Books
A few days ago, my Fostering Language In Diverse Classrooms class was talking about choosing books for young children. As we walked in, we saw many books on the chalkboard ledges, and we were asked to choose a set of 2-3 books that represented a genre.
I walked over and saw bilingual Spanish and English books with cute storylines, so I brought those back to my desk. September is National Hispanic Heritage Month, and I missed my high school Spanish classes. I love the language--there's just a flow to it that's really neat. But I digress. So when we all finished choosing books, our professor told us to take a look at the books which "no one wanted." She flipped through the covers, and by the 5th or 6th book, I was stunned. Every single one had an African American on it. Every. Single. One. It wasn't that we did it on purpose, and for a moment, one of the books, I Love My Hair, was on my radar. But for some reason, I just didn't choose it. I can relate very well to haircut disasters, but that was besides the point. Growing up in a largely Hispanic and Black community, I knew of countless ethnic beauty complaints. One of them was Afro hair, specifically on the topic of finding the perfect hair relaxer or getting the best weave.
Most people in this world do not like being labeled as being "culturally unaware" or a racist. But honestly, I find that we do it more subconsciously than we would like. You know, like those moments when you think of something completely rude, and wonder to yourself why you even thought that. As an exchange student, you may often encounter racist and insensitive people. In these cases, there is only one word I can think of: perspective. Their perspective may be different from yours, and if you read my post from a few days ago on culture, you'll get what I mean. But they may also very well be saying something "insensitive" because they hope you can become a better person. At one point in my life, I just resolved to think this: only those who care about you will care to say anything. The quiet ones couldn't care less as they laugh in their minds about how stupid you are (at least to them). So just cut some slack, smile, and thank them for their suggestion. You'll know deep down if it's a suggestion to take up or not.
Film
Film is another topic that has been on my mind recently. As luck would have it, all of my friends that I've ever had are in one way or another obsessed with film (TV and movies). It started in the summer of the 1st grade, when my mom would leave me at my best friend's house while she went to work. We would always fight over the remote, but he would always manage to make me watch some zoo show, Arthur, Pokemon (which I requested every day), and his personal favorite, X-Men. I wouldn't be surprised if he hoped to be a screenwriter someday (don't know, because we lost contact over the years, but I like I said in my other post, that person just becomes a part of you). Fast forward to now. My roommate this year is a complete movie buff-- she has worked in a movie theater for a long time. I have two other friends who are film majors. I have great respect for these people--they know the job market sucks, and yet, they still stick it out. As I always say, do what you love, because God put that passion there for a reason. And it's also the only way you can do it well.
Anyways, I have taken such a long detour. Let's get back on track. I want to talk about film..and melancholy, German style. Over my exchange year, I realized something really mind-boggling to me: A large portion of Germans (or at least German filmmakers) love sadness. Darkness. They take pride in pitying themselves (as shown through their characters), in creating grim stories that end as tragedies. They find "sweetness" in sadness, as one person put it. Bittersweet, to be exact. This is the time when I think to my normally happy-go-lucky, klutz, ditzy self (yes, that's how people describe me on countless occasions, though I do have a reserved side as well): If something can end happily, and if you are in the power of doing it, then why not? Why choose sadness? Why be stuck in a vicious cycle like this? Honestly, I still don't really know the answer. Maybe someone can teach me. My mom always told me: don't watch tragedies, because the world is already sad enough. True that, although I don't mind realism. My point is this: Give yourself a story of hope (Children's lit reference! If you haven't read The Tale of Despereaux by Kate DiCamillo, do it now--you can find the audiobook on Youtube). Do not, under any circumstances, let yourself be stuck in a circle of unending sadness. Do something happy, even if you don't feel like it. Life doesn't function on feelings, although that is something that Germans will teach you extremely well, to say the least.
As an exchange student, there will be times when you ask yourself why you even chose to study abroad. Why didn't you just stay home, with your parents? Why didn't you just stay inside your comfort zone, in everything that was familiar to you? Why bother trying new things? There will be times when you think you have no friends, that the whole country seems to turn its back on you. I definitely felt like that in Germany sometimes--it was like no one got you. But if you feel closely and connect with others, you will find that people do get you. They could just be too afraid to say anything.
Other Thoughts: Story Me
Whenever I felt dead in Germany, I could always count on walking through the wheat fields, getting on the bus, and walking on the cobblestone-paved city, looking around and feeling everything that I had missed. In particular, I loved poking fun at the statue man standing on a box, and I loved hearing the old man strum his guitar and sing in the freezing cold with a soothing, deep voice (that probably wasn't as cool as the African man who sang in my neighborhood, but still). You could sit and listen to their stories (when they stopped singing)--their stories on family, hate, love, peace, the olden days, and much more. And you know what? Those stories repeat themselves. Back here in the US, I see the same stuff happening. And I think to myself...man, if only this person could have listened to this man's story too, then he/she would have less of a chance at making the same mistake! I love listening to people's stories and dreams. Because when you truly listen and reflect on them, you'll find yourself saving yourself from a lot of trouble. And you learn something new about both you and that person.
In the beginning, I wasn't really listening. Or worse, those moments when you listen, but aren't processing a single thing. Now that I am back in the US, I look up all of this stuff (pertaining to the stories) on Google. I look up a ton of stuff on Google that never applies to me. I ask all the dumb questions (usually coming in the form of "why did he/she do this?"); it almost looks like I'm going through that issue myself, especially when I ask in 1st person. Sometimes I laugh at the answers given by others, it's like the blind leading the blind. But we are all just different degrees of stupid and blind, you know? So listen to the stories around you. You can't ever be bored that way.
Another way you can't get bored? Do something that scares the wits out of you. More on that later--as I always say, Germany made me do a lot of things I never would have imagined doing. Challenge and support. That's the perfect way to do exchange.
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| Books, film, and oral narrative. One thing in common: storytime :) |
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