Seven days in. I’ve forgotten the English word for “napkin,” and I’ve said “lo siento” more times than I’ve surfed this month. That’s where we’re at.
Full immersion sounds romantic when you say it out loud. Like something that happens to you slowly, beautifully, like falling in love. But it’s not like that. It’s more like your brain gets mugged by grammar rules you didn’t agree to, while ten strangers laugh and speak faster than your thoughts can form.
Class starts at 9. I sit there every day like I’ve just come out of surgery, blinking at the whiteboard, wondering if I’ll ever be able to form a complete sentence in any language again.
Mateo saves me. Not academically—he’s just as fried as I am—but socially. He’s from San Diego. Built like a guy who moves heavy things for a living, which checks out. He installs solar panels.
“Where?” I asked him, halfway through a stale ham sandwich during break.
“Marbella,” he said. “Been there about a year. I work for a solar company in Marbella. Good gig. Panels go up, sun shines, everyone’s happy.”
I blinked. Marbella? Solar? Like actual work? While I’m here sweating over verb conjugations and trying not to cry into my café con leche?
“How’d you land that?” I asked.
He shrugged like he gets that question a lot. “I came over for this business retreat thing, met a guy at a bar who knew a guy, and one project turned into two. Now it’s steady.”
“Are you fluent?”
“God, no. But I know enough to explain kilowatt hours and not piss off homeowners.”
Respect.
I’ve had four mini breakdowns since Monday. One in class. One trying to buy toothpaste. One on the metro when I realized I forgot the word for “ticket.” And one back in my room, staring at the ceiling like maybe the words will fall in through the cracks.
But I’ve also had this one moment.
Yesterday, after class, I went into a bookstore looking for a Spanish grammar guide (masochism, basically). I asked the woman working there if they had anything for beginners. She answered fast—but I caught it. Understood it. Responded.
She smiled. Not politely. Not like “oh sweetie, you tried.” A real smile. Like I’d said it right.
Small. Win. But I’m taking it.
Marisol called last night. Sydney background noise—birds, traffic, wind through eucalyptus.
“How’s the class?”
I hesitated. “I feel like my brain is bleeding through my nose.”
She laughed. “That means it’s working.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right.
Tomorrow’s another five hours. More drills. More conversations where my brain feels like a piece of wet cardboard. But I’m in it now.
The surf can wait. The waves will still be there when my verbs finally line up.
Next post: Two weeks in. Either I’m fluent… or I’ve started speaking only in grunts and charades.