Family Matters

After spending the last two weeks in the comforts of my American home, I thought I would dig through my previous blog notes and post a few things that were left unposted—both to document a few more important moments during my time abroad and to provide me with some much-needed nostalgia of my amazing experience.

Perhaps the one person who made me the most comfortable while in Madrid was my host mom, Ana. I was lucky enough to receive the continual support from my mother back in the states while enjoying the motherly attention of this wonderful woman in Spain. [Ironically enough I spent Spanish Mother’s Day (May 4th) with my host mom and Mother’s Day in the U.S. with my American mom]. Though she was paid for providing me with food and shelter, Ana was the best combination of tenant, mother and friend. She respected me as a young adult, every boundary of privacy and liberty you could ever want as a twenty-something. At the same time, I was a girl whose laundry was washed, dried, and folded and who could grab her sack lunch off the kitchen counter before catching the metro. On weekends when guests came over for a late and hearty lunch, I was expected to set the table with Gonzalo—a menial task that I couldn’t possibly tell her how much that made me feel at home. The mornings leading up to one of my excursions around Europe, I would find a sandwich with snacks waiting for me on the table with a little sticky note inside—“Que lo pases bien, Stephanie,”—wishing me well on my travels. Sitting on the couch watching daytime soap operas, Ana would reach into her private stash of chocolate and offer me a square, because cada día hay que comerlo. That cold day in February when I woke up with a fever was the moment I realized how much of a mom Ana had become for me—attentively, she brought me a damp washcloth and pressed it against my forehead as any caring and concerned woman would do for su hija. She adopted me as her daughter as much as I adopted her as my mother and I couldn’t have loved her more for it.

Not once was I homesick staying with the Villamor family. In some ways, it was because of how similar they were to what I had left behind in the states. I left my Spanish family only to find myself with their American counterparts: a mom who comes home from work and just wants to watch her shows and who becomes a bit flustered and dissatisfied with the size of their living space; a brother who is just exercising his independence and who will be graduating from high school in no time; the constant bickering between mother and brother over why the dog hasn’t gone for its walk yet and por el amor de Dios, get off the computer because you’ve been playing games for two hours; a Dad who inevitably sides with the mother but can at least sympathize with his son whose disorganized room is never up to par. Subtle differences will still go noticed and what I consider normal will be replaced by what I considered normal. I will trade Wednesday nights of watching House dubbed in Spanish for reruns of The Office and large weekend lunches for Sunday morning family brunch.

It was their striking differences, however, that enamored me with my familia española. The things that I came to appreciate while living in the Villamor household—the value of family, the sanctity of traditions, the importance of togetherness—I know I will translate into a family of my own in the future. I had a life-changing experience in Spain, made all the more incredible and memorable because of my stay with them. And every time I experienced something amazing, I returned back to our apartment at Joaquín María Lopez, No. 28 and shared my world with my family over dinner while they shared theirs with me. And even though I’ve lived in a suburban house in Washington for nearly sixteen years, I feel as if I did a lot of growing up in Madrid with Ana, Pepo, Gonzalo and our dog, Caña.

Menos de 3 dias

In the panicky last 72 hours of my stay in Madrid, I’ve reverted back to my original state of tourism, trying frantically to capture the novelty of everything that has now become so familiar. It’s literally impossible to convey the normalcy of my day on film, but that’s no surprise. However, I have yet to give up on this endeavor and continue to take pictures of what invariably turn out as lack-luster photos of tree-lined streets and buildings.

At this point I’m cherishing my excitement to return to the states; I know it will soon evaporate once the boredom and commonness of home takes over if not sooner (i.e. when I have to spend one unfortunate night in and around JFK). My desire to go home could stem directly from my looming last final exam, after which the reality might hit so hard that I’ll be wishing I actually had more tests left just to afford me more time here. The conflicting feelings of never wanting to leave Madrid and wanting desperately to get back to the U.S. has brought me to the point of not even knowing what to feel. I’m neither sad nor anxious nor heartbroken…at least for now.

