The Value of a Culture: an article

If you would like to read an article about my abroad experience on the Scripps College website, just click upon this link and enjoy!

http://www.scrippscollege.edu/news/feature-stories/the-value-of-a-culture

Those last few days: Thank you, Chile.

Today was a wonderful rainy day. With my classes all finished and the wind whistling against my window, I stayed warm inside all day -while studying for that fateful public health final. I’m in this cozy homebody mode that makes me think of fuzzy hats and steaming tea. Mmmmmm. This comfort comes, in large part, from absolutely adoring my host family and feeling quite at home amongst their soft comings and goings. I can drift into my host mother’s room to sit at the side of her bed as she reclines, knitting a nice café colored sweater. Brown is the only color she will wear this year, having promised this token of thanks to the Almighty for having helped her eldest son through the pains of cancer. I admire her strength. We sit, chatting aimlessly as my mind decompresses from the hours of endless studying: estudios de caso y control, factores protectores psicosociales, tasas crudos y naturals…I’m working on putting neat little mental labels onto this torrent of information.

I am here, and yet I am gone. I’m blissfully comfortable, and yet I have my frustrations. I will return to this home of mine, but I don’t know when. I am here, but my mind is already moving onward to my travels, excited for Robert’s arrival to this lovely country. I’m so comfy with my host family and Chilean customs, and yet the bureaucracy and inflexible educational system have given me enough end-of-semester stress to last a lifetime and make me long for Scripps College. The difficulties that have come with my public health class are certainly part of why my mind has already left Chile to reside in, perhaps, Bolivia or Peru; since I’m toiling to complete my school work and have dropped nearly all other activities to do so, it feels like I have already left the life I created for myself here and entered into a new one. Or, rather than a new one, a transitional phase –that gray waiting room that leads to an expansive patio of brilliant colors; it’s no wonder that my mind keeps skipping on ahead to that vibrant expectancy! But as I say, the gray waiting room is tinged with a rosy hue thanks to the love I have for my host family and the endearing reprieves that they provide for me around mealtimes and study breaks.

Yes, I love this place. I love its colors and I love its people. I adore the joking and playfulness that permeate the climbing gym atmosphere. I appreciate the spectacular oceanic views that arise around those golden sunsets and after all nightlights have been lit, like a starry blanket draped over undulating land and water. I am tickled pink by my cute little room and the greenery that garnishes my wide-window view. And I can’t help but feel quite at home with another neat-freak in the house; me and my host mom get along very well in this regard! I’ve loved the children who I’ve taught and learned from through my internship, and I just might sell my soul for a lifetime supply of pan amasada. The people are quirky and unique –nothing like Spain or Senegal, Thailand or the USA- and I really enjoy coming to understand their tendencies and their perceptions of themselves. And, of course, I’m head over heels for Spanish. *sigh *

But what would I change about Valparaíso, Chile if I could? They are few. I would: 1) Instill flexibility in the educational system. 2) Give every stray dog on the street a loving home. (This goes beyond benevolence and straight into the realm of public health.) 3) Put a smile on every bus driver’s troubled face. And 4) Replace every cigarette with a potted plant and every smoker with a tree-hugger.

Yes, Chile will always hold a piece of my heart, just as Spain can claim my love and California will always be my home. Thank you for the creative space you have given me, Chile. Thank you for your disregard to time and your strong pride. Thank you for your graffiti-smattered allies and your hills of children-blocks primary colors. You have instilled your colors in my heart and your delicious fresh produce in my appreciative stomach. I would that I could contain My Chile and My California all in one country, but alas, they are both too full and beautiful to collide and loose themselves within one another. At the very least, I can let them meld together within me and let my eyes reflect the loving sustenance that each has to offer.

The next time you see me, give me a hug –and that hug will be, in part, from Chile.

