fail. but..not entirely.

So I lied.

I can't understand for shit. Okay, thats not true either. The pendulum swings, as it does with everything when you're studying/traveling abroad. Some days one would never guess I was secretly an american wandering around and others I simply can't manage to say good morning without a confused look from anyone within my radius. True, my comprehension went way up and I did have a breakthrough last month. but c'mon. really? seals? I got excited because I understood ten, fifteen minutes or so of the discovery channel. Obviously things were a little different when I went back out into the world. Still, small victories are victories. It wasn't really until this month, january, that I've started to actually fall into that smooth natural state of understanding. I've just been getting so accustomed to the way people speak and words so commonly used that I don't really have to think too much anymore. My mumbling escapades are molding themselves into nearly comprehendible sentences with actual meaning. honestly, my main objective is more focused on just what to say rather than how to say it. Knowing me including all randomness, it shouldn't be too hard.

November.

too much has happened over the past month and a half or however long its been. I can't even recall. There have been struggles, victories, good times, great times, and of course the awkward ones. those are always the best. I have learned so much I feel as if my brain is on the verge of exploding any moment. as it has been consistently feeling with the whole foreign language thing, but I can feel it getting better every day.

So. It is november. and I think....I just may understand portuguese. the linguistic breakthrough has arrived. everything all of a sudden falls into place. I have felt this feeling before, when i scratched the surface of it with spanish after a few weeks in central america. but that was a much smaller extent. Its an interesting sensation. It stabbed at me for a few minutes and caused me to become a bit dazed. watching national geographic and drinking a microwave-made cappuccino, i stopped and stared at the screen of seals on rocks. i understood what the narrator had said. I changed the channel to paraiso, my favorite brazilian soap opera to test myself. harder, of course, because of the dialect, but still good results from my brain. since that happened a few days ago its flip-flopped from clear understanding to semi-choppy, half-understood fuzziness. I still pretty much make up words and have nearly formed my own freaky germanic- romance language mix, choosing english verbs I don't know in portuguese and adding an -ar or -er ending depending on what gender I think it would be if it was real. sometimes they actually work. Its a start. and only the beginning.

my favorite moments around here are the strange ones. the times when I feel like I'm living a dream. When i find new beautifully hidden alleys and avenues on the way to school, when I meet people on the bus who randomly offer me food from the local bakeries, old portuguese people at the park who share with me their favorite life stories. I have grown used to the nearly constant tektonic music and tiny speeding vehicles that question whether or not they should have ever been given a license. yet my only real danger around here are the cobblestones. its a miracle I haven't twisted my ankle yet.

School. oh yeah. school. I keep forgetting I go there. school is basically a huge house party to say the least. especially when you take art. classes scattered here and there, not usually starting until thirty minutes to an hour after the time it was written on the schedule to take place. I vaguely remember when there was this strange thing called punctuality. That shits long gone. so what will we do in class today? eh, paint a bit, play some music, draw classmates, the usual. then our teacher typically brings some incredibly delicious bolachas (cookies) and we get round in circle talking about stuff while munching on yummy snacks. then perhaps a siesta back at home. yep yep.

oh, and did i mention i'm almost completely accustomed to the beijinhos? maybe i have changed so far.

Far from home.

Portugal is a very strange little country. I never had imagined it could be so different, yet in a few way is similar to what I expected. Sometimes during the day I have to pinch myself as a way to wake myself up to make sure this is actually happening. I sit quietly in the classroom where my peers blab on and on in sharp cutting sounds and words that I can only distinguish slightly, never fully absorbing the words in a natural state of understanding. I am an estrangeira, and an obvious one at that. Maybe it is just in my head, because wherever I go in the back of my head rests the knowledge that I am foreign. If walking down the street, most assume I am not American, as ethnically I do not look very different from everyone else. A little paler, but it is not altogether uncommon. Soon the feeling will fade as I am so new to the place.

I am not homesick, at least not yet. There are, of course, things that I miss, such as the fruit loop, coffee at night, brunches at my favorite french restaurant, and even spending hours reading books at barnes & nobles. and of course, many of the people I left behind. Being here makes me realize how different people really are. Not just on the exterior, but deep within us all. What we value, what we accept, how we express emotion, what we think is important in life. It's just so different.

