To Endings.

If I were an artist, I would paint every beautiful thing I’ve seen this year. As all talent in visual arts in my family has completely passed over me, I guess I’ll have to use my words instead.

Today is May 17th. In 5 days, my year abroad officially comes to an end. Am I sad? In some ways. I’ve met amazing people and done  amazing things since this past August, and I don’t want to leave them behind. But the people will still be there, my memories will remain, and I can do amazing things wherever I am.

Mostly, I’m satisfied. I’ve done exactly what I wanted to do. My Spanish has improved considerably – maybe I’m not totally fluent, but I’m getting there. I’ve grown in various ways (or at least, I hope I have). I’ve done everything I wanted to. My parents say that I live in the past a lot, and they’re right. Whenever something ends, I look back and obsess over everything I should have done differently. This year, I have no regrets – and the fact that I’m able to say that and absolutely mean it is an unbelievable thing.

I could tell the world all the memories that have made this year special. But I won’t. For one thing, it would take forever. For another, these are my memories. And while I will regale everyone I meet with tales from study abroad, broadcasting them over the internet would cheapen them. Yes, I’ve been blogging (or trying to , anyway), but that’s different. These entries are just records, mostly to jog my own memory in 20 years. I can’t explain them, and I can’t translate them, but I can appreciate them, so let’s raise our metaphorical glasses as we toast:

Here’s to all the traveling I’ve done this year, from Cerro Campanario to the beaches of Playa Sucia. To all the beauty I’ve seen, both physical and otherwise. To all the homes I’ve had, not just in Buenos Aires and San Juan but in New York and Tokyo too. To all the drinks I’ve had (legally finally!) , from chichaítos to Fernet&Coke, which by the way is terrible and should be banned from the face of the earth. To arroz y habichuelas, to empanadas, to vos and ‘sh’ and the kind of fucked-up Puerto Rican Spanglish that I still don’t quite get. To the nights I can’t remember with the people I can’t forget. But mostly to the moments that made these people unforgettable – to long bus rides and empanadas and wine nights and Limbo Lounge, to tango and salsa and bachata, to bar-hopping and clubbing and long car rides, to movie nights and beach days, to taking WAY too many pictures, to conversations that lasted all night long. And most of all to the people themselves: because the landscapes were gorgeous, the languages confusing, and the experiences crazy, but it’s really the people that have made this year unforgettable.

It would take me forever to list them all. Besides, you know who you are. So to everyone who has touched my life this year, I’d like to just say: It’s been one hell of a ride. I should say thank you for the memories, but I know that I will see you again, no matter where you live. I look forward to all of the memories that we will continue to make.

See you soon!

Te quiero.

All my love,

Sasha

To Maya

I should be writing about Puerto Rico. That is what this blog is supposed to be about, after all. But on this wonderful May day, I’m actually not in Puerto Rico (don’t worry, I’m going right back). I’m in Baltimore to celebrate a very important day for a very important person in my life. So I’m going to write about that instead.

Today, my sister is finally graduating college. Why do I say finally? Because technically, she was supposed to graduate last year. But due to some indecision on what to major in and an unfortunate accident last year, she is graduating today instead. Only a year before me. Wow. 

My sister and I have a somewhat complicated relationship. We fight. Not necessarily a lot, but when they do happen, they’re really bad. To the point that my parents often tell us, “Girls, we’re not going to be around forever. Play nice.” 

A lot of the times, my sister drives me crazy. She’s annoying, and frustrating, and all of the things that sisters will say about each other. Sometimes, all I want to do is throw her out a window. 

But even then, she’s still one of the most amazing people I know. I can tell her anything, and she always knows what to say. She has a wonderful artistic eye, although I dont always understand it. She’s hardworking and funny and silly. Most of all, despite everything she’s been through, she always comes out on top. She hasn’t had the easiest life – I’ll be the first to tell you that. But despite all the troubles that she’s gone through, she’s still fighting and smiling through the pain. And for that, she is perhaps the strongest person I know. 

She’s also completely terrified of what’s going to happen now. Case in point? She recently changed her cover photo to a big sign that says, “STOP ASKING ME ABOUT MY FUTURE.” I understand why she’s so scared, in some ways, because my graduation is coming up way too soon and I don’t even want to think that far ahead. But I also don’t understand, not completely. Because she may not believe it herself, but I know that she will always find a way and that she’s going to be fine.