Love,

Jocelyn

Rain Adventures

Coming home through the rain is a marvelous adventure. It may be as close as I ever come to living within a video game; making my way through an obstacle course of reflective surfaces, my lunges and impeccably timed twists and turns make me a Mario in my own right. And then I’m one of the Tap Dogs, performing a spectacular routine as I dance my way down the clippety-clap pavement. The intersections bring out the primadona in me and I make a majestic ballet leap across the breadth of the rain-filled gutter. I’m a child, playing connect the dots with all the dry patches and then even more of a child, playing connect the dots with the wet spots. And finally, I am a salmon, swimming my way up the mighty waterfall that whishes down our driveway, finally embracing the warmth of our home after the many feats that brought me here. Yes, coming home through the rain is a marvelous adventure; you just have to know how to create it!

Raindrop relaxation meditation

I call it raindrop relaxation meditation. You should try it sometime! Just turn your face up to the sky and feel your breathing deepen as the droplets kiss your skin. Let each drop draw your attention to the muscles it touches, relaxing them. As those ripples of relaxation smooth your face, your mind clears and your face shines. Therein lies the brightness of a rainy day.

It occurs to me that all of you won’t necessarily have the chance to try this out in the next few days. But come October or November, let that umbrella swing from your arm unopened and meditate to the open skies!

¡Video y fotos! Chilean football Triumph.

Chile wins against Honduras! 1:0. Everyone celebrates in the streets at 9:30am. As you may imagine, the workday started a little later than usual today...

Happy Chileans welcoming in the buses with triumphant bugles. :) And yes, they may be made of plastic, but they can be heard from blocks away!
A young man skipping down the street with the Chilean flag.




A brief clip illustrating the Chilean soccer spirit. :)

The best thing is that classes are canceled for during the times of the upcoming matches. I would say that this definitely goes above and beyond the Superbowl.

Hugs,

Jocelyn

Family

Having a loving family is a gift. You can imagine, then, what a veritable wonder it is to have three or even four! It is in the home that we develop our first understanding of love, responsibility, and reciprocity. It is there that we construct a foundation of values, principles and habits that facilitate our relationship with society, other individuals, ourselves, and our own health. We go to college and we question all of these principles and lifelong assumptions –or perhaps we begin to examine them upon leaving home and entering the workplace. But wherever our learning environment, we all come to a point when we take those childhood lessons and reincorporate them into a coherent whole: Ourselves. It is quite an experience, then, to return to the seat of childhood at this age by being placed -plop!- into the middle of a new family and a novel pool of values and ideas. And yet, one retains that former lifetime of learning, using this new environment as a means of reflecting upon the former.

But more than serving as a point of comparison, this familial nucleus bestows its own lessons, its own valuable ideas, its own handy habits. Through my integration into my loving Chilean family, my host parents have exposed me to a number of wonderful characteristics that build upon and strengthen my personal foundation. Through their patience and open-mindedness, they have communicated that which they hold dear.

For one, I may have had a wonderful example of a loving, committed pair in the form of my own parents, but my host parents have reinforced my understanding of what makes up a long-lasting, caring relationship. Patterns emerge; ah, yes! Both couples of parents are always there for each other, ready to share time and energy, and, above all, always looking to keep the other at their side in their many life pursuits. Now I know to look for this continual giving, sharing, and accompanying in my own relationships.

My own parents may have pointed me towards an acceptance of those who are different from me, but my host parents show me how this can be done through their own learning experiences; hosting a Jewish-American student as a Chilean of Palestinian heritage can provide a massive stereotype overhaul for everyone involved, for example. My host parents have shown me how to maintain a pristine house and a instructed me in a new, exceptional way of preparing an egg. My host mother has exemplified a profound love of cooking that I never grew up with and my host father has taught me new was of debating ideas.

