Un Hombre al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios

Well, it has clearly been a long time since I've posted anything. My schedule got crazy, and I had a lot on my plate/mind. After getting back from Toledo, I had about two weeks of severe culture shock/homesickness.



If you see this chart seen above, I hit the deep #3 plunge. It wasn't pleasant, mostly because anxiety already has a nasty grip on my mind a lot of the time. Over the past year, I have made tremendous progress in getting a grip and controlling my anxiety. Of course, a lot of that progress went out the window once I stepped on the plane at Boston. I'm not entirely sure what set me down the slope of cultural shock, but it began to affect me in a lot of ways I didn't realize. Nervous eating creeped back into my habits. I started to freak out over where I would live during may-term and the upcoming fall semester. I really started to freak out thinking about my relationships back in the states, and if/how they would change when I got home. Everything manifested itself in a big breakdown of helplessness. I felt like there was nothing I could do in regards to my housing situation, relationships, etc since I was 3,000 some miles away. I have to nag my friends for updates in their housing situations to see if I can live with them. My friends lives carry on without me. My fear of my new kitten not wanting to see me as its owner since I couldn't be there to spend time with it. All of these things and more just weighed down on me so much, it brought me to tears. I thought I was safe from the "culture shock breakdown" since I had already been in Spain for over a month. Apparently, I just had a long honeymoon phase, because I just hit a wall. I found myself crying, repeating over and over "I just want to go home." I've usually had the problem of when something big in my life changes to keep it bottled up until I just burst. It happened this summer with moving, and it's happened in other situations beforehand. The problem I guess is that I can't see it building and building, because it's such a gradual process. After my breakdown, I'm not sure what in my head clicked, but I just felt better.

That right there. The fact that I felt better is important. Because it's one of the main reasons I hate society's expectation of men:

Men don't cry.

That's what we always are told. Men deal with their problems without the slightest emotion, unless you count indifference or rage as an emotion. Men aren't "allowed" to feel, because it makes us "weak". In the eyes of women, and other men. Because that's what society tells us. This is the most horrible thing men are told, even more so than "you have to look like an Abercrombie model to be attractive". Just honestly, if you think that, you need to check yourself real quick. I see the fact that Jesus, even while having a wild nature about him, prompting him to drive people out of the temple with a whip, still sat children down on his lap, wept for death of his friend Lazarus, and begged with God to spare His life in the garden, no doubt with tears in His eyes. He was gentle. He had feelings, often times of grief and despair. And he showed them. Why is it then that men, especially Christian men, don't find it "manly" to follow Jesus' example? Why do we let society dictate how we act? If we aren't supposed to let them dictate our actions, why do we let them dictate our emotions and how we express them?

I needed a good cry. Just telling people I wanted to go home would've been and had been perceived as whining, or being ungrateful for the opportunity I was given. I had to somehow get out the depth of how I was feeling. Not only that, I'm pretty sure I've heard that crying is physiologically good for our mental well-being.

*end soap-box*

All that being said, I am doing worlds better. I am on the uphill leading up to going home, adapting and accommodating to the culture. According to the chart, when I get home I'll have reverse culture shock. I am no longer naive enough to believe I'm immune. So here's what I ask:

If you read this, and you know that you'll be interacting with me in the first few months after I get home, PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME. I very well may not be emotionally stable. I don't really know what it will be like. These experiences are different in every person that goes abroad.

Sorry for the johnny-raincloud nature of the post. Just wait until I get back from Paris in April. That post is gonna be awesome.

Toledo: The Most Beautiful City This Side of Middle-Earth

Last week, we went on an excursion to Toledo. Thankfully, high school football trips made me an expert at sleeping on a bus, and the 7 hour car-ride to college has made me an expert at long car rides. With these two powers combined, the trip was pretty painless. Before arriving in Toledo, we stopped at Consuegra in La Mancha to see the Don Quijote windmills. In other words, we drove up to the top of a hill so the girls could take photos of each other looking over the Spanish countryside. But it was still pretty cool. After our quick stop there, it was a short trip to Toledo. As we pulled in front of the city, I learned something incredibly cool: the entire city is surrounded by a wall. This was a legit medieval city, with walls and gates and watchtowers. Having always loved stories with knights and swords and castles, this was pretty awesome for me. One of my favorite stories of that nature is The Lord of the Rings. The day before we left I learned that the swords and the One Ring itself were made in Toledo for the movie trilogy. So for those of you keep count at home:

1. I've been to a location where Star Wars was filmed.

and

2. I went to the town that made the one ring and all the swords used in the Lord of the Rings.

Conclusion: Spain is another circle of nerd-heaven. After checking into our hotel, I immediately went out shopping to see all the LotR stuff I could find in this wonderful city. The first thing I bought was an Anduril letter-opener that has "Toledo" written on it. The second thing I bought was a replica of the ring on a chain. Both things made in Toledo. After winding up and down the narrow and steep, cobble-stone streets of Toledo, we went to the Iglesia de Santo Tome to see a huge painting by El Greco, "El Entierro del Senor de Orgaz". It was much cooler to see this wall-sized painting in person than just as a projection on the whiteboard at school. After going there we went to a monastery, which was also pretty cool. After that we had more free time, so I went to more shops and walked around. The group of people I was with ended up going to the edge of the city right at sunset. Seeing the sunset over the medieval walls of the city was something spectacular that I'll probably never see anything like again. We then continued shopping, and I bought a little "puñal" (too long to be a dagger but too short to be a sword) hand-made in Toledo with certification from the town hall of Toledo. Afterwards, I went back to my hotel to eat a sandwich I had saved for dinner, and then went out with a big group of friends for pizza. I didn't get pizza since I just ate, so I just downed 1.5L of water. I was a bit dehydrated from all the walking and climbing hills.