I find it hard to believe that she’s graduating college. She is 2 years older than me, but she’s also my closest friend. For a long time, I didn’t really consider her as any older than me. It’s only been in the past year that, on occasion, she’ll say something that makes me think, “Wow, this girl is really mature. She’s actually older than me.” I guess her graduating reinforces that thought. She’s changed and grown and matured so much in the past 5 years, and I’m really really proud of her. I feel odd saying that, seeing as I’m just her younger sister, but it’s true. 

So this post is dedicated to Maya Lisa Akabane Graffagna, an amazing woman, a wonderful sister, a member of the Maryland Institue College of Art Class of 2012, and my best friend. 

Congratulations, Maya. I love you. 

Las Justas

It’s been almost 2 months since I published my last post. Um, whoops?

Let’s just say the last two months have been crazy. I went to New York for Semana Santa, went to Cabo Rojo again, have had an amazing time with my friends and been super-busy with work. I know, I know, I’m a journalism major and should still blog religiously. Too late now, I guess.

So, where to start? Let’s go with 2 weekends ago, when I went back to Ponce for Las Justas.

Las Justas, as my friend put it, is “the biggest party on the island.” It’s actually a sports tournament between all of Puerto Rico’s universities. Of course, only the athletes care about the actual sports part – I’m not even sure who won, although I think it was La Universidad Inter-Americana. No, far more important to us college students is the fact that there’s a bunch of college students gathered in one place, ready to have fun. And since in Puerto Rico, the drinking age is 18 and we don’t have to deal with fake IDs, you know that’s going to be one hell of a party.

I have a lovely lovely friend who invited me to her house in Ponce de León, where the Justas was held this year, so I got to go.

We got there Thursday night, but we didn’t go to the Justas that day. (I don’t know about you, but I can’t party for three straight days.) Instead, we wandered around the docks of Ponce and sneaked into somebody’s mountain estate to see all of Ponce from the top. I love night landscapes, so it was absolutely beautiful. I just wish I could have taken a better picture :/

The next day, my friend took me on a short tour of Ponce. First, went to the Japanese garden. It was quite pretty, but there were way too many bees, which made me quite nervous. Also, as much as I love Japanese gardens, I find it ironic that the last two I’ve been to have both been in Hispanic countries (Puerto Rico and Argentina).

We also went to La Cruceta, which is this giant cross. You can see Ponce from the top, but my iPhoto currently is being annoying and didn’t upload my photos of them.

You had to go up an elevator to actually see Ponce, though. On the bottom they had this collection of retro Coca-Cola products.

After spending the rest of the day wandering around the mall with my friend’s mother and having a delicious virgin piña colada, we headed out to Las Justas. There were lots of people, but all in all the night was pretty chill. We did pass a pretty bad car accident just outside the entrance on the way back, though, which was a little terrifying.

The next day, after pretending to do work and a trip to go see Cabin In The Woods, we went back to Las Justas. Saturday night is the busiest day of Las Justas because all of the athletes are also out since it’s the last night. There were 200,000 people expected – and given the amount of people in this photo, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there actually were.

200,000 strong.

Despite the crowds, I had an amazing time. The blue dome pictured above was run by Don Q, and they gave us a free shot as we walked in. This is what the dome looks like from the inside.

Inside the dome

One of the reasons that Las Justas is so crowded is because they have concerts. Some of these concert stages were basically in the middle of the street, like this one. We danced as we pushed through the crowds to get to different stages, which was an awesome experience.

My night, although a lot of fun, was pretty normal, of course. I can’t say the same for this guy here, though.

Um. Really?

That’s pretty much it for Las Justas, though. I’m not sure I would do it again – but it was definitely quite an experience.

A Year And A Day Ago: 3/11 vs 9/11

Exactly a year and a day ago, I decided that I hated the number 11.

In general, 11 gets a pretty good rap. The only superstition that I’ve ever heard of concerning 11 is that you’re supposed to wish at 11:11. I wished with hundreds of people around the world this past November, at 11:11:11 on 11/11/11. But for me, 11 is now linked with two terrible days for my countries – 9/11 and 3/11.