The entire family has given me the tremendous gift of showing me just how close-knit a family can be and exactly what this life-long intimacy requires at a logistical level. My Senegalese host family and host culture may have opened my eyes to a valuing of family that I discovered I shared, but my Chilean family has helped that appreciation sink in more deeply, maturing with understanding and growing more committed as I see that is it, in fact, possible to maintain a unified extended family. I come from a family that, for the most part, unites around holidays and seldomly communes with the uncles and aunts otherwise. I view my parents, Grandmother, and siblings as paramount within my life, so the knowledge that we can build such a beautiful commitment to one another as that which I see here in my Chilean family is heartwarming. Ours is a culture of loving and leaving and making our way in life –intrepid travelers scattered around the states and pulled around my economic strings. Now I see with clarity that that is not the only way.

Video! Seaweed Dances: the climber's view

Today's Moment of Fulfillment

It’s just me, some of Chile’s finest artisan bread, and a spoonful of dulce manjar. I sit comfortably couched between the creamy, crumb-covered tablecloth and the glowing light overhead; I am alone, a child delightfully dabbing that sweet substance over my perfectly crisp and soft pan amasada. Every bite is a moment of stillness in movement, every cell of my body focused on the simple pleasure of deliciousness. Images of the wonderful people who have colored my life today warm my mind, and then thoughts of a lifetime of fabulous folks pour unto me. Crumbs tumble downward and my grin is imbued with some hums and a few nam, nam, nams! And ah, those soulful eating noises bring to mind another beloved friend from college, one whose eyes would crinkle at those happy food sounds. And here I am, a mug half-full of chamomile tea in one hand and a spoon streaked with the residues of manjar in the other. That last bite of creamy bread settles down into my welcoming stomach like a ten-year-old wriggling down into a particularly large, comfy chair, and my spoon promises me a few more moments of yumminess. Mmm-mmm-mmmmm. Yes, I could sit holding this lovely spoon forever, suspended between one joy and another but needing neither –with a thousand loving faces in mind and the fulfillment of the moment unending.

Insidious Bus Leeching.

I watch my prey approach me from afar, edging his way down the bus’ aisle, eyeing the empty seat to my right, and weighing his options. He has no idea what he’s in for, but he must sense it instinctively because he hesitates, gripping the bar at his side and glancing towards me sidelong. Ah, he is going to take the bait! I smirk with quiet expectation and prepare myself. Shwomp! He whooshes into the empty seat beside me and the malignant tentacles of the night’s chill retract with a hiss of frustration. Muahahahahaha!!! I am no longer your prey, oh creepy creature of quivers and shivers; now it is I who plays the predator -the warmth leech, slurping of that invisible ambrosia harbored within the unsuspecting, innocent strangers to my left and, now, my right. Gratifyingly, they have absolutely no idea. My smirk deepens slightly. Oh yes, feeeeeeel the power!

Fotos! Un Techo Para Chile: 2nd trip

Two construction crews over for sopaipillas at the neighbor's house. Yum! These fried bread thingies, served with a hot-sauce are well worth their cholesterol after a full day's work. And this is coming from someone who doesn't usually do fried foods.
Yoga.
Joy!
Headstands on the job.
I got lucky; both of my construction groups on these trips have been awesome. I love them all!

Fotos! Climbing in Las chilcas.

Fotos! Un Techo Para Chile: La Gente

And now, the people of my first experience building houses with Un Techo Para Chile:

Our construction crew, minus the family of course.
My impromptu Salsa partner: Hermen. And yes, a blond chilean. Shocking!

Jenny and I climb together back in Valparaíso. :)
Oh yeah, baby! Off to work we go!

Fotos! Un Techo Para Chile: El trabajo

Building a house in Santa Cruz -in the south of Chile. We had a fabulous group and the most loving, giving family building and eating with us. May their new home be filled with great joy.



My kangaroo shoveling technique. :)

La dueña de la nueva casa; she who owns a brand-new house.

A Rubber Ball Bouncing About Cultural Walls.

