Diferente=Different

I would like to dedicate this entry to David Chinn, encourager of encouragers, and the rest of you in chilly Blacksburg who have been reading this blog. First of all, thank you for reading...it makes me feel loved :) Second, when Blacksburg looks like a winter wonderland, know that you have a friend you can visit whenever you want in this beatuiful 73°F place called Monterrey. And third, if you´ve ever been a language partner for someone....thank you, from the other side...you mean more than you know.

Today was about as bittersweet as the mexican candy here. The bitter part was the semi-oral exam we had in my Sem. de Relaciones Internacionales today. Each group had to send a person to the front of the class to report on their thesis progress for the semester. My group picked me. I quickly reminded them I´m the extranjero of the group and Spanish is my second language. They waived me on with the mexican hand signal of ¨no big deal, you can do it.¨ Then my professor called on our group to send a person and I HAD to go up. Usually speaking in front of people does not scare me; I actually even enjoy it. But for the first time in a long time, I felt extremely nervous. One, because I don´t speak the language very well (yet) especially on a scholastic level and, two, because of the language barrier I barely have been able to understand the dialogues between our group (let alone explain to the class) what our thesis, theme, and theoretical framework is for our semester long project.

I felt sick to the stomache as I waited in front of the class for her to question me on behalf of my group. What would I say? What would she say? Would I understand when she asks me? Will she get mad if it´s not grammatically correct? Will the others in the class laugh at me for taking such a hard course in a language I can barely call my own? WIll my group be mad at me if I don´t know the answers? Will my professor be mad? How will I pass this class? Will I pass this class? Will I graduate? Will God have favor on me? All 28 pairs of eyes in the class were on me. What would happen?

¨Sher.¨

My professor knows my name well because I´m the only white person in the class. Not that that is a good or bad thing, but people tend to remember you when you appear different from the others. Now more than ever, I wished I was Mexican just like all the others in my class.

¨Sher, explicáme. ¿Cual es la tema por tu equípo?¨

But I´m not Mexican. And my group knows that, and the class knows that, and my professor knows that. *Note: I tried telling somone once here that I was actually from Tabasco, the most southern state of Mexico, but the whole white skin, blue eyes, and bad Spanish gave me away and they just laughed.* So I began to explain to my professor and the class, in the best Spanish way I knew how, what the theme and thesis and theoretical mark of our group was.

Pause in the room.

¨Y tu tema es sobre la flujo de migración? O flujo migratorios?¨

By the tone of the question I knew to answer the second one, but I had no idea why. I held my breath to think. No sooner could I have asked God for help than one of my group members in the audience began to answer the professor´s question. Thank God!

But then she turned backed to me.

This professor is known for being one of the hardest professors at the department, as some of my residents and others who have had her have informed me. In fact, she is the head of the IR department here. Yet I can see everyday in class her ritual of putting us on the spot is only to squeeze the best out of us cuz she knows it´s in there. Nevertheless, her stare of expectancy can be intimidating.

¨Y tu marco teriotico?¨

Again, I explained in the extent of what I knew (which was literally only the three words ¨neoestructualismo, integración, y geopolítica¨). I held my breath asking God for favor.

¨Bien.¨

Phew! I felt like I had just had a lancing or karate fight where the wise professor tries to get you in every way, and in the end you just barely pass through, struggling to stand up. You know that they´re just trying to make you a better knight or karate fighter, but you also know now that you have got to do some serious practicing before the next unofficial joust. That´s the bitter part.

The sweet part is that one day because of all this I´ll be fluent in the language, hopefully able to communicate before whatever crowd (even an International Organization) what needs to be communicated.

As a Prefecto in Mexico, I´m learning an aweful lot of Spanish. Even more, I´m learning what it feels like to be ¨different¨ from your classmates, hallmates, and even roommates. Thankfully, I still have prefectos and others as friends here that still love me in spite of the differences and frequent gramatical mistakes. But it makes me think of back at Tech...is that how one of my residents in Newman ever felt/feels? Did/do they have a few people around them that would still love them in spite of their differences and/or gramatical mistakes?

Food for thought.

And speaking of food, I´m gonna finish this up so I can go get some soon...not menudo soup though, it´s only Tuesday. Shucks ;)

Nos vemos!