a more suburb-like area filled with small bakeries, ice cream shops, and cafes. However, my true fascination with Chile lies a 10-minute metro ride away, within our program’s main site in Valparaíso.
In contrast to the clean orderliness of Viña del Mar, Valparaíso can best be described as colorfully and proudly eclectic. Built on a terrain of enormous hills, or cerros, the streets of Valparaíso are seemingly-disarrayed and varied, sometimes merely composing of a series of winding, crooked steep steps. Adding to the gritty and grungy nature of the city, not a single window or wall space within reach is left untouched by some sort of graffiti or wall art, filling the city with a loud – and sometimes overwhelming – mix of color and expression.
This art is a demonstration of an underlying political tension brimming throughout the city, a movement led by young people who, despite their disillusionment with “la política,” or the formal institutions of the political world, still maintain fierce involvement in the political attitudes of “lo politico,” and manifest their political energy in radical street art and graffiti decrying the police, femicide, and the exploitation of the world’s resources and equally loud and vibrant public “manifestaciones” or protests. Even the use of murals themselves exudes some sort of political nature, creating inherently democratic art that can be seen and experienced by anyone. I can’t help but to be drawn to this kinetic energy – it’s an intense, rebellious feeling that, though frustrated, offers hope for change in the future.
Yet despite my infatuation with the city, I have gone through days of extreme frustration. The language barrier, from which I was partially sheltered or protected from throughout orientation, sprang up as a concrete wall before me right as I thought I could take off running. For the first few days, I felt disheartened, frustrated that my Spanish seemed years behind that of my peers and that I couldn’t understand my host family. Now, I must confess something that, admittedly, will most likely lead the millions of immigrants who have ever felt pressured or forced to learn a new language or who have ever been considered less intelligent or less capable because of their occasional mishaps or mistakes while speaking a different language to emit a collective “duh” at the naïve American girl saying obvious things: learning a new language is hard.
I came into the country feeling doe-eyed and ready for an enormous academic and personal challenge, all while not fully processing or grasping the enormity of the test I would face. Coming here made me realize the extent to which I had taken for granted the privilege of being able to fully express myself and my ideas with ease. Even basic communication became a major challenge (try explaining to your host mother what Thinx are and why she can’t put them in the dryer with basic level Spanish), and after the fifth time of asking someone to repeat themselves (and still not quite understanding), it’s hard not to feel a little defeated.
Thankfully, it hasn’t all been blank-faced stares of incomprehension, repeated questions of “¿qué?”, and the overuse of “sí” simply because I couldn’t think of how else to respond. There have been breakthrough moments, such as when I successfully ordered myself food at a restaurant, talked about my day with my host mom, or had an hour-long conversation with my host sister (about boys of course) and we understood each other perfectly. Each new word learned, question answered, and moment of triumph had only makes me want to learn and work more. Though it has only been twelve days, I feel as though I have learned and grown an enormous amount. Here is to what’s to come,
Kenzie