Tisch Global Jumbos

by Bryan, Tufts 1+4 Participant

Oftentimes when my host mother would greet me, she would say, “Meu angel com olhos azuis.” My blue eyed angel. One of the things I had to become accustomed to was how my host mother displayed affection. On about day 3 of my living there my host mother began kissing me on the head and cheeks, and on roughly day 5 she felt comfortable enough slapping my rear, as she does to her grandchildren. At first, this made me very uncomfortable, but I soon became accustomed to it; it’s just who my host mom is and how she displays affection. I always knew my relationship with her was special, but I didn’t quite realize just how much I meant to her until she spoke these words to me. It all started with my host brother in law making a toast during Christmas dinner. He primarily toasted my host mother, Miriam, and told her how proud he was of her and how strong she’d been after losing her husband just months prior (only about three months before I arrived).

She later came to me, and thanked me. She said that she was going through a really hard and sad part in her life, and that I brought her so much pride and joy ever since I came into it, and that I was her angel with blue eyes. While I knew I was entering the house at a tough part in her life, I never knew just how much she was struggling because she was always so cheerful. It was incredibly touching. This was the moment I realized just what an impact I’d had on her life. I knew she loved me and I had an impact, but I failed to piece together our relationship and its timing, and how that made it all the more special. She’ll never forget that part of her life, and I was a part of it. The happy part. After that, she began calling me that regularly and would introduce me as such to friends and family with a smile on her face while caressing my head or gently lifting up my chin.

After entering my host family and hearing them often talk about the previous fellows they’d hosted, I was determined to be the favorite. And I’m proud to say that for our final dinner together when they were mentioning other fellows, I asked them who the best one was, and I had achieved my goal! I truly am going to miss my host family, and my host mother in particular, and it’s nice to know the feeling is mutual. Miriam took me to the airport and when we said goodbye, she had tears in her eyes, and then subsequently grabbed my hand and walked back with me to the group. It was incredibly sweet. We had said goodbye multiple times and she never left until I passed through the checkpoint and was no longer in sight. She even sat there on her phone while I spoke with my friends and staff, not wanting to leave until I was absolutely out of sight! She even said she would come to my graduation from Tufts.

Now my mother always tells me everything happens for a reason, and I tend to shake my head because I don’t really believe in that kind of thing. Now maybe Miriam and I did meet each other for a reason, or maybe the timing and everything was just a mere lucky coincidence. Either way, our relationship is incredibly special, and certainly had a large impact on the both of us. I know I’ve made a lifelong connection with my Brazillian family and they consider me part of their family as I do for them. It’s special to have this unique relationship and understand the impact I’ve made on their lives, in particularly Miriam’s. Even when you may think your life doesn’t matter that much, you never know just how many lives you’ve touched. And even touching one alone, that is worth living for.

by Roger, Tufts 1+4 Participant

As each Fellow moves through their journey, they’re confronted by a slew of day-to-day encounters and oddities, each tucked away as a memory-a portion of the physical voyage we’re on our ways through. A gorgeous bunch of natural flowers with unfamiliar scents, particularly haggle-y street vendor in an open-air bazaar, or a spontaneous and joyful dance on the streets at Carnaval have all added to each of our unique experiences and given us new recollections on which to draw to re-access our emotions during this year. (I have found that writing these experiences down has been particularly helpful in doing this, as merely reading the words can teleport me backwards into the middle of any of the rich days I’ve lived.)

All of these memories are being created within this space abroad, outside of the home and the comfort zone. Thus, it seems almost strange (and even selfish) to desire a further level of self-transportation. I mean this in the form of stories, of books. Having read more than the other Fellows this year by a significant margin, I’ve been asked time an time again why I would choose to spend my valuable time in a foreign environment seeking to enter another one though printed pages, by both peers here and back home. It certainly is a valid point: You can always read, but you can’t always be on the beach in Brazil. Though I had come in to this year with the goal of reading as much as possible (to recoup for time lost during high school), I began to internalize this, and my practices changed. As the number of inquiries of my habit rose, I began to read less and less. And though I knew this was ‘the best use of my time,’ I was keenly aware that I was doing this more to please others than myself, and my days, though fuller of uniquely-foreign experiences, were notably dryer and less memorable.

