College Essay (Melrose High School Student, University of Connecticut Honors College)
My fork hovered over the dish. I looked up and saw five sets of eyes locked with mine. Five smiling faces, five forks of their own. None of their forks hovered. I looked back at my dish. Is that thing alive, I wondered. Could that thing be alive?
“Que es esto?” I asked, meekly, hesitantly.
All around me there was laughter and talking. They were talking far too fast for me to understand. Everyone started to eat again. I looked around, tapped the shoulder of Pablo, my Spanish exchange partner.
“Eh?” he said.
“Hey, like what is this?” I asked.
He smiled and looked at my plate. “Calamar, you know calamar?” Pablo’s fingers danced around at the ends of his hands. “Calamar.”
Luckily, there was wifi in Pablo’s house (although they call it wee fee) and I am fairly adept at Google Translate. C-a-l-a-m-a-r I typed in. Squid came back at me.
“Squid,” I said. “I am actually eating squid right now?”
“No,” he laughed, “You aren’t eating it, you’re looking at it.”
It was the first day of my two weeks in Spain. Pablo had spent two weeks at my house in September, where I fed him all sorts of normal stuff: hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza. We went to Liberty Bell probably five or six times. He loved everything. Who doesn’t love American food?
I had absolutely no idea how I was going to survive this. I mean, come on. There was basically an octopus on my plate. OK, not an octopus, but a pretty close cousin. And I was supposed to eat this?
“Do you cut it?” I asked.
“Well, if you want to,” he said. Pablo popped another squid organ into his mouth. Disgusting.
As I thought about the food in front of me, I analyzed my surroundings. Pablo’s little brother mumbling something in Spanish that I could not even try to comprehend, The Simpsons playing, in Spanish, on a TV in the background, which I also was not able to understand. I thought about my home in Melrose, on the ground level opposed to seven stories in the air. I looked out the window, imagined the endless trees and grass around my house, but only saw buildings. Buildings everywhere. Sky scraping, historic, beautiful buildings, but still buildings.
“Russell,” Pablo’s mom said, interrupting my day dreaming. “You like it, eh? This is Spanish food. You try it! Try it, Russell!”
OK, I said to myself. You can do this. Come on, Russ, take a bite, buddy. Take a bite.
It actually wasn’t too bad. Salty, yes. Chewy, yes. But if I imagined deep fried buffalo chicken, I could sort of taste the resemblance.
I looked up. Many Spanish faces waited for my take on this culinary treat.
“Me gusta,” I uttered. “Muy bueno.”
Laughter broke out around the table and sighs and more laughter and lots of really, really fast Spanish speaking. It was at this very moment that I grew a new appreciation for my Spanish bro. Pablo had spent two weeks, two weeks at my house eating basically anything I threw at him. Yes, squid was weird to me, but who is to say that Chicken Pot Pie isn’t to him? I mean, you cut up a bunch of chicken, vegetables, potatoes and put them inside of a pastry? Did he expect apples when he bit into it? I don’t know. I never thought to ask.
When Pablo came to Melrose, my life went on as it normally did, going to the YMCA after school and watching football with my friends on Sundays. I never realized how different everything was for him until I experienced how different his life was to me. As I sat there at the dinner table, I realized that I would have to adapt to this lifestyle for two weeks the same as he did for me. And just as I accepted this, Pablo’s mother brought out dessert. Not again, I thought to myself. As she placed it infront of me, I was even more confused than with the Squid. It looked like a slice of cake, but it smelled much different. The pungent smell of almonds and mayonnaise filled my nostrils, and I felt the same as ten minutes before. I decided not to worry the family, and I dug right in. The mayo cake was surprisingly good, and I was glad to have made up my mind about fitting in with the culture. Just as I finished, the cleaning up began. Everyone, excluding me, stood up simultaneously and picked up their plates and brought them to the kitchen. Unsure of what to do, I grabbed my plate and silverware and carried them to the packed kitchen. I stood outside for a bit, unable to fit into the cramped room, and thankfully Pablo took my dirty dishes and cleaned them for me.
After my first dinner, I could not wait to get to bed. Being alone for once was all I could think about, so I went and said good night to my new family.
“Good night?” Pablo confusingly said to me. “It is only ten!”
“Only ten?” I replied, “what are we doing now?”
Little did I know, the night did not end at ten, but rather began. Before I had even unpacked, I changed into some of Pablo’s nice clothes and we headed out. I had no idea what was planned for the night, but although I had not slept in over 15 hours, I was excited for my first night here. When in Spain, I said to myself.