Clemson-Córdoba: Self-Discovery on the Other Side of the Continent
My supposed profession is a rare one, as I spend another day sitting at the computer,
staring closely into the screen, confronting myself with an age-old question that seems an
inescapable part of our humanity. Who am I? At no time period in American life is this
question more prevalent than during college. When late teenagers leave their parents’
houses and start experiencing life on their own, that constitutes our society’s
quintessential time of self-discovery. Like the cliché’s many make vague reference to as
guides throughout life, college is the time in life where you’re supposed to ‘find
yourself.’ You make friends with similar interests and those interests amplify, you
expose yourself to a wide variety of ideas and kinds of study and you try to decide what
subject best fits your personality. Still, I feel that university life has lost some of this
luster. Students seem less compelled to discover who they are, and instead they tend to
see college as a simple means to a degree and a job.
More than any other time in our history, our society is characterized by specialization.
For the sake of productivity and continuing economic growth, our careers continue to
require an ever-increasing knowledge of one skill-set or combination of skill-sets that
allow us to fulfill our job requirements. For many students, at the age of seventeen or
eighteen, they’ve already made the decision as to what career they are going to pursue,
and they blindly pursue that career without caring much for the other types of knowledge
available. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard someone say, “I don’t care about
this class, it’s just a requirement for my major.” We are very much victims of tunnel
vision. Though I know I am speaking in broad generalizations and that all students are
not like this, I still feel that for any student raised in our specialized, individualistic
society, studying abroad is a great way to get a new perspective on things. Truly
experiencing another culture, though it might not provide the skills necessary for a career,
gives us a chance to put our
lives into perspective on a
grand scale, to see our own
culture through the lens of
another.
As a Study Abroad program, I
feel like the Clemson-Córdoba
program is very unique because
of the firm relationships
established between the
students, their host families and
the program. Compared to a
lot of the host families I met
outside of the ClemsonCórdoba program, all of the
families housing Clemson students were extremely open, giving, and willing to
communicate with their students. These parents are there day in and day out, helping
students through the slow process of learning a language. During a second trip to
Argentina, four years after studying abroad there, I returned to visit my host family, and
they were extremely generous in welcoming me into the home and giving me a place to
stay. I doubt that this kind of relationship is formed in a typical study abroad program.
Beyond the realm of host families, Alejandro, Mónica and our teachers were extremely
open and receptive, and made the program feel like a great, big extended family. It is in
this regard that I find the Clemson-Córdoba program to be so unique. I left with a sense
that Argentina was a second home to me, that the relationships I formed there were not
something I bought with money but were something real and sincere.
As for me, my experience studying abroad in Córdoba was definitely the most impacting
of my college career. I can still see the sun setting over the Sierra Mountains, my brain
fried after the international flight, me trying to piece together some phrases in broken
Spanish while my host mother drove me back to our house that I’d yet to see. I
remember asking stupidly if the mountains were some part of the Andes, which were
hundreds of miles away from Córdoba. I can still remember the savory scent of Chicken
and Rice that pervaded the house when I first walked into the door and was showered in
Spanish greetings that I couldn’t understand. The plane arrived late, and everyone had
waited to eat lunch until three thirty in the afternoon. I can still see the blue and white
checkered curtains and the small blue analog clock above the wall in the kitchen, the
simple room I slept in with two twin beds lining two of the walls, with the thick layers of
multicolored quilts and blankets to keep warm in the winter of the nearly unheated house.
I can still feel the lethargic frustration of the cold, dark, mornings of my first month there,
my firm desire to be back in my own bed, to not have to go out and hurt my head
speaking Spanish. I can still smell the wood fire of the asados and hear the loud chatter
of a house filled with family and friends on a Sunday, chatter that I’d struggle to
understand. I can still see the Sunday streets, vacant compared to the other days of the
week, cars very rarely passing, barely a sign of human life aside from the smell of asado
in the air and the smoke rising from the chimneys of passing houses. I still hear the slow,
deliberate Spanish of my teachers, the infinitely searching eyes that patiently waited for
the moment they could see I understood what they were saying. I can still feel a cool
breeze at my back, of an afternoon in the park, sipping mate with friends. I can see the
gray dawn emerging from a cab window after a late night at the boliches. I still feel the
dust in my eyes after walking to school on a windy day. More than anything I can still
see the smiles, the general look of interest on my host family’s faces as they patiently
spoke to me and waited for me to form a response, to talk about my family and my home.