The lifestyle in Portugal is very slow paced. I knew this prior to my arrival, but it really translates into everything they do. They are slow to rise in the morning, walking slowly throughout the day to get to their desired destinations, spending lots of time on meals and such. In fact, they spend most of the day preparing lots of food, which usually includes all the family members at the table. The constant family interaction has been the one of the main difficulties for me. Coming from the US, it was a strange concept to me to even think about spending so much time with the whole family. Especially since I am not even blood related. It still remains a struggle for me to connect with those surrounding me, as my language skills are pretty much that of a precocious seven year old. Although I usually just mumble a bit and it gets me by. For now.

Another one of the major cultural differences that I am crazy not fond of are....the beijinhos. As much fun as it is to air kiss everyone on the cheeks, including tons of people I don't actually know, I quite detest it. It seems I can never get it right, and have yet to feel completely confident and comfortable at every greeting. I end up smashing my head into the other person's nose or nearly kissing someone's ears. I have yet to master it, although I would kill for a hug about now. so HUGS TO EVERYONE.

Those who must not be named?

The Hipster.

Hah. Oh those ‘hipsters’ as I hear them being called. Who exactly are these people?

I see them. Many places I go, in fact, as I watch their ray ban-clad faces and messy heads rush past me. Many travel in packs, small packs of two or three. They are typically young, but that is beside the point.

Their headbands squash the circumference of their heads, looking halfway between a tennis player from the eighties and a member of the Woodstock community. Dishevelment is not too far off; at least it seems that way to the outside world. You know, the world that takes regular showers and washes clothes.

I did not know who or what a hipster was in slightest before I heard the term. True, I noticed these people and the way they dressed, behaved, and carried themselves. They were like each other in so many ways I found it hard to be unconscious of it all. I did not realize that they were becoming a distinct culture.

The hipster is what it is: a conundrum. Defined as the definition of something that refuses to be defined. In some ways a hipster is the interpretation of the current youth. Without it, we might not have an intact idea of how our generation looked as a whole.

Their music influences them, like every subculture. Their genres range, yet are likely to include forms of electro-pop dance numbers and much independent music. They are the party types, and their music helps lead the way.

What makes a hipster? Is it a choice on the behalf of oneself or is it merely by accident that one becomes what is known as a hipster?

Some find that they are accused of being one, and realize they are in fact a ‘hipster’ without ever trying to look a certain way particularly. Others pick it up through lack of originality, depending on others to define how they should look. Some like the look and copy it. Then there are the few who just enjoy shopping at hipster venues, without really soaking up the hipster culture. Therefore these may look like hipsters on the outside, but are not truly to be considered hipsters.

Although hipsters will never admit they are hipsters, deep down they know that they are part of a legitimate trend or ‘look’. It is the sense of belonging that comes with being a hipster. A quick way out of having to deal with finding yourself or creating yourself originally. However, being the conundrum that it is, when one tries to be original, it may very well end up looking quite the opposite and thus defeating the purpose. By being different, they end up looking somewhere along the lines of well, everyone else. Attaching onto the hipster culture is their way of feeling established in a certain community. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as by human nature we feel the need to be accepted.

Nevertheless, the hipster is only human. We must learn to love them for what they are. Which we can probably distinguish from their various talking-tee-shirts anyway.

Meaning.

Life is meaningless.

There is no purpose. we are species. a complex, wonderful, strange species. But in all its complexity, life is just life. As humans we are sometimes such lovely people and sometimes such horrible monsters. But we will not go into that right now. Humans are not here to do anything or be anything specifically except to survive, if even that. Yet it seems, at least to me, that every there is a fixed idea and mentality of how life should be and even what it is- you must do this and that here and there etc. as if everything has to be a certain way. there is so much dependence on what is 'normal' and as associated with 'correct'. and what is 'different' is foreign, scary, and weak. I am sick of hearing that something is wrong or bad merely because it is different.

Maybe I'm intensely naive, but I just don't always understand this notion. we are, of course, individuals, but we are in so many ways like each other. we just seem different on the exterior. sometimes we are generic versions of each other. this is not a bad thing necessarily, it just strikes me as interesing. This, too, stems from the idea of whats normal or even whats cool, pretty and the correct way to look, act, feel, and be. a lingering stench of pressure possibly turning to self hate. don't ever let anyone tell you how to live your life. Live it for yourself, however you want to. because hey, life is meaningless, and eventually, nothing will matter.

Bonjour!

This blog will be dedicated to the randomness that surrounds my existence. It is a randomness that shall vary depending on the eyes of whoever wishes to read it. It is a a blank canvas in which i will paint the thoughts and words that pass through my mind.

love to everyone.