Intense Virginity

Yesterday Ellen and I went to see the the Virgen de Consolación as she exited the cathedral for some reason unbeknownst to us, but beknownst to a lot of Catholics...we think.
Once we actually found out which door she was leaving from (and yes, it took a long time) we stood and waited as the street crowded and our noses filled with second-hand smoke and dusk fell and a couple near us made out, which is totally normal, because people are inspired all the time to make out during Catholic ceremonies...right? Right? Anyway, we waited until it finally happened. The doors opened and the procession began. I would tell you all about the procession, but I couldn't see most of the people. I do know they were wearing fancy clothes and carrying fancy staffs and golden crosses and going very slowly. Then we saw her, the wooden icon upon her golden chariot. She was impressive and surrounded with candles.
By the way, I'm not intending to be sarcastic. Some rites of Catholicism are confusing to me, especially since the majority of the culture here observes Catholicism for the sake of cultural institution in place of any belief. Anyway, she was impressive...and getting closer...and closer...and closer...until the crowd pushed back so hard that I was pretty sure I was either going to be trampled by the be-camera-ed and be-cellphoned spectators who were unwilling to budge or that I was going to be run down by the virgin herself.

And then, at the last moment, she turned and went on her merry way...except I think she was the sad virgin Mary, the Mary after Jesus was crucified. I don't know...

Yeah. Maybe I should read up on Catholicism.

It was all just very...intense.

As for today, it was a Monday like many Mondays before. I learned the last paso de Sevillanas (just the feet) and we all wore flamenco dresses which function as portable mini saunas. Our instructor lives near Ellen and me and wants us to come over some time. I'm pretty pumped.

Venting/story time:

Lately, I've been a little culture-sick, which is like home-sick, but instead, sick for the culture in general. María mistook the fact that I wanted to be alone for a few hours as me being mad at her and disatisfied with her señorahood.

When this emotion came to the surface during lunch today, I had the monumental task of explaining that I come from an idependent culture and family and sometimes, I just need to have time to myself to process things. She didn't understand, citing that I spend a lot of time with Ellen and that Ellen is a person and why don't I want to be with Ellen, and that if I don't want to be with Ellen, I can study in the other room etc. to which I responded that it wasn't Ellen that was a problem but being surrounded with so many unfamiliar people and places all the time. This only confused her more, so I assured María that it had nothing to do with her (though, in truth, she is a large part of the Spanish culture I experience). Then I said off-handedly, "I think you wouldn't be confused if we spoke the same first language, I just can't express myself perfectly, just know that it's not your fault and don't worry yourself."

María misunderstood and said, "No, no, no, you shouldn't speak English, you're here to learn Spanish. You should be happy to speak Spanish."

I looked at Ellen. Ellen tried her hand. She too was unsuccessful, but somehow we all arrived at what seemed to be a happy agreement that María could not understand, and I could not sufficiently express myself (though I thought I made admirable work of it) and thinking that that had taken care of the problem, I watched her walk into the kitchen and was giving Ellen a just-between-us look of utter exasperation when María reentered, sat down next to me, smacked me a few times in the arm and said, "Don't be mad at me. Are you mad at me?"
All I could do was laugh. "No, I'm not mad at you at all."
"Good," she beamed, slapping a bar of chocolate on the table (like a reward for not being mad). "You're just sad because you're fighting with your boyfriend
"Um, no I'm not. He's fine."
"You're not fighting? Then you miss him. That's it."
"Well, no, I'm ok. He's in Canada on vacation right now."
"Then you must be stressed out from homework. That's why you're upset."
"No..."
And so on and so forth. The debate and inquisition rages on.

That's two Marías I don't understand.

I'm not mad or discouraged. It's life as usual in Spain. And though I have felt impatient with María at times, or have been seething with resentment because I can't blowdry my hair the way I want to (without socks on) or not drink the last bitter sip of my tea or handwash my favorite shirt--it builds up, ok?--I know that I will settle back in and have, in fact, already begun to do so.

So life continues.
And I'm glad it does.

God is good all the time.
Sometimes I'm just too self-involved to stop and remember it.