Dear Spain,
I’ve long considered writing this letter to you, but
these things always seem to get pushed down to the bottom of the list. Laundry
and lesson plans seem more pressing and by the end of the day, the last thing I
want to do is sit down and dedicate time and energy to anything unnecessary.
Unnecessary. A walk in the park, giving up your seat
in the metro, sweeping the sidewalk. Unnecessary. A choice between hot and lukewarm milk for café con leche, a greeting when you walk into the elevator, a public
bilingual education. Unnecessary. A note of encouragement. Unnecessary. Or is
it?
When I taught a lesson about the responsibility students have to their own education to an 11th grade English class, I
expected your youth to feel empowered. When we watched the recording of Barack Obama’s speech to school children, I was excited to hear about the plans they had and the dreams
they thought they could achieve. Instead, student upon student commented on the
same element of the speech. They commented that they didn’t feel like they had
any responsibility to you, Spain. While Obama encouraged students to be the
best they could be for themselves, for their families, and for their country,
they laughed off the idea of working hard to help you.
Confused at why the students were so negative, I reminded
them that although the country is in a tough spot right now, they could be the
ones to change it. But they wouldn’t have anything of it. Again and again they told
me how the government officials hadn’t done anything to help them, how the
country didn’t deserve their hard
work. They told me that if they succeeded in their careers, they wouldn’t stay
and help you. They would go to Germany.
This was the first time I realized that I was
patriotic. No, I don’t have an American flag hanging in my bedroom or say the
Pledge of Allegiance every day. I don’t dress in successful sports teams’
jerseys and I don’t defend the meddling we’ve done in other countries’ affairs.
But I am proud of the people who make up my nation. I’m proud of the fact that
most high school students spend time volunteering (even if it is just to
improve college applications). I’m proud of the way my dad worked his way
through college and medical school and the battles he’s fought to build and maintain his own medical practice. I’m proud of my mom for starting a small business
after the age of 50, creating a way for her to earn money by sharing her
passion of sewing. I’m proud of the Holland families who fed me,
housed me, and gave me a sense of home when I was over 10 hours away from
Hershey. I’m proud of the UB students whose bracelets I still wear around my
wrist, reminding me that students whose parents have never gone to college can
conquer high school and make their own way by studying hard and learning to ask for appropriate help
along the way. These people are my country, their lifestyles are what I value,
and I am proud to be a part of a country that allows them to live out their
dreams.
But Spain, I am proud of you too. You think that
everyone defines you by your corrupt politicians, but we don’t. If anything,
ignorant Americans will define you as flamenco dancing, sangria drinking,
siesta taking people who periodically pause to kill or run from a bull.
But after over 11 combined months of living here, I know that there is so much
more to you than that.
I know that the slower pace of life that is led here
isn’t a sign of laziness. It’s a sign of respect. Respect for people, for
conversations, for sunshine. As the old man at the pandería told me as I rushed
in with my change purse and grocery bag, trying to squeeze in too many errands
in too little time, “Go ahead. I’m in no hurry. The people run and run, but
where are they going? We are all headed towards death and I don’t need to get
there quickly.” I stuffed my bread in my bag and cocked my head, realizing that
perhaps he’s on to something. The days when I push past people in the streets,
eager to get to the metro towards my next destination, I am brought back to
reality by the bright red lights spelling out “06 minutos.” You are teaching me
to slow down, Spain.
Of course, there are different levels of slowing
down. As typical, the cities are busier than towns and the South is more
relaxed than the North. But wait, that’s another thing that you are teaching
me. The South and the North. The East and the West. Andalucía. Castilla de la
Mancha. Madrid. Catalunya. Galicía. Aragón. Cantabría. Extremadura… you have 17
autonomous communities with their own constitutions and cultures and sometimes
languages. You share, of course, but you are proud of your own accomplishments,
particularly in food. The phrase "Se
comen muy bien allí" (They eat really well
there) is a typical response when I talk about my next Spanish city
adventure. But it makes sense because each region is so distinct. You drink
wine from La Rioja and eat fabada austuriana from Asturias. You indulge in paella in Valencia and eat Manchego in Castilla de la Mancha. I guess I
have good reason to make a visit to all 17 communities before I go.
But really, pride in where you come from is something
I admire. I never really cared much for Pennsylvania, or Hershey, growing up… I
was ready to see a new part of the states and leave behind “the chocolate
bubble.” But the sense of origin that permeates the culture here reminds me to
be proud of Pennsylvania and Michigan for their many appealing qualities. I’ve
grown accustomed to those living in Madrid boasting about their hometowns,
whether it be Burgos, Oviedo, or a small, unknown “village” where
their extended family has a house. And in turn, I’ve developed an eagerness to
explain where Hershey, PA, falls in relationship to NYC, Los Angelos, and Miami
(I’ve found that most of you visit those 3 cities and hear only bits and pieces
about the other states that hold them together).
I also admire the maintenance of the mom and pop shops
that line the streets of my neighborhood. I will undergo an extreme lifestyle
change when I can’t walk across the street and buy everything I need for my lunch (a
homemade guacamole burger with sweet potato fries) within a block from my house
from individual vendors. These vendors are successful because you support them.
Because you care enough about your food and your health and your body to walk into
a carnecería to have your beef ground up into “carne picada” for instead of
buying the 2€ package sold at the grocery store. Because you care enough about
your fruits and vegetables to ask what is good today instead of demanding blueberries
in the dead of winter. Because you respect the barista who works at your school
canteen by asking him how he is doing instead of muttering an order while text
messaging or talking on the phone. It is because of the way you live your lives
that I am able to experience my life in this way.
So, Spain, now that the sun has come out and the
tourists begin filling your streets, looking to experience stereotypical Spain,
remember this. I was here on the rainy days that seemed to pour salt on the
wounds of an already hurting country. I walked to dance instead of taking the
bus when routes were diverted for your protests on Gran Vía. And although these aren’t
your shining moments, I took note of them because they represent your desire
for the government to represent who you are. You are sick of being cheated and
paying for the mistakes of others. And because of these experiences, you are
taking a step away from each other. But don’t. Because I don’t consider you to
be the faces on the television. I think of the individuals I know and the
kindnesses I’ve seen. And although there is always room for improvement, I want
you to be proud. Because there is a long road ahead and it is important for you
to recognize yourselves as something worth investing in.
It’s not much, but that is what I have to offer:
words of encouragement to a country I love. For the third time in my life I have made the decision to
live in Spain for a period of time and it’s not because I am as in love with jamón
and tortilla as you all are. It’s because you are pretty darn special, and you
better believe that.
Love always,
Amber
