The realities of living abroad with a host family (sometimes it effing blows)

Introduction: this post is going to be a rather glum post and for that, I apologize. Things have been really frustrating and difficult these last few days, but also ridiculous—so ridiculous in fact that I can't help but laugh. Because host mom...is insane.

During our first week of orientation, we received an important and informative lecture about the stages of culture shock. All of the struggles with culture shock and homesickness come during your first few weeks in your new town, and then gradually, you grow accustomed to your new locale. And finally, you're happy again!

For me, all of this came in reverse. Despite a few other factors, a lot of this has to do with the fact that my host mother is crazy.

At first, she was pretty cool. I felt like I had to walk around eggshells around her, but she seemed funny and okay so things were fine. Plus, for the first month, I was adjusting and my behavior was “good”. I spent a lot of time with her grand kids who came over frequently, we talked Disney Channel, played soccer, had a good time. Then Fiestas Patrias happened and everything changed.

First, host mom started getting annoyed with my Spanish (which without a doubt, is definitely frustrating. To live with someone who doesn't speak your language is a burden. But it is a burden that you should not take on unless you are ready to deal with it.) “You've been here one month, why can't you speak Spanish?” This became an occasional occurrence, but even more common was the, “You don't understand me!” I really did try with her, but I have to hear everything two to three times, so she got tired very quickly of me asking, “Otra vez por favor” or “Mas lento, por favor”. She would just throw her arms up in the air and huff. “No me entiendes!” And then she'd walk away and that would be the end of that.

Then, the grand kids stopped coming over. They stopped by sometimes but it was not nearly as often as it used to be. And when they would come over, they were always sullen and silent. There's only so much prodding for conversation I can do in Spanish.

Also around this time I became really busy. I started traveling almost every weekend and Jess' family started inviting me over a lot (and they are so much more fun!). Plus, I started to get a little tired of sitting inside watching telenovelas while being ridiculed for my poor Spanish.

Then, the housekeeper also stopped coming over. She used to come over at least three times a week to clean and help cook lunch. But I don't think she came over once during the month of October. A few times host mom said she wasn't coming over because she was sick, but there were more than a handful of times that Jane and I saw her walk on the other side of the street to go to host mom's daughter's house to clean. Peculiar. It's quite possible host mom said something that upset her. Host mom likes to point out how people are fat, ugly, drunk, and lazy. And she likes to do this a lot. (Update: She has since come over ONCE. And when she came over, it was when host mom had to go into Chillan for the day. I'm sure she enjoyed having the house to herself. Lord knows Jane and I were happy to have the house to ourselves!)

Lastly, the Ministry of Education didn't pay my host mother until mid-October. So she had to front the money to feed us/ borrow money to feed us from August until October. She's not a rich woman, so she was no doubt incredibly angry about that (actually, we know for a fact she was unhappy with this because she told us at least twice EVERY DAY). Jane and I offered to pay for ourselves but she refused. However, once she finally got paid she didn't really seem any happier.

October wasn't terrible, but it was odd. Jane and I still don't really know what happened, but we think there was some kind of fight going on in the family because none of her kids (most of them live around town) came over.

November, however, has turned out to be a truly unbearable month. It actually almost broke me, I hate to admit. And the weird thing is, the kids started coming over A LOT and so did the grand kids. But irregardless, host mom reached the point of truly hating me (hate is a strong word but honestly, the woman hates me.) Things reached their tipping point when she yelled at me for putting my backpack on my bed.

Ahhh yes, now we can start the jokes. I hope you are prepared for the hilarity that is about to follow:

