It's not cheap to live in Spain, this I knew before I uploaded my resume to send my fate here. However, there are ways to get by, I was told, and then there is the reality of what that means.
In five months time, I've learned, adapted and stayed afloat, barely. Besides forsaking luxuries such as heat during nights that dip to -5 degrees Celsius to save on costly utilities, the thrifty Auxiliar (my referred to title) can, at times, afford occasional thrills, such as 5 Euro bottles of wine (upgrade!), by tutoring English on the side.
However, rationalizing the cost-benefit of having my breath linger in the icy air of my apartment (evidence) was easy to mathematically calculate. It didn't skirt the ordinary call of being frugal. Tutoring English in Ubeda, I soon came to realize, did.
While I wouldn't categorize myself as "kid person", you know who you are, I do enjoy kids, sparingly. Tutoring English seemed like no call of bravery and turmoil, but easy cash, like babysitting with a mission.
And for the most part it is, I enjoy the hours when progress is made and especially revel in the Spanish I get out of the exchange. However, there are times when this perfect picture is more accurate of an education center's advert, which can never be trusted.
This is especially true when the child doesn't actually want to learn English, but is being forced to by his parents anyway. Thus, we had the struggle of his desire to draw penises, not my requested body part vocabulary (i.e. eyes, ears, nose, those body parts with a more innocent nature). Then there was the time he pretended to thrash a skeletal foot at my head, in the act of portraying the emotion I had just explained to him, hunger/hungry. After that, came the time he refused to sing any Christmas songs in English, only Basque, naturally. After which he started running with scissors (we were making snowflakes), I kid you not. All of this cumulating to the point of our most heated tango, the call of his parents. Clearly I needed to remind him who had authority, his father. After escaping the door that he attempted to lock and block with his 10-year-old body, I reached the outside to freedom.
After this outside reinforcement from his parents, however, I've learned a few tricks of my own to become the master, or more accurately, how to better teach him and his needs.
And I think I actually saw a smile last week.
In five months time, I've learned, adapted and stayed afloat, barely. Besides forsaking luxuries such as heat during nights that dip to -5 degrees Celsius to save on costly utilities, the thrifty Auxiliar (my referred to title) can, at times, afford occasional thrills, such as 5 Euro bottles of wine (upgrade!), by tutoring English on the side.
However, rationalizing the cost-benefit of having my breath linger in the icy air of my apartment (evidence) was easy to mathematically calculate. It didn't skirt the ordinary call of being frugal. Tutoring English in Ubeda, I soon came to realize, did.
While I wouldn't categorize myself as "kid person", you know who you are, I do enjoy kids, sparingly. Tutoring English seemed like no call of bravery and turmoil, but easy cash, like babysitting with a mission.
And for the most part it is, I enjoy the hours when progress is made and especially revel in the Spanish I get out of the exchange. However, there are times when this perfect picture is more accurate of an education center's advert, which can never be trusted.
This is especially true when the child doesn't actually want to learn English, but is being forced to by his parents anyway. Thus, we had the struggle of his desire to draw penises, not my requested body part vocabulary (i.e. eyes, ears, nose, those body parts with a more innocent nature). Then there was the time he pretended to thrash a skeletal foot at my head, in the act of portraying the emotion I had just explained to him, hunger/hungry. After that, came the time he refused to sing any Christmas songs in English, only Basque, naturally. After which he started running with scissors (we were making snowflakes), I kid you not. All of this cumulating to the point of our most heated tango, the call of his parents. Clearly I needed to remind him who had authority, his father. After escaping the door that he attempted to lock and block with his 10-year-old body, I reached the outside to freedom.
After this outside reinforcement from his parents, however, I've learned a few tricks of my own to become the master, or more accurately, how to better teach him and his needs.
And I think I actually saw a smile last week.
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