Three weeks in. I haven’t quit. Haven’t punched a wall. Haven’t booked a return ticket. That’s got to count for something, right?
Halfway. Half the classes done. Half the verbs still a mystery. I still regularly forget which past tense I’m supposed to use and end up talking like a time traveler with brain damage. But here’s the strange part:
I think I’m getting better.
The Brain Fog Is Starting to Lif
It’s subtle. Like, I’ll catch myself understanding a conversation on the metro. Not fully—but enough to know the old man across from me is annoyed with his daughter-in-law and something about lentils. Two weeks ago, that would’ve been white noise.
Now it’s partial story.
Same with menus, overheard phone calls, street signs. Words I don’t remember learning are just… there. Not like I know them, but like they’ve been sitting in a dusty backroom in my brain and someone finally cracked the door open.
I Can’t Fake It Anymore
There’s a point where your little memorized phrases stop cutting it. You can’t just smile and say “Una cerveza, por favor” and coast. People respond. They ask follow-up questions. And if you freeze or say “sí” at the wrong time, suddenly you’re agreeing to anchovies on your toast and a second round of something that definitely wasn’t beer.
But that’s good. You stop pretending. You get real. You get uncomfortable.
And that’s where stuff starts sticking.
We Had a Debate in Class
About whether technology is ruining human interaction. All in Spanish. I didn’t speak much. When I did, it was clunky. But I got applause for using a new word correctly—aislamiento. Isolation.
It wasn’t the right context, but I used it with confidence and the teacher respected the attempt.
That’s the vibe here now. Confidence over correctness. Don’t aim for perfect. Aim for alive.
Marisol Check-In
We talked on the phone. Well—FaceTime. She’s still in Sydney, still knee-deep in marine biology things I pretend to understand.
“How’s Spanish?” she asked.
“I’m inventing tenses daily,” I said.
She laughed. “Sounds like progress.”
She’s not wrong.
I told her about the supermarket win, the lentil conversation, the word isolation, the café that finally remembered my order without me having to point and pray.
She said she was proud of me. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that.
I Miss the Ocean, But This Is Its Own Kind of Wave
There’s something strangely physical about language learning. It’s not academic. It’s visceral. When you finally get a sentence out clean, it feels like nailing a turn on a perfect right. Your body just knows it hit. You feel it before your brain catches up.
I haven’t surfed in weeks. My legs are twitchy. My arms are soft. But I’ve been paddling in a different way. Mentally. Socially. Emotionally.
It’s exhausting in a new direction. But it still feels like motion.
Halfway Reflections
- I am still awful at subjunctive.
- I now know at least four different ways to apologize.
- Saying “más o menos” with the right shrug can get you out of most awkward situations.
- I am less afraid to speak now, even if I sound like a Spanish caveman.
- I’m starting to think in Spanish before I fall asleep. Not always. But sometimes.
Three weeks down. Three to go.
I’m not fluent. I’m not even close. But I’m not frozen anymore. And that’s something.
Next post: I try to have a full conversation with a local without collapsing into Spanglish. Let’s see how that goes.
Spoiler: probably not well.