Almost all Americans who were old enough to understand the events of September 11, 2001, remember where they were when the planes hit. I was 10 years old, safely ensconced in my bed in Tokyo, Japan. On September 12 at 7AM, my time, I walked downstairs to see my mother staring at the TV. She was in her nightgown still, and looked like she’d been up for hours. She turned to me with an expression on her face that I’d never seen before, of utter horror and shock. I didn’t see it again until 10 years later.

I didn’t understand what was going on. I glimpsed the NHK broadcast of the planes hitting the Twin Towers, but I just assumed it was a movie. It didn’t seem real at all. Not to mention, I was late for school.

At school, we had to go to an assembly. I don’t remember much of it. I wasn’t paying attention. Does that make me a horrible 10 year old? Maybe. But when I was 10, America didn’t really mean anything to me. My father is American, and at 10, I spoke perfect English. But I moved to Tokyo when I was 6 months old, so I didn’t remember living in the States. I’d never been there for more than a few weeks at a time. I’d never been to New York. Sure, it was sad. But the numbers were unimaginable, and the country meant nothing to me. There was no deep emotional scar, no shock, no anger, no sadness.

In many ways, there still isn’t.

I’ve lived in the United States for almost 10 years now, and in New York for 2 of them. But every 9/11 anniversary feels a bit alien to me. What happened on 9/11 was horrible. But it’s not my trauma. Every year, my friends tell the stories of how their schools got canceled, how their teachers wouldn’t tell them what was going on, how they were so confused all day. I wasn’t confused. I was asleep.

In all honesty, I don’t think I’ll ever understand 9/11. Not so much because I wasn’t there, but because in 2001, the United States wasn’t home yet. It’s like when people tell you about horrid historical massacres. Yes, it was horrible and sad and many people died, but you have no personal attachment to them. The World Trade Center was never part of my cityscape, and it never will be.

But on March 11, 2011, I understood a little bit more.

A year and a day ago, I woke up to a text from my then-boyfriend. “I love you,” it said. “I’m here for you.”

How sweet, I thought. And yet, how odd.

I opened my email. There was an email from my father, who lives in Tokyo. “There was just a big earthquake here. Tokyo is OK, and I’m fine,” it read.

At this point, i wasn’t particularly worried. Earthquakes are extremely common in Japan. In the United States, we have fire drills. In Japan, we have earthquake drills.

But my mother had sent several panicked emails, repeatedly saying, “Oh, how horrible,” and informing us that our grandmother was fine. Starting to be a little more worried, I opened Facebook to a flood of status updates from my Japanese friends, either saying they couldn’t believe what had happened or assuring the world they were fine. Now a little terrified, I opened up the New York Times and was hit with a photo of Sendai, ravaged by the tsunami.

I couldn’t think. I stared at the computer screen, tears streaming down my face, not wanting to believe it. As i clicked through the slideshow, i thought, this happens to Indonesia, to Chile, to Haiti. This doesn’t happen to Japan.

Still shocked, I headed downstairs to grab some breakfast and calm myself down. NYU’s spring break  had started that day, so the Dunkin Donuts line was packed. All the students around me were chatting happily about their plans for the week. I wanted to scream at them. Who cares?! There are so many more important things!

Instead, I called my sister. We didn’t talk much. We were still in shock.

The rest of that week is pretty much a blur. I’d planned to enjoy the break in NY with my then-boyfriend, but I wasn’t in the mood. Mostly, I stayed at home watching TV with my mother. After the news about the Fukushima reactors came out, I spent the week with a feeling of intense dread. I had to work one day and had a breakdown in the the bathroom, so worried, wondering whether my beloved country would be OK.

There are some memories that stand out from that week. When I first arrived home, my mother and I hugged, both crying. My family really hug unless we’re leaving on long trips, so that memory is a reminder of how extraordinary that week was.

My second memory is when my mother and I went to Mishima, the local Japanese restaurant. We both needed to be with other Japanese people, who understood what we were going through. We spoke with the waiter there, reflecting on the earthquake, the tsunami, and the Fukushima crisis. It was a welcome moment of relief in an otherwise painful week. The topics were painful, but at least he was Japanese too.

