Looking Back on Month 1

For your reading pleasure, a few of the highlights thus far from Journal #1:

22 July, 1997 (day 1 of journal)

I’m in Miami right now at the Fairfield Inn for the orientation [for AFS exchange students prior to leaving the country]. It’s alright, I guess, but pretty boring. Our leader is Joy – that same woman from NY – the kooky one. She’s such a bitch.

We’re quarantined here basically. Shandi and Shelly [fellow AFS-ers] wanted to go get their tongues pierced – I really want to get my nose or tongue pierced. Probably my nose, but I couldn’t hide it in pictures. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo. Mom would kick my ass.

In retrospect? Good thing we were quarantined in that hotel.

I then go on to talk about the flight from Miami to São Paulo, followed by a 10-hour bus ride overnight to Maringá, the city I was going to live in. Unfortunately my travel narratives aren't that interesting - apparently all I cared to dedicate journal space to was gossip about boys!

25 July, 1997

The house here is nice. I have my own room, but I have to share a bathroom which sucks. You can’t flush toilet paper in Brazil. The shower is really small and is electrically heated. For lunch, we had meat and Japanese white rice. I wonder if I’ll eat sushi?

Wow...I was pretty spoiled. I've come a long way when you consider that I shared one bathroom with 5 other people for nearly a year back in Chimoio, and that it was the least of my complaints about that household.

28 July, 1997

Today, Helena [my 13-year-old host sister] and I went shopping. I bought a corduroy skirt and a pair of ass-tight jeans. I can’t believe I’m wearing them. It’s against everything that I believe.

Again, how things change. I am now a diehard fan of the ass-tight jean. Can't really bring myself to wear any other kind, truth be told.

04 August, 1997

Well, I survived my first day of school. Inkari took me and Julie [exchange student from France] to school. We met the head of school (not the principal). Her name is Helenita. She has 2 different colored eyes. The principal is supposed to look like a black Abe Lincoln. Behind the school is a river that smells like shit.

Nobel [name of the high school] is mostly open air. The teachers move classrooms, not the students. School is from 7:15 to 12:00. We have 2 breaks during the day, and 6 or 7 classes. I don’t have to take tests, do homework or do gym. Cool!

I subsequently met said principal and confirmed for myself that he does, in fact, look just like a black Abe Lincoln. I still can't believe they let exchange students have such a sweet deal at school. I suppose they understood that learning a new language and adapting to a new culture was work enough without the additional pesky stress of things like tests and homework!

13 August, 1997

School was ok today – nothing special. We had double math, grammar, geography and literature. In literature, I read part of a short story out loud. It was tough, and a little embarrassing, but when I was done the whole class applauded. Giovanna said that I read better than some people who speak Portuguese.

Hugo, the boy who sits behind me, kept saying “Suck my woody!” during class, not because he really meant it but because he knew I'd understand the English and have a hard time keeping a straight face. It was so funny. Today was Maíra’s birthday. She’s 16 now.

Ah, teenage boys. Gotta love them... Re-reading this cracked me up because I actually remember this day at school quite well.

16 August, 1997

Last night was damn cool. I went with Rafael’s whole family to Moda Paraná. We watched a fashion show which kind of sucked, but the music was cool. They were showing summer clothes, and when the ass-bikinis came on, Rafael said I should get one. Ha, ha!

I'll let you all guess as to which style bikini I prefer to wear nowadays. Apparently Brazil had quite the effect on my fashion choices as well, despite my initial resistance.

19 August, 1997

Today we went with Inkari to Londrina [neighbor city where I had to register with the Federal Police]. We walked all day long to take id pictures, go to the bank, go to the police and go to his grandma’s house. My feet hurt so much! I had to wash them in the sink at Inkari's grandma's because they were completely black from being sweaty and walking around in the dirty streets.

Well, I got all my paperwork done for my id card. The guy in the police station was checking me out so much. He was sitting there just staring at me. Too bad he was about 50, fat and hairy!!

Ah, some things never change. I'd still not be thrilled at the prospect of 50, fat and hairy!

21 August, 1997

Today was a normal day, but it was kind of frustrating. I saw Rafael [current object of a massive crush] again at school. During breaks Tiago, Rafael and I just hang out and try to talk. It’s kind of uncomfortable. I never know what to say, and I feel stupid trying to speak in Portuguese. So, as a result of all this, I feel so dumb – I think Rafael must think I’m just a dumb American girl – young and ditzy. I wish I could speak better with him. I just get so nervous. At least I know he understands. When he went to the US for his exchange, he didn’t speak any English.

I feel so strange during the breaks. I start out with the girls in my class, feeling like an intruder. Then I see Rafael, say hi, and feel stupid and desperate. Sometimes I really hate Portuguese!

It's good to remember that this language hasn't always flowed so fluently from my mouth...

I'm only 1 month into my diary and already this has been such a great project. It's amazing to re-read my entries. Most of the details I remember quite well. I think writing has a massive effect on how my memory works.

I'm still in the light and fluffy bit of my experience. I took it upon myself to spare you the incessant passages about this-or-that cute boy from my class, or from the tennis club, or who I saw at the pharmacy. Take my word, this sort of stuff comprises 80% of the material, but it gets a bit old to read (so I can imagine it would be doubly boring for you, the reader, given that you have no idea who these people are). However, I do promise to share worthwhile observations about all of the boys I was obsessing about. It's just that up to this point I seem to have been unable to describe any of them in words other than "cool", "hot" or "fine".

I know the content is going to get heavier, and that some parts of my journals will be downright unpleasant and painful to re-read. Still, it's definitely worth it, even if the whole book thing never materializes. Just to be able to go back and reflect is really valuable.