Or not quite. I haven't quite caught up to myself in mind, body, or spirit, as the saying goes, so every time I feel like I have something to write about, it turns out that it's one of many little things brewing for later.
What has not happened in the first ten days of me being here has been a magical renaissance of the Portuguese language in my brain, rendering me capable of conversing with flawless fluidity despite any technical errors of usage. I feel a certain disappointment both from others and from within myself that I have not inched closer toward that, but I have habit and a comfortable English-speaking situation to blame for it. What has happened in the first ten days of me being here has been that I have been very hospitably received, seen a handful of friends, and tended toward laziness and avoiding people while I allow myself to breathe in the air and remember that I should take advantage of the moment while I'm actually living in it, not some time thereafter. What has happened just now is a run-on sentence. All bases are covered.
I feel a certain tension in the air in trying to figure out what exactly I want out of how I'm spending my time. For others, it's just because it's winter, which means rain and cold, and some friends are in similar situations as I am. The truth is that I don't really know what to do with myself with so much time lacking structural responsibilities, so it's being passed more idly than it otherwise probably would. I have drawn a blank trying to decide how to feel about that. None of which is to say I've been idle—I somehow manage to get out of the house each day and see people or do something. I have spoken more Portuguese either by necessity or by choice than perhaps the last time I was here cumulatively, and I expect that to continue, yet I feel no great pressure to lose myself studying verbiage or drilling conjugations into the automated part of my memory. I rediscovered a love for food upon arrival here, as I find that most things taste better, regardless of whether the food is strictly Portuguese cuisine or not, and I have been reveling in it each time I meet with someone, yet I feel no great desire to overspend for the sake of gastronomic pleasure. The pattern is the same for any given thing I've partaken in. There is pressure from all sides for me to settle one way or another, and I'm not really there yet.
When I walk down the street, with its familiar calçada, bumbling pedestrians, whining motors idling in traffic, the unique scent of the city, I stir from within and feel at home in Portugal. When I attempt to translate that stirring into a more cogent thought process, it disappears. Please excuse my cultural dissonance.
What has not happened in the first ten days of me being here has been a magical renaissance of the Portuguese language in my brain, rendering me capable of conversing with flawless fluidity despite any technical errors of usage. I feel a certain disappointment both from others and from within myself that I have not inched closer toward that, but I have habit and a comfortable English-speaking situation to blame for it. What has happened in the first ten days of me being here has been that I have been very hospitably received, seen a handful of friends, and tended toward laziness and avoiding people while I allow myself to breathe in the air and remember that I should take advantage of the moment while I'm actually living in it, not some time thereafter. What has happened just now is a run-on sentence. All bases are covered.
I feel a certain tension in the air in trying to figure out what exactly I want out of how I'm spending my time. For others, it's just because it's winter, which means rain and cold, and some friends are in similar situations as I am. The truth is that I don't really know what to do with myself with so much time lacking structural responsibilities, so it's being passed more idly than it otherwise probably would. I have drawn a blank trying to decide how to feel about that. None of which is to say I've been idle—I somehow manage to get out of the house each day and see people or do something. I have spoken more Portuguese either by necessity or by choice than perhaps the last time I was here cumulatively, and I expect that to continue, yet I feel no great pressure to lose myself studying verbiage or drilling conjugations into the automated part of my memory. I rediscovered a love for food upon arrival here, as I find that most things taste better, regardless of whether the food is strictly Portuguese cuisine or not, and I have been reveling in it each time I meet with someone, yet I feel no great desire to overspend for the sake of gastronomic pleasure. The pattern is the same for any given thing I've partaken in. There is pressure from all sides for me to settle one way or another, and I'm not really there yet.
When I walk down the street, with its familiar calçada, bumbling pedestrians, whining motors idling in traffic, the unique scent of the city, I stir from within and feel at home in Portugal. When I attempt to translate that stirring into a more cogent thought process, it disappears. Please excuse my cultural dissonance.
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