There are irreplaceable things that I have always missed from the states—things that won’t change regardless of the amount of time I spend abroad—and it’s an eclectic mix of the abstract and the concrete: a tolerance of diversity, the facilities and desire to recycle, breakfast (for God’s sake, people), just to name a few. And for once it will be nice to live in a culture where blonde is a norm and staring is impolite. There are so many aspects of Spanish culture that I’d love to duplicate in the states, so much of the language that I would love to impossibly incorporate into our own (joder has inevitably ingrained itself in my vocabulary). Por lo menos, I know that I’m bringing back two bottles of Spanish wine, thousands of photos, and a better understanding of myself.

But I’d still like to continue to share my experience up until I set foot on U.S. soil. And as of this moment, I have yet to (nor am I able to) say goodbye to the place I’ve called home for four months. Until then, here are some more pictures, a little video of my last flamenco show (though the sound quality is terrible and is best viewed with the volume way down), and perhaps one of my last cool, calm and collected blog entries.

El Centro de Acogida a Refugiados -- CAR de Vallecas

It started off as a normal work day—the way that I would’ve wanted it to end. Ruben decided to test me one last time and asked me to finish all the economic aid for the month. Two hours and forty-five signatures later, he smiled when I handed the completed forms to him: “Your grade just went up! You realize no other student has gotten to do this before, yes?” I had realized that. As special as this experience had been for me, it was nice to think that it was something special for Ruben too, that a student like me would come along with an extreme passion for her job and doing things well. Soon after, Ana, myself, Ruben, Auri and Luis [pictured left to right] headed out one final time to our favorite dingy bar for un café.

When we got back to the center, Ruben sat me down and read my student evaluation aloud to me, verbalizing everything I had done well over the semester. He turned to me and personally thanked me for working so diligently. I told him that honestly, it was a pleasure just to be able to come into work every day. I wrote down Ruben’s contact info (the man gave me his home address, home phone, and cell number!). As I started to write the Center’s address and stopped myself short, smiling. How could I ever forget it? I’ve written it down on a million social security applications, repeated it hundreds of times to the employees at the health center, and turned right on Calle Luis Buñuel from the metro stop every Monday through Thursday for the last four months. So even after hearing all those wonderful praises from Ruben, I felt pretty composed. Then he asked me how I felt about my internship with him.
And I started to cry.

Luckily I had written a letter which I promptly dug out of my bag as tears rolled down my cheeks. But even having had articulated what I felt on paper, what could I possibly say to quantify this experience? How can I tell this man and everyone else in the center, just how much they’ve changed me as a person? Even now I still have trouble placing my emotions—I’m incredibly sad to be leaving behind certain people (mostly residents) that I’m certain I will never see again. I’m shocked that four months passed so quickly and that I became so comfortable with my surroundings there. But more than anything I feel utterly indebted and grateful to the individuals I’ve met and the people I’ve worked with.

To have the pleasure of one person in this world changing your life is a blessing. To have 92 residents and 33 coworkers dramatically affect who you are as a person is something wonderfully unique to my situation. What still amazes me is how much one individual story of loss or triumph affected my view of the world; how someone’s struggle to escape their country changed my outlook on life; how someone’s welcoming and grateful smile made my work day that much better… Nothing could’ve prepared me for yesterday. No one could’ve told me how much this internship under the guidance of one incredibly generous and trusting boss could change my life the way it did. That they would put so much responsibility and faith on one American girl amazes me. And now she finally feels like an adult, like someone with a purpose and a goal and a desire to change the world around her.

Yesterday I said goodbye to my family, the people I’ve cared about on so many different levels for the last four months. I still can’t find words and I may never be able to find the appropriate ones to express how grateful I am and how much this has impacted me. But as I prepare to leave Spain, the most important consolation I have from this experience is that, like so many refugees who have walked through our doors, I’ll always have a home in CAR de Vallecas.