It was not until I heard the words of wisdom from (who else?) a Brazilian librarian that I was able to find closure in this internal conflict. As I laid out the “why read at home when you could be on a Brazilian beach” conundrum, she simply laughed and said, “Why not read on a Brazilian beach? It’s for certain you can’t do that in the States…” and it clicked.

This is no new realization-thinkers before me have come up with it, and many after will, as well-but I am glad I’ve come to it in my own, on my own time. That’s what this year is for, hmm? Having heard her words and reflected on the duality of my outdoorsy Brazilian year and my private one passed between the pages of what has now added up to twenty-four books, I’ve realized that that the environment in which a book is read can and does so, so deeply affect my as a reader’s experience, and that some of the most profound memories I hold were built directly upon this confluence. I recall with soulful fondness my enjoyment of Californian Cannery Row while swinging in a hammock on a cloudless, dusty Brazilian day, of my laughter at Waiting for Godot as I sat in a bus terminal, knowing that my bus would never come, of my tearful joy at the love found in the last pages of The Teahouse Fire as I realized a love of my own. Yes, of course I will reflect with gratitude on the experiences and relationships formed independent of the themes of whatever I happened to be reading at the time. They far outnumber those for which I found true, meaningful overlap. But those that did-these are the ones by which are made not only memories, but blossoms of growth of the soul.

(That last bit was going to be the end of this. But after a tumultuous flight from our host countries followed by an utterly positive moment that made all of my reading in Brazil worth it, I felt it could be prudent to share this last thought.)

Back at home, a month before expected, and my heart and eyes are still in Brazil. I feel a deep sense of longing to simply be there, for my body and my ego to be in the same place. I will walk outside in a tee shirt, forgetting the new necessity to survive rather than thrive in the outdoors, and stubbornly stand, freezing, for a few minutes, wishing the tropics to return. I say “Please” and “Thank You” and “Excuse Me” in Portuguese when talking on the phone, and have to give an, “oops! My bad…” And of course Brazilian hugs (or any hugs, for that matter) are deeply and presently missing.

But I can still get back. Open Captains of the Sands, and the beach is there, washing over me. There is a portal inside some of my books now; they cannot be read without a journey backwards, towards the hurt-so-good past. And for that, I would do it again in an instant.

by Alex, Tufts 1+4 Participant

The Indus Valley Civilization and the fierce Mughals have pulled me to India. In high school, I consistently found myself being drawn into my world history textbook every time India was mentioned. I particularly enjoyed learning about Mahatma Gandhi and admired how instead of using force, he had inspired Indians to liberate themselves from the British colonialists using non-violence. Later on, this same philosophy would be used to spark freedom movements across the world, from the end of the Apartheid to the Civil Rights Movement. The earth was a better place because Gandhi had walked it.

Due to my love for Indian history, I was excited to find out October 2nd, Gandhi’s birthday, was a national holiday known as Gandhi Jayanti Day. Since government schools spend the day commemorating him, I would luckily be able to celebrate his 150th birthday alongside my students.

At school that morning, teachers handed out posters with slogans such as “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle” and “Clean and Green is Our Dream” to our students, directing them to form a line outside of the school building. Excited, I quickly joined them, and we walked around our school’s neighborhood, chanting “Clean Pune, Green Pune,” alongside some of the neighboring schools. Many people stopped on the street to cheer us on or stare blankly at the commotion. After an hour, we returned to school and sang happy birthday to a picture of Gandhi while eating sweets. My kids were smiling, and I was happy that by raising awareness on pollution, something Gandhi would have strong opinions on, we had done something meaningful. Participating in peaceful protests meant keeping Gandhi’s legacy alive.