The difficulty of living within another culture is that I can't challenge the cultural norms the way I do back home. I can't poke at the culture, teasing it, bending it, warping it and testing out its limits. I can't throw myself against it like a rubber ball, just to test its elasticity and see how far it bounces me back. If I critique it, this must be done carefully so as not to offend. When those tale tell homophobic slang phrases ("¡Que maricón!") affront my basic principles, I must be careful in correcting them and pointing out their injustice. Said directly and sincerely, in the way I would call out these remarks in the states, I am liable to come across to a Chilean of Senegalese person as believing myself to be culturally superior, or –what is less offensive to the native but perhaps more frustrating for me- written off as an ignorant foreigner commenting on phenomenon that I just don’t understand. “That slang in the states might be homophobic, but our use of “maricón” is purely innocent; the fact that is means “stupid” really has nothing to do with gay people!” And who am I to say; I’m just an outsider.

My body may be working within this culture, but my mind is unavoidably working from without; given this distance, I must work to respect the culture, learn from it, learn of it, and come to understand it as best as I can. At the same time, I must be moldable within it, adjusting my behaviors and expectations in order to get along, but without compromising my integrity and values. And that is my constant journey: cultural adaptation. But it makes me relish that pushy, punchy relationship I have with my own beloved, imperfect culture. In Norcal, I can disregard a few formalities, shrugging them off as superfluous or rejecting them as unjust or discriminatory. I can learn of the expectations my society has for my appearance and then grin and enjoy my shaven head –because I know exactly how these atypical experiences are nurturing my own growth. But it is exactly that: take the time to learn and then consciously step away from norms and towards freedom.

Here, in a way I’m a perpetual child –albeit a very rational, independent one- who has to relearn how to use the toilet and the best way to navigate social situations. I’m constantly on the brink between social faux pas and smooth interactions. I don’t know how to light a Spanish stove or flush a Senegalese toilet (or at least I didn’t at one point), but I can bring great insight before a Chilean dinner table and effectively describe my lessons learned. But within all of this back and forth –child to adult, and back to toddlerhood again- I present the interesting perspective of one who doesn’t quite belong but simultaneously fits perfectly into the puzzle; I have my role as the foreigner, the adoptive daughter, the climbing friend, and the Chinese student, y cabo aquí. I fit here, although I may have not in Senegal, and I contribute in lovely ways, perhaps giving back in infinitesimal part of the infinite generosity that I receive. But, as I say, I’m always “handling with care” and making euphemisms of my hearty critiques, whereas I can dive straight to the heart of matters in the states. But therein may lie another cultural difference in itself; we Americans are quite blunt and don’t often soften our words with so many flourishing formalities as the Senegalese or tiptoeing hesitancies as the Chileans.

It is wonderful to know and love a host of cultures, but after all is said and done, it is quite delightful to go back to breaking the mold in that good-old comfy culture back home, knowing exactly what you are commenting on and loving the choices that come of truly knowing your own culture. In order for this little rubber ball to appreciate bouncing about our American cultural walls, it had to learn to become still and observant within other cultural spaces, wriggling into new positions that might have proved awkward but usually provided interesting insights into the many ways that we of this world communicate -and the assumptions that underlie those utterances and gestures.

Homage to my Mother

T'was her mother's day gift -although she received this performance live via skype- but I wanted to share it with all of you.

Enjoy!

~Jocelyn

Living Openly, Vibrantly, Exquisitely

The sky cracks and swirls with a thundering rumble that sends a delicate rain sweeping into our faces. Six backpack saddled climbers, grinning from a weekend on the rock, squint their eyes against the fluorescent headlights as they trek along the misty highway. They are dusty pilgrims, searching in darkness for that beloved bus stop. And yes, the gargantuan trucks sailing through the night are their own personal thunders storm.

What more can be said for a weekend in the mountains than all that is encompassed by this one word: rejuvenation. It implies the peace of a mild sun reaching its way through the morning fog. It conveys the striking rebirth experienced upon achieving the highest move at the end of a beautifully challenging climb. It combines passion with majesty, with energy with stillness, and it still has room for the quiet mystery of life’s own beauty –a mystery that a young woman of twenty-one years can dip her fingers into through the fort examination of a red cactus flower. These are the words and experiences that give us much to write about and even more to ponder, but somehow leaves us comfortably empty at the end of the day; as contentedness seeps through our pillows, our eyelids quietly wilt into sleep. May the city stress and urban exhaust hover far from the mountain spirit.