Last week, host mom came into my room and yelled at me for putting my backpack on the bed. Now, I have been putting my backpack on the bed for as long as I have been here in San Nicolas. This is not a new thing I have started doing. I also put my backpack on the bed because I do not want it on the floor. I do not want it on the floor because you are not supposed to put things on the floor due to the possibility of the rincon spider (the super poisonous one) crawling into your mochila. This is why you do not leave your clothes on the floor. This is why you shake out your clothes before putting them on. So I'm not going to put my backpack on the floor. Also, with the way my room is set up, there really isn't space for my backpack on the floor. There is a chair in my room, but when I put my backpack on the chair it always seems like it is going to fall off, and I like to put my jacket on that chair instead. It's complicated, clearly. Anyway, she comes into my room and tells me I can't put my backpack on the bed anymore because it's too heavy. Seriously. This is not an instance of my poor Spanish. For the first time, she spoke slowly. THEN, she moves over to my dirty clothes pile (which is hidden and smallish and again, has no where else to go, and AGAIN has been like this for the entire duration of my stay) and says, “And your dirty clothes. UGLY. It's ugly. It's feo. I don't like it.” Then she moves over to the other bed in my room (I have a total of three because Once upon a time, I was sharing this room with two other people) and says, “And I don't like your clothes on the bed. I don't like you having things on the bed. It's feo.” Yes, I did have a sweatshirt on the bed. And yes, I did have a few other work-related things on the bed. I don't have a desk and I don't have an electrical outlet near my bed, so I use one of the other beds to do lesson planning , but once I am done, I always clean it up and fix the bed. It's not like I have this massive pile of stuff on the bed. It's usually my computer, a notebook, and paper for drawing pictures. And I NEVER abandon the mess! I always clean it up! And AGAIN, I have been doing this since August (well, this particular act, since early September when Jane moved into the other room) but irregardless, these are things I have been doing for a while. And I honestly try to be neat. I make my bed. I keep my clothes in the armario. I try, I try! I'm sweet! I smile! I try, goddammit!

This incident happened on a Sunday morning. Jane and I, of course to avoid host mom, later went to Chillan for the day. When we came back that afternoon, instead of immediately taking Once, we went for a jog. When we came back, host mom was mad at us because we took Once a whole 30 minutes later than normal (so 7:30 instead of 7). She then wouldn't let it go that we went to Chillan AND went jogging. God forbid. AND, she started freaking out that we didn't have enough bread for Once AND breakfast the next morning and that she had told us specifically to buy bread while in Chillan. This was a lie and also not the first time it has happened to me. Before we had left for Chillan, Jane and I asked her if she needed anything. We asked her four times. We asked, are you SURE? She said no, she didn't need anything. She was clearly just trying to pick a fight. I guess my heavy backpack really put her in a mood.

Then on Tuesday morning, as I was laying in bed, I heard the breakfast conversation. Jane asked host mom how she slept, and host mom said horrible. Why? Asked Jane. Because someone flushed the toilet last night and it woke me up. Once they figured out who the culprit was (me), I was told I am no longer allowed to flush the toilet at night. This was the breaking point for me. I know it sounds so ridiculous but when your every move is under constant criticism, and you can no longer flush the toilet at night (what the eff am I supposed to do if I have to poop? Seriously!) all these tiny, insignificant things really start to build on you and wear you down. So I skipped my classes and fled to Chillan for the day because sometimes being in that house and being in that town feels like I have a plastic bag over my head and I am slowly suffocating.

Things have been better with host mom these past few days, but I think that is because I haven't really been at home. I am trying a lot harder now to not be home at all. It seems like it is just easier for everyone. Plus for my mental health, I definitely need it. Luckily, one more week!

I think the thing that is upsetting me the most about this entire situation is that I'm having a bad host family experience. This was supposed to be the most amazing part of the entire Chilean experience for me! And maybe I didn't try hard enough? That's definitely possible. But I teach everyday from 8:30 until 5:40, go jogging after until 7ish and then come home and eat Once, and then by 8 I am ready for bed/ alone time. I am someone who needs their alone time, I have always been like this. I would usually spend like 20 to 30 minutes watching TV with Jane and host mom but spending any more time just seemed impossible. I guess this is why I didn't try hard enough. So dear host mom, I'm sorry I suck.

Oh, also, the other day I wanted to go for a walk, so I told her I was going for a walk and she's like, “Walking by yourself is so fome.” (Lame.) Whatever, host mom. You never leave the house.







Kitten Update: Jane and I were mistaken. Host mom did not throw the kittens over the fence and into the river. I have seen them, and they do exist. BUT about two weeks ago there was a cat fight in the middle of the night, and two of the three kittens were killed. And the next day, during breakfast, host mom was talking to her son in Brazil on the phone, when she told him about the murdered kittens. Granted, I couldn't hear what he asked her, but based on the following response, I assume he asked her something like, “Did you get up when you heard the cat fight?” Her response was this: “Of course I didn't get up when I heard the cat fight!” Then she cackled. So she let those kittens die.