It’s been a year, and even now, that pain and fear is still very much there.   I often see articles about grassroots organizations who are finding dangerous levels of radiation in locations that the government says is safe. I was scared to eat beef in Japan when I went in December. I almost cried as I watched the several New Years’ specials about the earthquake on TV. One time, my father’s apartment suddenly announced that there would be an earthquake in 2 minutes. I’ve never been more scared in my life.

But we are getting better, from our own efforts and from those of the thousands of foreigners who helped by volunteering or by giving money. If you happen to be one of those foreigners, thank you and please, continue helping us.

And as for Japan?

頑張れ、日本。

I love you.

グラファーニャ 赤羽 マリー 早紗

Cabo Rojo

Sorry I haven’t written in a while – my life has been filled with midterms lately. Luckily, I got a chance to get away from it all this weekend with a trip to Cabo Rojo.

Cabo Rojo is Puerto Rico’s southwestern corner. This means that the trip there from San Juan should only take about three hours. We left on Friday at 10AM, so I was expecting to arrive around 1, but for various reasons we didn’t end up getting there until roughly 6PM.

Having spent the whole day in the car waiting for other people, I was understandably exhausted. The day picked up however, with a beautiful sunset. Apparently, Cabo Rojo is known for having some of the best sunsets in the world. I’m certainly not surprised.

Some of the group watching the sunset

After that, we rested and hung out for a while, dancing outside of the cabaña. At 4AM, all 16 of us took a dip in the nearby ocean. The water was warm, and the ground in the deeper part of the ocean felt like sinking into a mud bath. My favorite part, however, was all the stars that covered the night sky. I haven’t seen stars like that since I graduated from my boarding school in rural no-lights-for-miles Connecticut.

The next day, we headed out to Playa Sucia, which means dirty beach. I’m not sure why, because it’s possibly the most beautiful beach I’ve ever seen. The trip started with a long walk up a hill, which was exhausting due to my dehydration, but worth it for this amazing view.

Que hermoso!

The beach itself was, of course, at sea level. But my best (and only) photos are from the area above.

It was even prettier up close.

Unfortunately, I had a lot of work to do this weekend, so I headed home a little early. I did make sure I headed outside in time to see another amazing sunset.

That night, we headed out to the town of Cabo Rojo. We started at this restaurant, where I made friends with Jack Sparrow the cat. Actually, I was crouching on the ground taking a picture of it from a distance, and Jack Sparrow came up to me, demanding to be petted.

Making friends with the cat.

Afterwards, we headed out to try pinchos de tiburón, which are essentially shark kebabs and looks like white fish on a stick. I liked mine, but it was too much fish in one sitting. The Japanese girl in me thinks fish goes best with rice and miso soup. I did, however, love these mini-oysters, which were unbelievably cheap at $1 for 2. I devoured about 6 of them.

Oysters, oysters, everywhere.

Afterwards, we headed to a salsa place, but I was quite tired so I headed out with a friend to the dock behind the bar. We sat there for awhile and looked for constellations, and she showed me how to find Orion’s Belt and the Big Dipper. When we headed home soon after, that same friend and I took another dip back in the ocean. It was a bit colder this time, but the view was just as beautiful. She kept seeing shooting stars, though, and I never saw a single one. In fact, I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen a shooting star in real life. So next time you see one, you should wish for one for me

On Sunday, after checking out of the cabaña, we were supposed to head to Playa Gilligan. Unfortunately, it’s a small island outside of Cabo Rojo, and the ferries were no longer running. So instead, we headed out to Playa Tamarindo, which was pretty, but not quite as pretty as Playa Sucia.

Pretty, but Playa Sucia spoiled me.

After awhile, it started drizzling, so we made our way back to San Juan. First, though, we stopped in Guavate to go to a lechonería, which is essentially a pork place. Pictured below is the lechón hanging in the store window.

Lechón.

I ended up having the flank and the sausages, which were delicious. I also tried a mavía, a drink made of fermented something (I’m not quite sure). It was quite good, but a little too sweet for me.

After that, we went home. Unfortunately, I got eaten alive by either mosquitoes or these other Puerto Rican insects called mimes, and I have over 30 bug bites. I also am sunburned, so it hurts to wear tank tops and the like. But all in all, I had a pretty amazing weekend. Definitely a great way to celebrate the end of midterms.