I am still surprised by the capacity of so many of the people I met to share. They seemed
always able to share more. Their lives were not lived in dedication to their work, but in
communion with family. Work was simply a means to an end, a way of supporting the
family. But in Argentina family easily extends beyond immediate sons and daughters. I
didn’t know that through all my talk of home I would come to see that house as my
home. That I would come to long once more for those cold nights and those faults in
communication if only I could be back with them once more. If only I could see their
faces and hear their voices again.
In a lot of ways, my time in Córdoba felt like a return to childhood of a sort. I possessed
the mind of an adult, but I only had the communication skills of a child. My host parents
spoke to me like a child and cooked two days a meal for me each day. Also, in terms of
culture I was like a child. I didn’t know the appropriate things to say in a conversation,
or the attempts I’d make at humor would be lost in a combination of poor grammar and
cultural incongruity. I felt extremely awkward kissing men and women on the cheek as a
typical greeting amongst friends or strangers. And though I look back at the program as
an awesome experience, I can’t help but remember how frustrating it was to try to live
without the ability to communicate, something I’d taken for granted.
Still, through this childlike stage
of frustrating growth and change,
this complete immersion in
Argentine culture, I could not
help but confront many of the
assumptions I was living my life
based on. Often times, during the
periods in our lives when we
struggle the most, we learn the
most. Though I was not always
an active participant in
conversations and I did not
understand everything going on
around me, I couldn’t help but slowly transform amidst this new culture and new
language. I returned to the U.S. truly fluent in Spanish and attuned to Argentine culture,
and I was forced to contrast all of my Study Abroad experiences with the Americans I
was reacquainting myself with. I felt a deep resonance with the firm bonds that held my
host family together and the incredibly open nature of the people I’d met in Argentina.
One word I gained a new understanding for after returning to the U.S. from Córdoba was
sincerity. Somehow, upon returning, the same people I’d encountered throughout my life
now seemed less insincere, more cold and empty. People in general felt much more
consumed with the pursuit of individual goals and held lifelong visions for themselves,
rather than visions for their family and friends. Everyone was very busy ‘doing their own
thing.’
In truth, I still find myself wrangling with this characteristic of our society. I graduated
with a History and Spanish degree from Clemson with full plans to go to medical school.
I did well on the MCAT after graduating, but still I felt I needed more time before
applying. I decided to travel once more to South America, to Peru, Chile, and, of course,
Argentina, and yet again, I’ve been inundated again with these questions about our
society and our lives as Americans. Ours is clearly seen as the more successful of the
two cultures, when compared to Argentina. We hold ourselves to a high quota for
productivity and work in general. Still, I find myself asking, is it worth it? Based on our
material wealth, we would be considered to have a higher standard of living than in
Argentina, but is that really indicative of our happiness? Ours is a rushed and hurried
life, where time with the family is brief and many times lessened by the tiredness that we
work so hard to achieve.
It’s been a year since I travelled abroad for the second time and now I’ve given up on
medical school so as to pursue a career as a writer. I can’t seem to ignore the questions
that run through my head. Though it sounds odd, I somehow feel that writing fictional
stories might solve some questions for me. So, to ask myself how much of an effect my
travels have had on me as an individual, I’d say that they were incredibly influential.
Though I fear that some might think it
for the worst, my semester in Córdoba
taught me a whole lot of things about
myself. When we’re removed from our
own world of comforts and
predispositions, we learn a lot about
ourselves. Things that can’t be learned
in the classroom. Though I can’t
describe it in discrete terms, I emerged
with a lot better knowledge of who I am
as a person. I hope that future students
will be able to live through their own
experience and see what they find out
about themselves.
My Spanish is better now that it was when I returned from Argentina, and I’ve spoken to
a wide variety of Spanish speakers from different countries. Still, when I’m walking
down the street here in the U.S. and I hear someone speaking in an Argentine accent, my
heart lights up. Hearing that accent makes me think of home. And though I didn’t
realize it while travelling, I know now that Argentina will always be a second home to
me, somewhere that my heart knows as well as my own country.