moments of doubt

I don't know what I'm eating.  I don't know what the hell to drink.  I don't know what everyone around me is saying, or especially what they're laughing about.  All I know is what I'm breathing - and it's not good.

Tonight, my family hosted a party at the fancy restaurant, Portofino.  It was a surprise birthday 'dinner' for Ricardo (papa) even though we got there at 9pm, the guests didn't show up til around 9:15, and mama and papa came at 9:30.  Then, we had hors d'vours: fried empanadas filled with mysterious meat, crouton crackers topped with tomato and zucchini, salviche (seafood and onions and lemon juice and more onions, essentially), and - here's the kicker - octopus.  I couldn't quite stomach that one.

It started off as a jovial (but awkward, for me, anyway) evening.  It's always awkward to be the only gringo whitey in the party.  Especially at this 'intimate' dinner of 26 guests.  Great.  However, I kept a positive attitude:  I went into it wearing my fancy black slacks (thanks to my American mom who knew I'd have to wear something fancy at some point), make-up and HEELS.  My family kept saying "Wow, Meghan!"  Like, I know I don't dress up (ever) but do I really look that slobby every other day of my life?

Eventually, dinner was served at the ripe hour of 10:30.  We dined on some sort of seafood-like ravioli.  And then bread (of course).  And then dessert (orange cheesecake, not a fan).  And then tea and coffee.  And then more alcoholic beverages.  We left Portofino at ONE-TWENTY IN THE MORNING.  I have never been a late-nighter kinda gal, just ask my man.  We peace out from parties before midnight, if we even venture out of our cozy dorms at all.  

However, that doesn't bother me.  What bothered me was my damn inability to keep up with these people.  Sometimes I think I'm so stupid to think I can learn this language.  I felt so alone and I didn't understand anything anyone was saying.  My Chilean fam tells me I'm good at Spanish, but this was a clear example of how wrong they were.  I'm okay in classes, where the teachers know that Spanish is our second language.  I'm okay at home with my family, if they talk slow.  I'm okay one-on-one with people.  But how the hell am I supposed to keep up with 10 conversations at once?!  And they laughed and laughed and laughed like I've never seen adults laugh before.  And I was the only one not laughing.  Because I was the only one who didn't understand.  And everyone knew it.

And they'll point out (to the entire party), "Meghan, what are you thinking... Why are you so quiet?"  "Meghan, say something!"  "Meghan, why are you so shy?"  Sure, just put more attention on the fact that the gringa has no idea what's going on.  By the end of the night, I was quite familiar with the look of pity in the people's eyes around me.  I wanted to crawl under the table (where there would probably be less smoke) and shrivel up.

The worst part about it was the smoke though.  Despite the "SE PROHIBE FUMAR" signs on the wall (which also cited the LAW that prohibits smoking in undesignated areas), I probably inhaled the second hand smoke of about fifty-six cigarettes tonight.  My family KNOWS I'm asthmatic, they even made jokes at dinner about how "Meghan doesn't smoke" or "Meghan, want a cigarette? hahaha"  Great, thanks everyone.  I'm glad that even though you're all chain smokers, I'M THE ONE with asthma.  How does that work out?

I love what I study, but sometimes I wonder why I do it.  There are already so many people in the world who are bilingual (or multilingual) and I'm spending tens of thousands of dollars to kind of become fluent.

Sometimes, I feel so out of place here.  So alone.