tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24252765627727160262012-01-26T08:40:29.398-08:00bornintheUSAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17238300156817900102noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2425276562772716026.post-66288342166415286742012-01-26T07:21:00.001-08:002012-01-26T08:40:12.122-08:00So, this post is my first and since I have yet to volunteer or start my internship, it will be strictly personal. So, a grain of salt, if you will. <div><br /></div><div>I arrived here on January 1st, 2012. At the end of this month I will be TEFL certified, or armed to practice English all over the world. Now that I am here in Rio de Janeiro, I love it, and want to stay as long as possible. </div><div><br /></div><div>My host family. I live in Humaita (oo-my-'tah), in the Botafogo area. It is peaceful, and a great place to live. My living situation is strange. I live with a woman who seems to be in her late 40s, I call her grandma, her daughter Christine who I call mom and is 25, and her 5 year-old daughter named Julia. There are always other people in the house, however. Friends, sometimes the brother of Christine. </div><div><br /></div><div>I believe in humility. And I'm very careful about contact with other cultures, because I like to get to know them, empathize or sympathize. So when I get to know strangers from other cultures its more than meeting someone new. It's dealing with the unknown, it's also confronting yourself and possibly some of your biggest fear and flaws, depending on who you are. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I didn't want to try and analyze my new family. I just wanted to get to know them. But now I have passed judgement, and I am looking forward to leaving. Sometimes things are just shady, and difficult to understand, and even impossible to accept. You know, that's life. But I'll just give it to you straight: grandma smokes cigarettes all day and dry heaves in the bathroom for hours at night. Mom sleeps all day, gets high late afternoon, and drinks beer all night long with her friends. I see her daughter before I leave for school early in the morning, restless and lying awake next to her mother in the bed, coughing so much that her little body looks like it will collapse, as she has since the day I met her. Sometimes I come home in the early afternoon to change and she'll still be in her barbie nightgown, her wild hair standing on end, and she'll come up to me and squeal, hold my hand. I am "elizabetch" here, and she'll repeat and hold my hand. I love little girls I have a soft spot for kids in general. But this girl I just feel sorry for. </div><div><br /></div><div>The other day she came in my room and we played a little bit, I told her I wanted to go to sleep so she curled up next to me and sang little songs for an hour. And then she kissed me, cheek, cheek, and then on the lips. And needless to say, I am really sick right now. I lost my voice and my throat is like dry stone. But I figured it was only time until I got sick in this house. </div><div><br /></div><div>More about my family. </div><div><br /></div><div>Grandma, who has accent that sounds like her mouth is full of marbles, I can only get about 60% of what she says, has decided to relive her youth. All the ladies of the house have cornrows, Christine has long hair extensions that drop to her waist. But now grandma got some. And then she started painting her lips bright pink every day. And then her nails red. And then a pink blackberry magically appeared, and the hemline of her already revealing clothing began an incline of a steady pace.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have a huge flat screen now. Apparently a "gift". And yet sometimes we go a day without any toilet paper. </div><div><br /></div><div>Multiple parties held at our flat. I usually hang out for a little but can't hold very good conversation, because of the language barrier and something of a type of person barrier. Plus I wake up at 6am to get to school. So off I go to pretend to sleep. I wake up in the morning to take a shower, return to my room in a towel, to find a man in his underwear standing in the middle of my room. He is obviously wasted. He comes up to me and asks, "posso passar?" Can I come in. Ha. Please. </div><div><br /></div><div>He presses me against his beer odor body and kisses my face. And then comes the No, and he saying he doesn't understand. But don't worry nothing more happens. I change right there and push him the hell out of my room. He knocks then for the next hour at my door. I go to school. Normal day ensues. Life is fine. And I don't hold it against my family that a drunk man who was to wasted to leave from the night before was standing in my room. I do hold it against them that shit goes down, while Julia lives in that house. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's just sad. It's like a college party is going on in the house, and then the little girl comes in, and you can see it on everybody's face. Like, shit. None of us are ready for this kind of responsibility. </div><div><br /></div><div>Later I find out it's Christine's uncle who pays for the place, and he has no idea that she has signed up with TEFL, who pay her a hefty sum to house foreign girls like me. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's whatever. They are people I never have to see again. I spend only my sleeping time at home now. I have plenty to do and friends to see during the day and stay out late at night. But coming home to a sweating older lady, puking into the sink and then mumbling to herself in the bathroom mirror, twirling her hair and wearing nothing but a distorted smile, you start to lose concept of reality. And I feel a bit depressed. But everything is ok. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2425276562772716026-6628834216641528674?l=brazilican.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>bornintheUSAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17238300156817900102noreply@blogger.com0