gemini://thurk.org/blog/334.gmi

They sit on the couches before me yelling at each other. Or so it seems they are yelling. Their voices are naturally very piercing to me. I have bearly entered the room less than 10 minutes prior and already feel like fleeing. At least the television is not blearing. It surely will be a bit later, however. The hated instrument of stupidity is perpetually in the background in this house. How anyone can have a free thought is beyond my comprehension.

I discussed my alienation with Marisa yesterday during our two times in bed. She seems to understand my plight. I understand little of the conversations between her *family*, and especially when we are all at the *table of endless amounts of food*. I sit silently. I try to eat slowly so I'll have something to occupy my time, and therefore my thoughts.

I am the most lost when she leaves for the kitchen. The remaining at the table are shouting at each other (yes - so it seems to me, as my voice is very mild) and I am caught in a crossfire I cannot avoid or battle. I cannot even contribute. By the time I comprehend the topic of conversation, it has moved to another topic.

And it is also most likely true that I'd only be able to stand the same situation for slightly more time were everything in a language I speak fluently. So, one conclusion is that I am an introvert and need to recharge my mental faculties very often.

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I have nothing against the food in this establishment (which is exactly what this family is), but, as any reader knows, sameness wears on me like sandpaper. My skin is thin in this sense. In this regard, as well, I yearn for release back to Logroňo where I can concoct anything *exotic*. Exotic to this bunch, anyway.

For example, yesterday, Marisa and I came up with an alternate form of *tortilla de patatas* that was more like something Patricia, Habosh and I used to create back in the *good old days* (the summer of 2005). Whilst we made this, her father created a more traditional variety consisting of solely potatoes, egg and a bit of onion. At the aforementioned table, this version seemed the more preferred. In fact, *Carlos* openly mocked mine and Marisa's tortilla.

We sautéed zuchini, onions, red pepper and something else I cannot recall at the moment (they are shouting again). To be proper, we did add potatoes, as well. We added eggs and parsley and fried it as one usually does.

The result was the following (before the last step):

My conclusion is that I don't know how much longer I can be here and resist despondency. I am not sure what this implies for my relationship with Marisa in the long run. She is a very family oriented woman. As, I said earlier, the mastery of the language is not going to matter much in the long run.

I am an introvert. Absolutely no one here is similar in this regard.

Abject alienation in a village from which are is no escape

Topics: displacement, food, fresneda, alienation

2015-08-16

Yes - I am whining right now.