I Just Gave My Last Fuck

AM I PRETTY YET?

My life is finally starting to take off here, everyone. And it's about fucking time! My job at the Pontifica Universidad Javeriana is now in full swing with all conversation clubs, office hours, class visits, and private coaching sessions are set in a routine. But that's not all, folks, I've got all sorts of fun things happening: The Test de Connisance du Français is coming up this Friday, and I'm studying really hard, like four hours a day hard, and actually noticing a big improvement in my listening comprehension and speaking abilities! On the physical fitness front, I'm running pretty regularly again, saving Abel Township from zombies as the one and only Runner #5, and you would be surprised how good some zombie busting is for relieving stress. I've also decided to start doing bar workouts because I'm getting a little bored with plain old weights these days. Besides, all the hot guys in the park I run at are doing it, and I want to be one of the cool kids too. I'm also trying to wrap up the translation of The Russian Nights, which fell into purgatory amidst all the life changes. God bless patient authors. And last but not least, I'm starting to feel comfortable living in Cali, which is leading to less withdrawn, hermit-like activity and to getting out of my apartment more.

A big part of why I'm feeling more adapted here is because people have stopped trying to speak to me in English as much. You might recall a past entry in which I expressed some frustration about this, particularly when I speak to someone in Spanish and the response (of a few different people) is been, "No hablo inglés." I started noticing a few weeks ago that this hasn't been happening, and I've been trying to think of why that is.

Wisdom from the RDJ

I think a good deal of it has to do with confidence. I'm a lot more confident about my Spanish skills than when I first arrived. It's funny because for the few months I've been here, I don't feel like I've really actually improved all that much, just that the rust that has accumulated since Spain has finally been dusted off. Ironically, my nervousness, in part, was due to fearing that they would respond to me in English, which I think created a self-fulfilling prophecy. My nerves made me speak poorer Spanish than I'm really capable of and because of that they would speak to me in English. I was also afraid that I would use words they didn't use or that they use in a different way than I've been taught. However, you can only give a shit about these kinds of things so long before you're just like what the fuck ever man. And I think it was the moment that I didn't care if an accidental tío or vosotros slipped out or that some ignorant Colombian would respond to me in English or tell me they didn't speak English was the moment that things started to improve. Just goes to show you how pointless worrying is.

Now flash forward from the basket case of nerves I was to last week when I was ordering something at my school's cafeteria, and some guy was like, "Where are you from?" (in Spanish). And of course, I was in my head like, "oh shit, here we go again...."

"The United States."
"And what are you doing here?"
"I teach English."
"What level?"
"No level. Just conversation clubs, private lessons, visits to other classes, things like that."
"Ooh, how long have you been here?"
"About two months."
"And you already speak this good of Spanish?"

"Oh, thank you.""Where did you learn it?"
"Oh, I studied mostly in high school and college. And then I lived in Spain a little bit, but not very long."
"Oh wow, and your parents, where are they from?"
"Indiana. The US."
"Oh wow." To the girl at the register: "And look what a nice accent he has."

And me in my head: "Well, that's a first."

That had never really happened before. Normally the only people who tell me I speak Spanish well are guys that are hitting on me, and of course, I don't really believe them because, you know, sex. And then it came to me: I didn't give a single shit that whole conversation. Like not even a little dried up turd that has stayed too long in your intestines so your body reabsorbed all the water from it. Not even a fart.

So beautiful, so free....

And that's when I realized that almost no one speaks to me in English anymore except my advanced students and the other English teachers (for obvious reasons). All because I couldn't be bothered to care anymore, because I gave up. Paradoxically, like a Chinese finger trap, the moment I stopped struggling was the moment that it all started working out.

Don't get me wrong. It still happens here and there. There are still people who have made up their mind that I can't speak their language simply because of the way I look or because I made a tiny mistake when my mouth is moving a little faster than my brain, but it's at an acceptable level and I don't walk around constantly feeling like an outsider. It's not that I "feel Colombian," like some other people claim when they move to new countries. I will never feel Colombian. I will never be Colombian, but I feel allowed to participate, and that's all I wanted all along.