La Vida, en Espanol

I’ve finally found the answer to the question: What do people do when they’re in a big life transition?

The answer is this: They learn a new language.

So in my breakup with academia and my pre-WYA days, a full month of not knowing what life had in store for me, I made myself useful by learning Spanish and French (which I dropped after three classes because I felt that the former was more useful in New York City). In both classes, the most commonly uttered sentences were, hands down: “Je ne travaille pas” and “Yo soy des empleado.” I do not have a job.

When a group of people feel alone and uprooted, they will bond. During breaks, I would put together my journalism and photography portfolio, have a meltdown in front of my classmates, or write and doodle frenetically in my journal and sketchbook. It was at the Instituto Cervantes, which was a lovely place with a historic landmark (Amster Yard), so hear hear! for questioning the meaning of life with a pretty backdrop. Plus, conjugating Spanish verbs over and over again was very calming.

Being Filipino, Spanish was relatively easier to learn. A few months’ worth of Spanish classes was more effective than 13 years of studying Mandarin. The alphabet was essentially the same as Filipino, as was the pronunciation. A lot of words were similar. Some words, however, mean things that are completely different, and there are words that I don't think I can say anymore because apparently they mean something bad in espanol.



When life changes so drastically, some days are better than others. I can go from being inexplicably happy to listless and depressed. I knew that it was for the best, but I was in an awkward stage I didn’t want to be into. I cried myself to sleep when my Spanish professor told me I had “the profile of an artist.” I was using pipettes instead of paintbrushes, decapitating rodents instead of writing stories. I nearly burst into tears in front of the cashier at a downtown art supply store when buying calligraphy pens. (This has been happening a lot. I call it my Shots of Artistic Epiphany.) Why didn’t I see this coming?

I’ve always envied the artistic life. In many ways, artists are unique in their detached independence from the rest of the world. It’s like science, only you don’t have to read other people’s papers all the time to “keep up with the field.” You can get inspired anytime, anywhere. It’s perfect for me, who shuts out the world most of the time.

A part of me reveled in being in this limbo phase. I had absolutely no responsibilities to anyone, leaving me free to do as I please without thinking of the consequences. I could learn anything I pleased and be anywhere I wanted to be. It was a strange mix of existential inertia and endless freefall. The future, because it was blank, looked brilliant. My life was very linear before; the plan was:

Get a Ph.D. --> Do a postdoc --> Head my lab --> Die

Now, the possibilities seem endless. The hyperactive Gemini in me with the really short attention span is loving this new nomadic life.



Three Scenarios I Can Think of Ten Years from Now
1. I join the circus where my flexible yoga-fied ass will be paired with my juggling skills, and I live happily ever after with a Spanish-speaking trapeze artist who caters to my vegetarian dietary needs.


2. I live in a Shaolin monastery where, in exchange for martial arts training and rent, I bake vegan cupcakes to feed the bald monks.


3. I write novels and cartoons in the quiet European countryside and moonlight as a teacher of taekwondo to juvenile delinquents. Occasionally I may cross paths with Peter Mayle and Carolina Herrera while shopping for organic food, and we high five each other for choosing the creative life.


Dios mio. If this is denial, then I hope it lasts forever because it feels so damn good.


Altogether now: It's ok to make mistakes. As long as you come out of them wiser and thinner.