The rock could crumble and the routes are hard, but we constantly retackle that mental game as we strive to overcome the imaginary limits. The area’s called Desplomelandia, or “The Land of Overhangs,” which means that, as we pump our rhomboids and biceps in an effort to propel ourselves upwards, the friend with the camera has to crane his neck backwards to capture a feat that ascends literally above his head. Perhaps more exciting still, our unexpected falls send us down in magnificent pendulums and lowering off of that last clip dips us into an empty expanse, shared only by distant clouds and far off bushes. Our belay partners are perched upon a sloping rock formation and, as they drop us down into that pool of air, we sometimes find ourselves scampering back upwards to meet them. Safety is a given, but the adventure is there.

That day on the ropes gave way to a night of tents, the latter pierced by laughter-imbued pasta and the soft tapping of rain. Rise and shine to a dim foggy morning, and with our spirits high, we sally forth to a glorious rock. And yes, we all smell spectacular right about now.

Riding back on this bumbling bus, I think of the people I love. I dream of sharing these mountainous wonders with those who mean so much to me –in a tent, in Yosemite, with no phones. I dream of living for weeks at a time in a dimension much slower than our own. And now I’m thinking of all the people I’d thank for their part in bringing me to where I am now. And all of these names that roll off of my mind fall like happily-trodden steps through that lovely, mountainous landscape:

Oma, Allen, Vivi, Mom, Esteban, Alejandro, Nials, Robert, Mary HS, Elsbeth, Professor Wood, Jewels, Dad, MaryEllen, Will, Dave, Professor Dave, Mary Jo, Megan Houpt, Emily Jo, Chris Fry, Uncle Mike, GG Jerry, Summer, Allison, Nick Booster, and (just for emphasis) Robert, Mom, Dad, Uncle Mike, Oma, Nials, and Mary Ellen.

In many different ways, all of you (and many others) have helped bring me to where I am now. You may not even know how you have helped me along, but my love and gratitude go out to you any which way.


May peace always be your home.

Love,

Jocelyn

Burnt Toast.

I woke up this morning missing burnt toast -that rich, browned taste borne of mindlessness and multitasking. I'd say we in the states have a culture of burnt toast; with one foot already out the front door and the other back in the bedroom still tying that last lace, the toast is sometimes forsaken.

-9 May, 2010

Poem: Liquid Sunshine

LIQUID SUNSHINE

We talk of liquid sunshine,
But what if it were really so?
And smoldering drops of starry light
Were smattering high and low.

Molten honeysuckle amber honey
Nourishing your very skin,
‘Till all of us are painted gold,
And on every face, a grin.


-Jocelyn
5 mayo, 2010

Fluid Senesence

The beauty of aging.

My Poems from Chile

Now is the time to share some of my poetry:

Leaves Falling
peripheral
cradle held aloft swinging.
Light, crisp, twist, falling
Heart flip, leaf turn
Falling down
Pavement soft


-Jocelyn
27 March, 2010

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Lingering
Beneath the shower
My head is full of water.
Thoughts dribble
Down my cheeks in torrents.
They’re tumbling like flowers.

In just a few more moments
My mind with have been emptied
And a pool of colors on the ground
Will reflect my life and memory.


-Jocelyn
28 March, 2010

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With little more than rainwater
I wash my hands of you.
I throw your dust unto the sky
And mine, at once, is blue.


-Jocelyn
19 April, 2010

*note that this last poem was not actually born of my personal experience. I have to say that everyone in my life at this point is heartily appreciated, irrespective of the hard lessons they may have forced me to learn, and therefore I have washed my hands of no one in recent days. :-)

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Love,

Jocelyn