Salsa y Serrallés

I’m baaack!

I consider this an accomplishment. When I was in Argentina, I wrote maybe 4 blog posts the entire time I was there. This is my third week in Puerto Rico, and I’m already on Blog Post #5.

Last Thursday night, we went out to Río Piedras, which is San Juan’s university district. It was my first time out at a real Puerto Rican place, since last time we went to Brava, which is inside of a hotel and filled with Americans. Surprisingly, it was quite different from most of the bars I’ve been to. For one thing, the vast majority of the crowds were chatting outside. In fact, I don’t think they would have all fit in the bar. For another, those that were dancing inside were dancing salsa, not grinding on each other like at most American clubs. I can do a basic salsa, and I danced a little with my friend. But mostly, I just watched. They were incredible – sexy yet tasteful. Why can’t the rest of America do that?

We left at 2AM, which is a bit early for Puerto Rico, but the Exchange Program Office was taking us to Ponce the next day and we had to meet them at 8AM. Unfortunately, we had such trouble finding a cab that would take us back to Sagrado that we didn’t arrive until 4AM.

Luckily, the trip to Ponce took nearly 2 hours, so we were all able to catch up a bit on sleep. But even such a long trip seems extraordinarily short when one considers the fact that Ponce and San Juan are on opposite sides of the island. Apparently, you can get from north to south in one hour, and west to east in three. I had no idea that Puerto Rico was so small.

Our first stop in Ponce de León, named after Puerto Rico’s first (Spanish) governor, was its Museum of Art. We had a young, super-nice tour guide that took great pleasure in showing us the museum’s treasured works. I had two favorites. The first, pictured below is The Last Sleep of Arthur in Avalon, by Edward Burne-Jones. The work took seventeen years to complete, and is made up of three large canvases all painted together. Why did it take so long? Apparently, oil paints take a really long time to dry. Also, the author painted each and every layer in great detail. For example, behind the building is painted the entire night sky – not just the parts that we see. Sadly, Burne-Jones died before he could finish the piece. If you look carefully, you can see the unfinished elements, like the fact that the pool in the painting’s foreground lacks the peoples’ reflection. You can learn more about the painting here.

Courtesy of MyEnglish

A second painting that I really enjoyed was this one below, whose name I cannot remember or find on Google. The painting depicts a man sucking on his daughter’s breasts. In Ancient Rome, the man was condemned to die, left without food or water, for a supposed plot on the emperor’s life. However, he stayed alive because the daughter, who was nursing her baby, visited him each day in prison to feed him her own breast milk. The painting depicts the moment in which the family was caught. Luckily, the Emperor decided that a man who had a daughter so good she was willing to give up her baby’s food for her father could not have plotted on his life, and released them both. The story is both disgusting and sweet, but the painting is excellent. I love how well the artist captured their expressions.

Painting by Me

After the museum, wandering about a plaza, and lunch, we headed to El Museo Castillo Serrallés. This was the former home of the Serrallés family, who own both Don Q and Captain Morgan, before it was sold to the city at $350,000. That price is a fraction of what it cost originally – it’s valued at $25 million dollars. We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside the beautiful mansion, so below is a picture of the house’s main entrance. Fun fact: Disney filmed part of the Princess Protection Program, starring Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato, there. I wonder if they had some rum.

The Entrance of the Museo Castillo Serrallés

After the Castillo, we headed to the boardwalk to take some pictures, have a drink, and….feed the pelicans? I’m afraid of birds, so this part wasn’t so much fun for me. There was a lady on the boardwalk with a bucketful of sardines, and she kept tossing them to the birds (pelicans and smaller white ones), and the fish. They were very eager to eat, and I was afraid they were going to bite her. They didn’t. Eventually, I fed some too, albeit very timidly. The birds running around, snapping at each other and at me for the food, was quite terrifying. Still, it was the first time that I’d seen pelicans in the wild. I have to say, though – they’re really weird-looking.

Pelicans by Sasha

So, that was my Friday and Saturday. The rest of it was quite interesting too – the mall, Hugo, the Giants winning the Super Bowl!! But this blog post is long enough as is, so that’s a story for another day.