Energized by the morning’s events, I didn’t want the celebrations to end after I got home. On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, an American holiday similarly celebrating a man who devoted his life fighting for equality, my family and I read from some of his works. I was especially surprised that my talkative host father wasn’t making a bigger deal of the holiday. When I approached him about it, he looked me in the eye and told me he believed, to some extent, that Gandhi had left a mess for India. The shock evident on my face, he explained that Gandhi consented to the partition of Pakistan and India. If Gandhi had opposed more vocally, which he had the power to do, my host father and many others think the issues involving Pakistan and India would be lessened. He continued by saying that Gandhi often receives all the credit for independence, but the battle he began in the early 1900s wasn’t over until 1947. In reality, victory came because Britain was weak after both world wars and could not afford to fight for India.

Although I had only known my host father for less than a month, I cared greatly about his opinions. I enjoyed learning from him during our many conversations about politics and values. While initially confused, I later realized that this conversation with my host father broadened my views about a man whom I had been groomed to treat as an untouchable figure. They contrasted a morning solely full of festivities. As a result, Gandhi Jayanti Day forced me to challenge my preconceived assumptions. I had been comfortable with my knowledge of India’s fight for freedom from school and my own research that I hadn’t opened myself up enough to hearing more from locals. While I still admire Gandhi in many ways, I have taken the initiative to learn more this year by questioning in order to better immerse myself.

by Silas, Tufts 1+4 Participant

In a new place, I find myself fixating on even the littlest events as wins or losses. Noting a small victory is the most encouraging part of life here, no matter how small. Redefining my idea of success was a source of the never ending culture shock of this unfamiliar place. I arrived with big goals of understanding all the bus lines, having long, in-depth conversations with my host parents, or helping a kid with their math homework at my internship. A month in and I still use apps on most commutes, I bumble awkwardly through conversations, and I’m lucky if a kid wants to listen to me. But I have found motivation in the smaller wins while building towards my previous goals.

Usually they are events that I would not have even noticed back home, such as a simple conversation with a kid at my internship. On a beautiful Saturday, I found myself sitting on the sidelines of the kids’ soccer practice. I could not see my skills matching up to the young Uruguayans so I chose not to participate. One of the fifth graders, Tomás, joined me sitting on the stoop and started asking me about my pets. As I told him stories of my dog, George, of his hatred of mailmen, his fear of other dogs, and his unusual preferred treats, I noticed I was not having to plan out what I said, as I usually must with Spanish. Lucas loved it and then loved telling me about the strained relationship between his cat and his dog. Though the conversation lasted just a couple of minutes, I continue to think about it, a testament to how powerful these small victories can be.

Not a day goes by without small defeats, too. Similarly, usually they are things I would not have noticed back home but here, they amplify the general feeling of being a foreigner. Not understanding the layout of a grocery store and then not knowing how to say the ingredient I’m looking for, the interactions made awkward by my repeating of “¿Qué?”, or when the person I’m talking to must ask, “¿Qué?” because of my accent. When these build up, it can be demoralizing,making personal progress feel stagnant. However, it’s important to recognize these as a natural part of life here so they do not cause actual stagnation. Instead, I choose to focus on the absence of small defeats. In my first week, they seemed to far outweigh the small victories but as time has gone on, they inevitably have grown less and less frequent. For example, when Uruguayans ask, “¿Qué hora es?” (“What time is it?”), they blend all the sounds so it comes out as one syllable. This led to me having to ask them to repeat it every time until I began to learn and now I no longer experience this small defeat.

My time in Uruguay in the end may be defined by big successes such as becoming fluent in Spanish, making meaningful friendships, or completing a long term project at my internship. But until I am able to look back on it all, my time is defined by finally mastering the secret handshake my students taught me.