The next day we went to the cathedral, which was awesome. We got to see another El Grego painting, "El Expolio". Same as before, much cooler in person. After, we got more free time in which I  bought some gifts for the family and my traditional magnet for my collection.

What did I learn in Toledo?

Not much about art or culture. Instead I learned something about myself....again. I feel like that's all I ever learn here. Too bad I don't have tests on that instead of grammar. But I learned that whatever I'm passionate about, I can't be afraid to show it. I love LotR. I was so happy when I found a good-looking ring replica for just 10 euros, but I was really hesitant to wear it. In middle and high school when I would do something like that, I just got picked on or made fun of. And yet, many people told me that since I had it, I had to wear it. I thought about it. and I put it on. And I felt great because it was me. I'm glad that the friends I've made here know I love "nerdy" things and just love me even that much more for it, and encourage me to embrace it. I'm not going to let other people's negative opinions affect how I act, or how I define myself, ever again. If someone treats me poorly cause I'm doing something "stupid", "nerdy", or "uncool", well that's just too bad. Their opinion doesn't matter to me, because the people who love me, those who really matter, won't care. This is just from the model that God has set. He doesn't see anything as "nerdy" or "dorky", or "cool" or "uncool", and he loves me whether I like LotR and Star Wars, or whatever might be something "cool". That's just one aspect of unconditional love, the love that we as Christians are called to exhibit. So if you know someone that wants to go to comicon, ask them who they're dressing up as. If you know someone who loves SW, ask them who shot first. How about we just let everyone embrace whatever "nerdy" passions they might have? cause odds are you have one too, and you wouldn't want someone making you feel stupid for having it.

___________________________

Pictures:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152332915017578.1073741833.647277577&type=1&l=e688fc0292

Shared by a Friend in my Spain Facebook Group:

"Exchange is change. Rapid, brutal, beautiful, hurtful, colourful, amazing, unexpected, overwhelming and most of all constant change. Change in lifestyle, country, language, friends, parents, houses, school, simply everything.
Exchange is realizing that everything they told you beforehand is wrong, but also right in a way.
Exchange is going from thinking you know who you are, to having no idea who you are anymore to being someone new. But not entirely new. You are still the person you were before but you jumped into that ice cold lake. You know how it feels like to be on your own. Away from home, with no one you really know. And you find out that you can actually do it.
Exchange is thinking. All the time. About everything. Thinking about those strange costumes, the strange food, the strange language. About why you’re here and not back home. About how it’s going to be like once you come back home. How that boy is going to react when you see him again. About who’s hanging out where this weekend. At first who’s inviting you at all. And in the end where you’re supposed to go, when you’re invited to ten different things. About how everybody at home is doing. About how stupid this whole time-zone thing is. Not only because of home, but also because the tv ads for shows keep confusing you.
Thinking about what’s right and what’s wrong. About how stupid or rude you just were to someone without meaning to be. About the point of all this. About the sense of life. About who you want to be, what you want to do. And about when that English essay is due, even though you’re marks don’t count. About whether you should go home after school, or hang out at someone’s place until midnight. Someone you didn’t even know a few months ago. And about what the hell that guy just said.
Exchange is people. Those incredibly strange people, who look at you like you’re an alien. Those people who are too afraid to talk to you. And those people who actually talk to you. Those people who know your name, even though you have never met them. Those people, who tell you who to stay away from. Those people who talk about you behind your back, those people who make fun of your country. All those people, who aren’t worth your giving a damn. Those people you ignore.
And those people who invite you to their homes. Who keep you sane. Who become your friends.
Exchange is uncomfortable. It’s feeling out of place, like a fifth wheel. It’s talking to people you don’t like. It’s trying to be nice all the time. It’s bugs.. and bears. It’s cold, freezing cold. It’s homesickness, it’s awkward silence and its feeling guilty because you didn’t talk to someone at home. Or feeling guilty because you missed something because you were talking on Skype.
Exchange is great. It’s feeling the connection between you and your host parents grow. It’s knowing in which cupboard the peanut butter is. It’s meeting people from all over the world. It’s having a place to stay in almost every country of the world.
It’s cooking food from your home country and not messing up. It’s seeing beautiful landscapes that you never knew existed.
Exchange is exchange students. The most amazing people in the whole wide world. Those people from everywhere who know exactly how you feel and those people who become your absolute best friends even though you only see most of them 3 or 4 times during your year. The people, who take almost an hour to say their final goodbyes to each other. Those people with the jackets full of pins. All over the world.
Exchange is falling in love with this amazing, wild, beautiful country. And with your home country.
Exchange is frustrating. Things you can’t do, things you don’t understand. Things you say, that mean the exact opposite of what you meant to say. Or even worse…
Exchange is understanding.
Exchange is unbelievable.
Exchange is not a year in your life. It’s a life in one year.
Exchange is nothing like you expected it to be, and everything you wanted it to be.
Exchange is the best year of your life so far. Without a doubt. And it’s also the worst. Without a doubt.
Exchange is something you will never forget, something that will always be a part of you. It is something no one back at home will ever truly understand.
Exchange is growing up, realizing that everybody is the same, no matter where they’re from. That there is great people and douche bags everywhere. And that it only depends on you how good or bad your day is going to be. Or the whole year.
And it is realizing that you can be on your own, that you are an independent person. Finally. And it’s trying to explain that to your parents.
Exchange is dancing in the rain for no reason, crying without a reason, laughing at the same time. It’s a turmoil of every emotion possible.
Exchange is everything. And exchange is something you can’t understand unless you’ve been through it !"