Hasta luego,

Sasha

That Time I Ate Plastic (Yes, Really)

I don’t cook.

I don’t not cook the way that some people don’t cook but are baking geniuses. I don’t not cook in the way that some people only know how to make a few fancy recipes. I can boil a pot of pasta, make sunny-side up eggs, and use the microwave. That’s it.

So you can imagine my utter horror when I learned that Sagrado’s only dining hall closes at 4PM. I’d order out, but the area near here is sketchy enough that I’m not comfortable going out alone at night. Not to mention, that’s too expensive. So, lately, I’ve been cooking for myself.

I use that term loosely. I’ve made a grilled cheese, some stir-fried vegetables and pasta, and some ramen. Not the healthiest, maybe, and certainly not the hardest. But I’m getting there.

Of course, there have been some mishaps along the way – including, sadly, my dinner tonight. This brings us to: the time I ate plastic.

Our story begins yesterday. I made stir-fried vegetables and pasta for lunch, and left the ladle by the stove. The stove in our communal kitchen is electric. Since my stoves at home have always been gas, it didn’t occur to me that the stove would still be hot after I turned it off. So, I left part of the ladle on top of the stove as I ate lunch. Naturally, it melted. Oh well, I thought. Ugly, but still usable.

Today, I re-used this same ladle. I discovered an Asian grocery store on my way home from a friend’s, and happily popped in. This grocery store had hiyashi-chuuka, which is a Chinese cold noodle dish that I love. Perfect! I thought. Dinner in a flash.

So I came home, boiled the noodles, and ate them. But they tasted oddly disgusting – bitter and wrong. I forced myself to eat them anyway, though I did throw some out at the end. Luckily, I had some microwaveable shrimp shumai that was delicious drizzled with a bit of sesame oil

I realized my mistake when I returned to the kitchen and discovered that the bottom of my pot had some weird black marks on it. The plastic from the ladle had melted off into my boiling water! Yuck.

The plastic won’t come out yet, though I’ve soaked it in some water to see if it does. And I threw out the ladle, of course. I’m a little more worried about the fact I ate plastic. I feel OK, and Google says that ingesting a bit of plastic shouldn’t be a bit of a problem. But still. I can’t get the bitter aftertaste out of my mouth.

Lesson learned, I suppose?

Depressingly enough, that was the most exciting part of my whole weekend. Otherwise, I did homework, I watched some TV, went out to a delicious Mexican restaurant with some friends, and watched The Help at a friend’s house. I also broke my roommate’s cup by accident. What a way to start the week.

Oh well. Here’s hoping it gets better.

 

 

In Defense Of Reading

The Hunger Games have exploded all over my Facebook recently. A lot of the buzz is about the upcoming movie, which I’d expect, but even more is about my friends reading the book. This surprises me because, as we all know, most college kids don’t read. At least, not because we want to.

I stopped reading early – in 2005, when I started high school. Yes, I dutifully finished the Harry Potter series and forced myself through Heart of Darkness for sophomore English. But I didn’t read for pleasure, at least not during school. I read on vacation, on long plane rides. On rare occasions, I took out a book from the library. Most of these books were returned several days overdue because I’d forgotten they existed.

When I was little, I loved to read. I would read during class. I ran into a taxi once because I read while walking. Books were some of my only friends throughout elementary and most of middle school. I read before Harry Potter (talk about hipster) and I read after Harry Potter. I once got into a huge fight with my parents because they wanted to take me to see  Spirited Away, one of that year’s greatest animated movies, and I wanted to finish reading Goblet of Fire. I grew up on Tamora Pierce, on Dear America, on Lemony Snickett and the Royal Diaries. I credit that series with turning Queen Elizabeth into my favorite historical character to this day.

I (kind of) rediscovered reading the summer after my freshman year of college, when I fell in love with Stieg Larsson’s Millenium series. I plowed through the first book in one night, and begged money off my sister to buy the second when we randomly saw it in a Croatian bookstore. I returned to schools with the third book in hand, and set it down prominently on my desk. Of course, I became wrapped up in my own life and didn’t pick it up until the next summer.

