Click here to see the article in the newspaper I work for, The Argentina Independent
The old adage goes: hath thy facebook, and hath thy a job, delete your account. It's true. Ask your friends. Ask your teachers. (Don't) ask your boss. It's ancient folklore.
Strictly speaking I don't have a job. However, I like to imagine that I'm forging a path. It's very windy, and I still don't have diamonds on the soles of my shoes. But for me, the journey started in Guatemala, where I began work on my Spanish. It was also here that my proverbial knowledge of Facebook was addressed.
I had this realization when Lesvia, my favourite teacher - patient, clear, enthusiastic, time enough for an hour per sentence - added me on Facebook. At first I was proud. I received my first message in Spanish. I replied in Spanish. I was corrected in Spanish. But then came our last day together, and, too, distraught to learn any more, we turned to Facebook. Lesvia scrolled through all 1,157 photos of mine as I sat next to her cowering with shame. Of course, I had considered how I looked in the eyes of my peers, but to my favorite Guatemalan maestra? For some reason, it had never crossed my mind.
As we skimmed through, the blinking, green hued computer cast my photos in an even more ugly light – Bebidas, mas bebidas. Mas. Every picture, she informed me, tipping her head back, and motioning towards her mouth with a pretend pint. And then, 'Raquelllllll, what is this!? Raquel!' There I was, pointing at the butt cheek of a boy who was gleefully mooning the photographer. And then again, a huge grin across my face. She kept going, her computer clicks drowning out my desperate explanations in broken Spanish.
We said goodbye that day, joking about my 'sordid' past, automated and ordered on Facebook. "Que tu extranes sobre Inglaterra?" Lesvia asked. Extranes. I filed through the Spanish words that I had stored in my head over the past weeks. Extranes...? extrano! 'Strange.' "Los hombres quienes quitten su ropa!" I replied, affirmatively. My one last dash at dignity. Yes, that's what I find strange about England! The men who take off their clothes all the time! "Es muy extrano, si?" Lesvia's face lit up, “Ah Raquel. I see. So that's what you miss?”
The old adage goes: hath thy facebook, and hath thy a job, delete your account. It's true. Ask your friends. Ask your teachers. (Don't) ask your boss. It's ancient folklore.Strictly speaking I don't have a job. However, I like to imagine that I'm forging a path. It's very windy, and I still don't have diamonds on the soles of my shoes. But for me, the journey started in Guatemala, where I began work on my Spanish. It was also here that my proverbial knowledge of Facebook was addressed.
I had this realization when Lesvia, my favourite teacher - patient, clear, enthusiastic, time enough for an hour per sentence - added me on Facebook. At first I was proud. I received my first message in Spanish. I replied in Spanish. I was corrected in Spanish. But then came our last day together, and, too, distraught to learn any more, we turned to Facebook. Lesvia scrolled through all 1,157 photos of mine as I sat next to her cowering with shame. Of course, I had considered how I looked in the eyes of my peers, but to my favorite Guatemalan maestra? For some reason, it had never crossed my mind.
As we skimmed through, the blinking, green hued computer cast my photos in an even more ugly light – Bebidas, mas bebidas. Mas. Every picture, she informed me, tipping her head back, and motioning towards her mouth with a pretend pint. And then, 'Raquelllllll, what is this!? Raquel!' There I was, pointing at the butt cheek of a boy who was gleefully mooning the photographer. And then again, a huge grin across my face. She kept going, her computer clicks drowning out my desperate explanations in broken Spanish.
We said goodbye that day, joking about my 'sordid' past, automated and ordered on Facebook. "Que tu extranes sobre Inglaterra?" Lesvia asked. Extranes. I filed through the Spanish words that I had stored in my head over the past weeks. Extranes...? extrano! 'Strange.' "Los hombres quienes quitten su ropa!" I replied, affirmatively. My one last dash at dignity. Yes, that's what I find strange about England! The men who take off their clothes all the time! "Es muy extrano, si?" Lesvia's face lit up, “Ah Raquel. I see. So that's what you miss?”
No comments:
Post a Comment