Oh yes, I am that girl. I am the gringa making a fuss about my coffee, declaring “I want I am milk, please … I am milk, it is very important.”
Every time I skip up the subway steps of a different metro stop, I feel like I’m seeing a completely new city for the first time. The character of each neighborhood is noticeably distinct, a diversity that continues to intrigue me. Just as I think I am starting to get in rhythm with the beat of the city, I remember I have a lot more exploring to do.
When you go to class 8 hours a day only to go home to 7 hours of homework: Friday afternoon drinks are a must.
After 22 years of not being a morning person, I thought I’d never change. That was before I experienced a Santiago sunrise.
The fundamental goal in teaching is to help others learn. Sure, that’s obvious enough. But when I taught my first English as a Foreign Language Lesson last week, I am sure I learned just as much — if not more — than my students.
Faces squashed up against the doors like bugs on a windshield. Pairs of shoes fought each other for the chance at sturdy footing; I lost the battle and hung in some kind of mid-air limbo, seemingly defying gravity as a sea of bodies kept me afloat until I could get a limb back on solid ground. It was as if we were a deck and a half of playing cards being shoved into a single box, those out of line shuffled around hopelessly trying to fit in the pack.