This year, I’ve read several more books for pleasure than I have in the last 10 combined. Since the summer, I’ve read: the last of the Millenium series, The Enchantress of Florence, The Help, Sh*t My Dad Says, Bossypants, All Work, No Pay, Make the Bread, Buy The Butter, and several chick lit books. Right now, I’m on Haruki Muarakami’s 1Q84.

Why the sudden increase? I got an iPad for my 20th birthday. Now when I pick it up to check my email, the option to read books – books I actually like and want to read – stares me in the face. So I take it.

It’s like I’m back in elementary school. But so many things have changed. Not just my height and the fact that I can check my email on my book, but the way I read.

As a journalism major, I’ve heard a lot in my classes about our generation’s declining attention span. Nicholas Carr has a great (ironically long) article on this in The Atlantic, which you can read here. I’ve seen these effects in my own work, in my inability to pay attention to class texts for more than 3 minutes at a time. And I’ve seen it especially in reading books. 10 years ago, I could curl up on my sofa with a book and read for hours. Nowadays, I constantly check my phone as I read. Is that because my attention span has declined? Or because I now have real friends that text me? Probably a bit of both.

There’s an easy solution to this: Read more. But I’m in college, and so are most of the people I know, and they will tell me this. I don’t have time. I’m too busy. And yes, I am guilty of these exact same excuses, but I got over it. They will persist. They will tell me, you’re in Puerto Rico, and spending all day on the beach. You have time. As nice as Puerto Rico is, I’m taking 3 literature courses and 1 journalism course in Spanish. If you think taking college-level courses in a language you don’t speak natively is easy, you’re out of your mind.

You and I both have time to read. Tumblr and Facebook can live without you today. In fact, reading outside of class will probably make you smarter and help you get better grades.

Think of it this way: it’s not that you can’t afford to read. You can’t afford to not read.

“But I don’t like books.”

I’ve never understood people who say this. Do you like stories? Do you like escaping the mundaneness of the real world? Do you like traveling the globe without ever setting foot off your couch? Do you like movies? Did you like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Chronicles of Narnia? Did you like your mom reading to you as a child?

Then you like books. So you don’t like to read nonfiction or your own textbooks. That’s fine – most of the time, I don’t either. You don’t have to like every book you read. But if you can’t remember the last time you read something for pleasure, then how do you know if you like books or not? Because if you like stories, somewhere out in the world is a book for you. Maybe it’s even inside of you, waiting to pour out onto the page. You can write your own book – now isn’t that a radical idea?

Don’t like stories? Let me just say, my friend, that you lead a sad, sad life.

So this is my plea to my generation, who grew up on Facebook and Twitter and the rise of the Internet. Read. Not just the newspaper, not just a blog, not just a magazine, not just your Twitter Feed. Rent one from the library, buy it from a store, steal one from your friend, whatever. But read. Read because you want to. Read to be sad, to be happy, to feel anything at all. Read to travel to Ancient China, or maybe just next door. Read fantasy, mystery, romance. Read Proust and Dr. Seuss. It doesn’t matter when or how or why. Just READ. Read a book.

Trust me. You’ll thank me someday.

La Playa y La Música

Well, it’s been quite a weekend.

Just like NYU, Sagrado has hardly any classes on Friday, meaning that my tradition of 3 day weekends will be continuing through this semester. On Friday, I headed down to a nearby beach with the other exchange students. 3 of them studied here last semester as well, so they have taken us under their wing and are showing us around. I have yet to really meet anyone here other than them and my roommate, so they’ve been great.

The beach was beautiful. Unfortunately, the current was quite strong on Friday, and the waves kept knocking me off my feet. So I spent most of my time tanning on the beach and playing cards. The night ended with a trip to the movies to see Beauty and the Beast in 3D. Call me lame, but I loved it. I was  surprised how much I enjoyed the movie, actually. It reinforced what I’ve been seeing in all the Disney movies I’ve rewatched lately – that is, how much work Disney did to make their movies appealing to both kids and parents. The interaction between the Belle and the Beast was better than any recent romantic comedy.

Saturday was much the same. This time, we headed to Isla Verde, apparently one of the most touristy beaches on the island. The beach was large enough that upon coming out of the water, one friend and I spent 10 minutes looking for the rest of our group. Unlike on Friday, the water was calm and warm enough to spend quite some time in. Much of that time I spent trying to learn how to ride a wave. Let’s just say I failed miserably, and I have the scars to prove it.

