Two weeks ago, when I finished and published the blog about the bulls, I was writing from a hostel room: staring at a grimy beige ceiling and abrasive yellow walls and one window. Today, as I write this, I’m looking out at the ocean, watching some of the biggest waves I’ve seen in my time here roll in as rain and storms pass through. It’s a gorgeous scene. So much has changed in the last two weeks, but I’m going to try to capture both how I felt as all of this was happening.
On paper, this year should’ve started so much easier than last year – I’m doing a job I have experience doing, I’m only at one school, the weather is great year-round, you can’t live more than 10 minutes from a beach, I not only have the support system from home, I have a great support system already in Spain etc. etc. When I considered these things as this year began, I felt ridiculous and weak for my response to the challenges I was facing. However, I had failed to consider what it means to deal with a slightly different health situation. It’s not that big of a deal, but it sucks. It sucks not to feel well and it sucks to have to think about food all the time. And it’s just something extra. My school JUST gave me my schedule after three and a half weeks of teaching [blog on school coming soon] and I didn’t move in anywhere until a week ago. So, on top of the lack of stability in housing and at work, I had to think about food all the time. Cooking in hostels and Airbnbs is complicated, to say the least. My mind was constantly working: What am I going to eat? Where am I going to get it? Where am I going to cook it? How am I going to cook it? What will I do if I don’t finish all of it? Where will I store it? If I buy this much of x will I finish it before I have to move all of my stuff somewhere else? Do I have enough food for today? For tomorrow? For Sunday when everything is closed? And if I do eat out or if someone gives me food: how exactly was it cooked? What was it cooked with? Just olive oil? Really? But no, REALLY? And no pepper? Only salt? Promise? It’s an allergy concern…? That was my life for three weeks while I moved between multiple Airbnbs, a hostel, and finally onto one of my coworker’s couches. Each of my problems on their own would not have been a big deal. No apartment? Annoying and hard, but doable! No schedule? Be flexible! Specific food requirements? I’ve been doing that for awhile now! It is the fact that they come together that is challenging for me, and it’s why, two Tuesdays ago, one of my worst days, turned into one of my best. That Tuesday was my day to move from one Airbnb into another. I had it all figured out. Because I had work, the original Airbnb allowed me to keep my bags there longer, but they had to be out before 3. The second Airbnb had given me permission to check in at 2. This would give me time to lug my first load of luggage the 10 minute walk from one Airbnb to another, get in the second Airbnb, and then go back for my second load to be out before three. Then, during recess, I got a call. The owner of the second Airbnb called me to tell me that I couldn’t check in before 3, but that I should be there right at 3. I explained my situation and he refused to do anything about it. This wasn’t and shouldn’t have been, a big deal, but it was the last straw for me and I began to cry. I was the corner of the teacher’s lounge farthest from the exit and I tried to figure out how I could stop crying long enough to exit the room and get to the bathroom without anyone noticing that I had been crying. I took a deep breath, turned around, saw every teacher staring at me, and broke down in tears again. Immediately teachers rushed to me asking what was wrong and what they could do. I could only cry saying, “it’s just everything” until one teacher asked what happened on the phone and I explained my dilemma with the Airbnb – saying I’d figured out how to do it all myself, but that now I didn’t know how I’d do it. Right away the teacher, Raquel, responded telling me, “no problem,” right at 1:30, she would drive me to the first Airbnb, we’d load my stuff into her car, which she assured me was big enough, and then she had a lunch, but she would drop off my stuff later at the second Airbnb. I asked if she was sure and she told me “Jordan! Just take the help! If you need help, ask! We’ll all help you!” I was passed on to another room with the administrators and they asked what else was going on, to which I explained I was dealing with some health stuff and that I hadn’t found a place to live and so it was just difficult to deal with everything, like cooking. Everyone sprang to action immediately. The director told me to send a list of everything I could eat to him and that the school cook could prepare me things to eat, every member of the administrative team offered either their own houses or their parents houses – saying I could stay with any of them or bounce around until I found a place. They told me not to worry and that everything would be solved. Naturally, everyone’s kindness made me cry more. After school, Raquel drove me to the first Airbnb and we loaded my bags into her car. After parking, I began grab stuff I wanted for the next few hours – including chips I could actually eat – when she stopped me and told me not to be ridiculous. She told me she would cook lunch for me and she wouldn’t even hear of me going to a café and eating chips until 3. A break in the story. I think I’m bad at help. I’ve gradually begun learning how to ask for it and even how to receive it, but I often look at it as a last resort. Most of the time, I will think of every way to do the thing myself and only when I’m sure I can’t, do I turn to someone else. But I’m learning. I realized that sometimes waiting until it was the only option actually made it more difficult for the person I was asking or that trying to determine the terms on which they help makes me seem ungrateful when I’m really just trying to make it easy. So this is something I’m working on. Back to it. I tried to tell Raquel there was no need for that kind of help and that she’d done so much already by getting my bags, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. As we got to her building and then almost to her door, she stopped suddenly and said, “I forgot to ask! Do you have a problem with dogs?” The joy in my heart knew no limit with that question and I responded gleefully that I loved dogs. She looked relieved and opened the door to not one, but TWO tiny balls of fur jumping with excitement at their mother’s return. I was already in heaven as Raquel got me on wifi for a call I had to make and then began pulling items out of her fridge asking, “can you eat this?” If I said yes, she would lay it on the counter and if I said no, would throw it back into the fridge. With the foods I could eat splayed out on the counter, she began to throw everything on different appliances. The cooktop, oven, and various other machines whirred to life as she cooked me the best meal I’d eaten since leaving Logroño over a week before. Energized with good food and dogs, I felt hopeful for the first time in awhile and I was ready to continue tackling challenges, thinking that I was thiiisclose to having a place to live. I was wrong. It took another two and a half weeks to move into my place, but what ended up being important was the asking for (well, having the problem dragged out of me) and then receiving help. If that day hadn’t happened, I can assure you that the following Wednesday, when I left work and immediately began to feel ill, I would not have texted Raquel asking if I could come over to cook real food at her place. It still took me a couple hours of feeling unwell to ask for the help, but when I did, she picked me up from the hostel, I cooked a good meal, and then she helped me whip up tons of food that I could store in my hostel mini-fridge and reheat in the microwave. She even let me crash on her couch that night so I didn’t have to stay in my depressing hostel room. I cried a lot that day, feeling exhausted, homesick, and unsure about where I’d be living. Her husband came home and heard about my housing dilemma and told me that the apartment below them had just become available. Quickly, they called and were able to let me see the place. It was perfect. And it’s where I’m writing this blog now. Though I got too sick to leave my hostel room the following day and I couldn’t move into the apartment for another week (Once my hostel reservation had ended, Raquel and her husband let me stay on their couch where the dogs slept with me every night) and I didn’t have my school schedule, I began to feel better. I still cried a few more times after that, but mainly because I was anxious something about my contract would fall through, but as soon as I signed that piece of paper, I felt 20 pounds lighter. My housing situation worked out better than I could’ve imagined, all because of someone offering to help and later, because I asked for it. I know this year will be filled with other, new challenges and I’m still learning to look at help as something other than a last resort, but it’s getting better and I am so grateful for that. I’m grateful for a place to live and cook. I’m grateful for my parents who let me call and cry… a lot. I’m, obviously, incredibly grateful for Raquel and her husband. I’m just grateful.
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November 2018
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