My Day
by Alice Lowy
Teach in Chile
This morning I wake up feeling no different than any other morning I’ve spent in Santiago. Throwing back my curtains, I am yet again greeted with a generous silhouette of the Andes, sometimes muted by the clouds but more often than not prominently standing from what appears to be only an arm’s length away from my window. The city is already bustling with the generic traffic and street musicians directly outside of my depto. Today it is the father and son with drums on their backs, dancing along with the beat and sweeping themselves across the sidewalks.
Every morning begins with a cup of the inexplicably popular Nescafe instant coffee and oatmeal I had previously scavenged for at my favorite grains and produce Santiago Centro market, La Vega Central. It still amazes me how easily I fell into my own routine in this new culture, from knowing the exact amount of water necessary to boil in my depto’s electric kettle to the number of banana slices it takes to complement the well-priced and delicious oatmeal. The mornings are already starting to grow warmer, and I no longer feel the cold shiver that I could never seem to get rid of during the winter. Spring is definitely starting to settle in on the other side of the equator, and the last breath of winter is slowly exhaling out of our systems. Plans to spend a day at the beach in Viña del Mar are beginning to pop into my head, while local Santiago parks are already filling themselves with picnics, children running around with their dogs, and amantes tangled in each other’s arms. Everything is piecing together with the added green.
As I walk to my Duoc Institution in the heart of Providencia, I am met with the same faces I see every day. Beginning with the slew of doormen at the foot of my building who pile themselves over the counter to burst out “Buenos dias, linda”, I walk past the crowds of chilenos well-aware that they are watching and finding the commuting gringa to be amusing against their typical schedules. In the nearby park en route, the city workers are cutting the grass and keeping the place spotless as they usually do. For being in a city, I am constantly surprised by how much more often I can smell the grass and flowers than I did in my hometown back in the States. I pass the elderly couples on the benches by the shade, the abnormally large two stray dogs that have become inhabitants to this park and are currently playing with a woman’s miniature poodle, businessmen taking their break and laughing into their cell phones, and a handful of children squealing by a set of swings. It is the same picture I am painted every day on my way to work, and yet it still continues to put a smile on my face as I walk by the same groups of people.
I sigh heavily as I ascend the steps of Duoc, prepared for yet another day of attempting to get through to a class with a majority that could care less about what I am teaching. There are, of course, the select few that genuinely care about the material and want to learn, and yet it is the group of technicians who think my class is a waste of their time that I get stuck on trying to engage. As I sign myself in and grab my materials, other Chilean teachers smile warmly at me and offer pleasantries that normally don’t exceed the limits of a casual greeting and inquiring as to how I’m doing. I parade into the classroom with the largest amount of confidence and energy I can muster, and I begin to set up for the class slowly because I know that my students won’t show for another five to fifteen minutes. As students shuffle in, I note the mix of faces as they greet me. While some are blank and obviously turned off of learning anything today, there is an overwhelming number of others that are beaming and genuinely excited to be in class.
I continue with the lesson as always, frequently breaking with a few jokes in order to gauge the students on their level of comprehension based on whether they understand the humor. More often than not, the jokes go over their heads and I proceed to gesture such a sentiment, which finally makes them laugh. As we pursue the content, I notice some of the students growing weary and start to lose faith in my teaching ability, even though I logically know that it’s only because they spent the last six hours in the hospital doing “practica” and their weariness is no reflection on my lesson. Finally I reach my limit and let them out feeling defeated, as though I only successfully taught a handful of the class. As I am packing up, however, a student who never did particularly well on quizzes comes up to me and asks if I can help translate the lyrics of a song he heard. Relieved to apparently have enough credibility in my abilities as a translator, I agree and spend the next twenty or so minutes translating every word for him, surprised at my own level of Spanish that I had somehow acquired in these past months here. He seems incredibly grateful and proceeds to tell me how important English is to him, and how he wants to keep practicing. This makes me smile.
After a full day of classes, I walk myself home to the same crowd I had left earlier that morning. Now, there are even more children out with their afterschool snacks caked on their faces, and the city is roaring even louder. My doormen welcome me with the same enthusiasm they left me with, except now they know I’m “cansadita”. Opening my door, I realize I have yet again come home to the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen. Every day seems to get better and better, leaving me breathless and thankful for that exact moment. Today, the mountains are different shades of purples and pinks, and the clouds are blurring themselves into the blushing sky. I can’t help but stare out my window and fall in love with this life all over again. And as the sun finally begins to set, I can begin planning the next lesson and anticipate whose life I can subtly affect tomorrow.