Later on, we headed out for a night on the town to a club in Hotel San Juan. I wouldn’t exactly call it an authentic Caribbean experience, seeing as both the music and the guests were almost entirely American. There was an area for salsa dancing in the hotel, but we skipped it. I’d like to try it next time, preferably when I’m wearing warmer clothing. Blasting the air conditioner is not a trend exclusive to Sagrado, it seems.

On our way home from the club, we stopped at a restaurant, where I had my first truly Puerto Rican experience. I tried the mofongo relleno con pollo. This is a dish where they mash plantains, fry them, and then stuff them – in this case, with chicken. The resulting chicken was tender, stewed, and delicious, but I can’t say the same of the plantains. They were bland and had an odd texture, mashed but also crispy, as if someone had taken a rock and covered it in plantains. Not my favorite dish, but oh well. It was an experience.

Sunday was quite boring, filled with Hulu, groceries, and homework. But spending the day at the beach is surprisingly tiring, and classes start tomorrow, so I needed that.

And now I’m off to sleep. Or to waste time on Pinterest. But sleep will come eventually.

Good night, Internet.

So Here’s To New Beginnings…

It’s January 19. As I type, I’m sitting on a bench outside in 81 degree weather. Or  27, for all you non-American folk. I never imagined I’d be doing this, but it’s really cool.

This semester, I’m an exchange student at the La Universidad de Sagrado Corazón in San Juan, Puerto Rico. The place is not at all what I was expecting, but so far, it’s been positive.

Today was my first day of classes. I started with Puerto Rican Literature, which has barely 10 kids in it. (My classes at NYU are normally about 30, so this was a bit of a shock.) My professor, who apparently is an NYU alum, seems very nice and entertaining. She also talks super quickly, so I can only understand about 3/4 of the things that she says. My comprehension was not helped at all by the fact that Sagrado likes to keep the AC units roaring since it’s so hot out. Luckily, she also speaks perfect English, which she did switch to a few times when the other exchange student in the class and I had questions.

The one problem? She ended the class several minutes late, leaving me barely 5 minutes to get to my next one, Hispanic Literature. I obviously got super lost on my way there, so I slipped into the back row nearly 10 minutes late. Luckily, my teacher didn’t seem to notice. I understood basically everything he was saying, due to his really clear voice. He kept  telling us that we*might* be able to find a particular course text on PDF, but he wasn’t allowed to tell us if there were due to university rules. Cue big wink. Creepy? A little. Funny? Undeniably so.

I was going to grab myself from lunch between this and my next class, butI got distracted by AT&T and the news that when I call people while I’m in Japan, I’m charged upwards of $3/minute. Ugh. By the time I was off the phone, I had 20 minutes to my next class, so I chose instead to grab the healthiest-looking packaged thing in the cafeteria – a Banana Nut Pound Cake. I know, I know, but at least it wasn’t Hostess. Luckily, I ran into a fellow American exchange student at the counter, who is the nicest person ever and gave me half her Cubano sandwich. It was a mishmash of ham, cheese, mustard, and god knows what else. But damn was it good.

After lunch I ran to Development of the Puerto Rican Nation (even though Puerto Rico isn’t, technically), where I had the most awkward encounter of my day. The professor called my name, and when I answered, said “Pueblo?”

My automatic thought was, What about a town? So I really intelligently mumbled, “Huh?”

My professor immediately switched to English, asked me where I was from, and informed me that he offers an English section of this class at 12:30. How embarrassing. He mumbles, I can barely hear him (although I should probably have moved towards the front), and I have only the faintest idea of what happened in that class. I might have to switch out if I really can’t understand him, but Id like to learn Puerto Rican history since I’m here and all. I can’t even take the English section since I have another class at that time. Better luck next time, I guess.

Anyway, that’s been my day so far. The rest of it has been hanging out on this bench, reading Haruki Murakami’s 1984 and writing this blog post. It’s actually a bit windy out here, and I’d go to my room but they are fixing the AC in my room. I’m a little nervous, actually. It’s freezing in my room at night.

Then again, it is 81 degrees outside. So I probably shouldn’t be complaining.