Commemorating 100 Posts

Before writing my more personal quasi-essay, I just wanted to take some space here to observe that this blog has somehow made it to 100 entries over two years. Despite an obviously minuscule readership, I have had some great moments and enjoyed the writing I've pursued here, even if I have ceased to do much of it in recent months. Writing is a fluid creative process for me, so there will never be a time when I can write on a fixed schedule, guaranteeing all four of you, dear readers, that there will be something eloquent and wordy popping up in this corner of the internet each week, day, or what have you. In the meantime, I encourage you to go back to some of my preferred posts, be they for my better writing, funny, or otherwise. I have also become an avid picture taker, and I refuse to say photographer because I lack the technical knowledge and tools to be one at this point in time, and I let the world see through my lens on Instagram, since that is the most convenient way to reach as many people as possible. An overview, a "top 10" if you will, is below:

My Instagram

1. The only post I have written on this blog as a matter of (semi-)fiction and unrelated to my life, my surroundings, or my observations thereof is a work of satire to which those who have ever been overwhelmed with life as a student on campus at university can relate immediately. The title is self-descriptive:
The Saga of the Run-On Sentences

2. My most-viewed post ever on this blog has been a post in which I wrote about my experience in life as a gay person and my relationship to the GLBT culture and community. It was prompted by interactions with many people over time and will continue to be relevant for considerable time to come:
Gay

3. I began writing as a way to keep in touch with people at home while I studied in France in a way that was less jarring to me than trying to Skype and disconnect myself from my surroundings. My viewpoint has evolved since then, but take a look at the beginning, from May of 2011:
Intro, Part 2

4. I began to explore the frontiers of language acquisition in France by trying to spend an evening with someone who didn't speak English. I have since frequently come back to this theme on my blog, as I have transitioned from language to language and the process that entails:
Lessons in French Adventure, or a Crash Course in Speaking Awkwardly

5. As I continued, I began to feel the effects of cultural fatigue, a phase of cultural adjustment not entirely unrelated to culture shock, nor the same thing still:
Realizing that Cultural Fatigue Exists, Despite Everything

6. There was an afternoon in which I discovered that, in fact, not all crepes made in France are as delicious as the Eat, Pray, Love-style fawning over them most travelogs and culinary articles would lead you to believe. I can still taste the utter horror each time I think of it:
The Day the Food Died and Other Reflections

7. I departed France with a post dedicated to the exploration of my transient view of life and how I am going about living it. The resounding message from that post has been carried into the everyday of my life since then; as I effectively broke up with a complicated affair and learned to enjoy the world for myself and set my priorities in a way fitting for me, my world and how I viewed it around me changed:
Outro, Mosaic: One Piece of an Endless Reverie

8. When I made the decision to study abroad in Portugal, the choice was as novel and eye-opening as anything I had ever done prior. Finally, I was doing something of my own accord that had bearing on the future in all aspects, despite having to leave behind a newly kindled romantic flame and delay my graduation by another semester. When I got to Portugal, I began to experience tensions with my American colleague while I was learning how to be on my own in the world. The saga resulted in three posts:
Decoding Derp, pt. 1 - "malandra"
Decoding Derp, pt. 2 - "dog shit"
Misquoting, Mildew, or What Happens in Lisbon Goes on the Internet

9. My original period in Portugal was marked by being submerged in an entirely unfamiliar society and language and, naturally, I wrote quite a lot about that experience. Crash-learning Portuguese challenged my intellect and my resolve and forced me to take a renewed look at how I approach things. The best of these posts are these:
Stirrings, a Continuance of a Motif
In Which Portuguese Becomes Vaguely Intelligible
Traveling Reconsidered, or Contemplations of Position

10. My return to the United States, decision to move to Portugal again, whether permanently or not, and subsequent return to Lisbon have been marked by a melange of posts dedicated to themes similar to those already described throughout the rest of my journey. Again, these are the best:
From Portugal to Paris, Continental Affairs
Cracks in the Silver Lining
Post-Grad Redaction
Things Not to Do, from Leaving to Landing

Linguistic Dry Run

Well, what a difference a week makes.

I feel significantly better situated now, in both home and mindset, and there are a couple of things of note in particular to account for this. The first is that, having taken the hint after I decided sleeping was more valuable than attending a class at 8 AM, my professor took the initiative of changing my class for me to a level sufficiently more advanced that I might actually learn something and have a reason to get out of bed. It appears that my Portuguese at this point is at more or less the same place my French was two years ago when I studied in Annecy, functional but not completely fluid, lacking plenty of vocabulary, but with significant potential to build on itself quickly enough. The second is that my roommates all more or less speak Portuguese, three of whom are Brazilians and primarily speak it, so I have Portuguese muddling around in my brain at any given hour of the day. There is not a single day in which I spend the majority of the day speaking aloud in English. So from a linguistic vantage point, I'm more settled and, as a result, most everything else feels more settled as well.

Despite my somnolent passive-aggression, the change of the class has ended up being much for the better of things. Originally I wasn't sure whether to change the class or not, but having done so, I see that it's what should have happened in the first place. It's very much a situation of not fully realizing you needed something until you actually have it. The class is composed of ten Chinese students, me, and a couple of other people, which is not surprising to me at all, but seems very shocking to everyone else I mention it to. I have a profound respect for the Chinese students, for they are diligent, hard-working, and take the class very seriously, asking many questions and pushing themselves to learn more words and improve on mistakes pointed out to them. That said, I understand almost nothing they actually say aloud, because albeit endearing, their accents are just too far off the mark for me to comprehend. My intense curiosity about them and why on earth they chose this poor little country is tempered only by the fact that they are somewhat insular and shy to speak with people who are not also Chinese. Perhaps we'll get there later.

As I pointed out in my last post, I am not magically speaking completely coherently or fluidly yet. I don't have some sort of switch that I can turn on and not have pauses where I'm trying to remember what I was trying to say or how I would write that, nor do I have all of the vocabulary that I understand spoken from others at the ready for when I'm saying things myself. It's just that this time I'm more focused on trying to do so.

A Fortnight Later

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.