Are You Not Entertained? Is This Not Why You Are Here?: A Quick Trip to Italica

I don't think my friends that went with me to Italica the other day have ever seen me so happy. I was like a kid in a candy shop that gave out free samples, and the free samples were little bits of pottery.

Italica was THE Roman city to be in if you were in Spain way back when. Like, it was the place to be. Emperors were born there. The third largest arena in the Roman empire is there. The place was legit back in the day.

and it just so happens to be 7 km outside of Seville.

This past Friday was an Andalucian holiday, so we didn't have any classes. In order to avoid sitting in my room all day, I figured I would see what I could get out and do. Bus tickets to Italica weren't even 2 Euros, so I thought it would be a good little day-trip. I was right.

Holy. Stinkin. Moly.

When I went to Israel in December 2011 I fell in love with archaeology, especially of the Roman kind. Friday, February 28th 2014 I fell in love again. Seeing the craftsmanship and engineering prowess of the Romans left me speechless on numerous occasions. As we came to the crest of a hill, I couldn't help but yell out "Oh! The cardo!! and there's the decumanis!!!", and proceed to explain to my friends what those things were whether they wanted to hear it or not. (The cardo is the main street of a Roman city, and the decumanis is the street running perpendicular to it). As I walked down the cardo with my friends, I pointed out how the sides of the streets were lined with broken pieces of pottery, and with enough patience, you could find a nice piece to take home. I found a nice piece that had a decent sized curve to it so that you can dell it was definitely crafted and not just some broken rock. I would've spent more time searching, but my group wanted to keep looking around the site. What took the cake was that 3rd largest arena in the Roman empire I mentioned. That was a sight to behold. As I walked into the arena, my inner Maximus from Gladiator came out. I felt powerful. I saw the stadium not in ruins, but filled with people. The cool air hitting my face as the sun shone unimpeded by any clouds. The only thing I was missing was a sword. This strange sensation of extreme manliness was only increased when I went into the room where the gladiators would wait before entering the arena. I stood in the room and looked around. I then turned around and faced the doorway. I slowly walked out from the room into the dark hallway encircling the stadium and straight out into the brilliant light shining on the floor of the arena. Now that was invigorating. I had to go back and take a video just so I wouldn't forget what it felt like.

For the beginning of the trip, I was Indiana Jones. Seeing the value of the culture and history of the ancients. Towards the end, I was the ancients. I was the armor-clad man's man who fought valiantly in the blood and dirt.

Was I really any of these things? no. I'm not a violent person. I don't even like killing bugs. I don't know how to fight, or at least fight well. But there's something about that place that made me feel very much alive. and it wasn't just in the arena, where I remarked about how many people had died there as I stood facing the water pits. It was also at the top of the hill where the Necropolis would have been, where the cool wind hit my face and the sun shone bright all around. I could see Sevilla off in the distance, but I could also see grassy hills and cypress trees all around me.

I've started re-reading Wild at Heart by John Eldridge, and regrettably I haven't had time to get very far. I did however get through the first few chapters, where he talks about men getting back out into the wilderness and finding the essence of God, His creation, and themselves. I've been stuck in a city for months. Beaver Falls. Kingston. Seville. All cities. Maybe that's a reason I resented moving so much this summer. Yes, Johnson City was a city. but there was space. The roads weren't lined house-to-house. You went through patches where there was nothing but cow fields. The trees for the most part weren't planted around the houses, but the houses around the trees. Even the forests felt like there was room to move around. I've been stuck in a city since July. Yesterday I finally got to leave. Yesterday I felt like I could breathe again. I will never be a "city boy". I will always want my big back yard and forests all around.

Thank you Italica for giving me a breath of fresh air that I've needed for a long time.

"The beating heart of Rome is not the marble of the Senate; it's the sand of the Colosseum." - Gracchus, Gladiator 

Photos ->https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152316810757578.1073741830.647277577&type=1&l=0d0f6fe5b3

Arena Video -> https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10152316804847578&l=1450733131093659119