Octopus in a Garage

                 I feel like a fish out of water. Actually that’s not true. I feel more like an octopus in a garage. Wait, you’re saying, because you are well versed in Spanish idioms, I thought those sayings were synonymous. Well, to most people, they are. But since I’ve been thinking about it, I’ve come to realize that to me, those two seemingly similar phrases mean two completely different things. To explain what I mean, let’s go back and think about where the phrases come from. Obviously, “a fish out of water” comes literally from what happens, when a fish is out of the water. Without its vitality, the fish struggles to breathe and eventually dies. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not compare my semi-permanent situation to that of a dying fish. That is why I like “an octopus in a garage” better. If an octopus were in a garage it would ultimately die from lack of water just like the fish, but that’s not the point of this saying. Fish are out of water quite frequently, every day thousands of fish are taken from the water and left out in the air to be eaten a later date. In contrast, octopi are very rarely found in garages. In fact, this situation is so rare that the saying is almost ridiculous. Why on earth would there be an octopus in a garage? I have no idea. But I think that is the whole point of this saying. If by chance you stumbled upon an octopus in a garage you’d want to know how it got there. You’d want to know the story. I am not just some fish. I was not taken against my will to a foreign country to be eaten by the inhabitants. I am an octopus in a garage. I am a person in an unusual place and circumstance and I am here by choice. I have a story. However, like the fish and the octopus, my new surroundings have not all been easy to adjust to. Fortunately, unlike the fish and the octopus, I can still breathe. I can still explore and learn and think for myself. So even though I get stared at as I walk to school and even though I don’t always understand what people are saying to me, I will survive. And eventually, I will return to my fish tank, and I will have a story to tell. A story about adapting and learning and dealing with being in a garage when I’m used to my garden in the shade. Here is part of that story thus far…

                My alarm goes off. I reach over to turn it off and almost fall off my bed. It scares me and for a moment and I’m not sure where I am. This is not my queen sized, memory foam mattress. This is my camp sized Spanish bed. Oh right. I remember. Spain. I get up, get dressed and get ready for school. I go into the kitchen for breakfast. I’m craving some Waffle House hashbrowns, but I’m met with a cup of coffee, a cookie, and a smiling Spanish woman. Buenas días, Rut. After our small breakfast I get my things and head for the door. I take the tiny elevator down 5 floors and exit my building. I turn right and breathe in the Spanish air that I’m starting to grow accustomed to. As I’m walking, I notice, as I do every day, the stares of the people sitting at the cafes. I try to ignore it and keep going. These people are not used to seeing a blonde haired blue eyed American girl in their neighborhood. Their stares are not hostile but mainly curious. Tourists do not come to this part of town, and if they did it would certainly not be this early in the morning on a Tuesday. These people have no way of knowing why I’m here or that I am a legal (if temporary) citizen of Spain. They only see an octopus in their garage. It’s a nice day out and I decide to walk instead of taking the bus. As I get closer to school and the “centro” the stares become less obvious and eventually I’m no longer getting strange looks at all. By the time I get to school, I’ve all but forgotten my cephalopod like appearance, but I’ll be reminded tonight when I go home.

                This kind of thing, though uncomfortable, is in my opinion good. I want to blend with this culture yes, but I am never going to be a Spanish person. Those stares remind me that although I will eventually become comfortable here, I don’t need to worry about being a perfect Spaniard. I can put on my best accent and learn every word, but an octopus cannot turn into a human simply by learning to talk and wearing clothes. It can however be an active member of the community. If it’s really good, people might even forget for a little while that it is in fact an octopus. Inside however, it will always be an octopus, a very cultured and globally aware octopus, but still an octopus. And eventually it will return back to its home. And that takes a lot of pressure off me… I mean the octopus.