"He Has Become Ood Kind, And We Will Take Care of Him"

^ ^ ^ THAT is an Ood, for the Doctor Who deficient.

Saturday, I, with my Ood ticket, entered the Doctor Who Convention at the Millennium Centre in Cardiff.

What can I say? Dreams come true.

I'm not going to get into details about the Convention (mainly because I spent the past two hours journaling about it).
Things I will say:

1) Being on the TARDIS set was one of the coolest experiences of my life.
2) Being on the TARDIS and at the Convention made me sure, more than ever, that I need to become a TV writer someday.
3) Karen Gillan has watched U.S. show Community and therefore has gained my esteem.
4) Arthur Darvill is adorable as Rory, but he is Hot as Arthur Darvill.
5) Matt Smith rocks some badass socks.
6) Steven Moffat is a self proclaimed git, but he's kind of a writing rock star, and I admire him immensely.
7) Getting to see a sneak peek at the season 7 trailer before everyone else is immensely satisfying.
8) I did not waste 99 pounds on the convention ticket, we got MEGA awesome swag bags.
9) Prosthetics=way cooler than I ever could have imagined.
10) Doctor Who is a show that has inspired many for nearly 50 years, and you can add my name to the 'many'.


This is me on the TARDIS

It's Rainin' Men! Hot, British Men

By nature, I am a hermit.
While others adventurously seek the outdoors and explore their surroundings when they're in new places, I like to find a nice, cozy, warm, indoor place where I can hole up and read, watch TV, write, rub gunk out of my eyes or sing and dance without having anyone notice me.
Being out in the world makes me uncomfortable, because the other human life forms can see me, and I'm pretty sure they can tell I'm not one of their own. I have a tendency to look stupid due to my shyness and often mishear what people say which leads to me looking even more of a weird idiot.

Days like today, however, remind me of how much I sometimes enjoy being out in the middle of things.
Although it's my day off, I went out to the grocery store (because after my weekend away, the only food I had left was peanut butter, jelly, Cheerios and milk).
After returning to Grayson Heights, I ventured out again to the City Centre to buy my train tickets for upcoming travel. I normally enjoy this a lot because every time I've gone to the train station to buy tickets, I've been helped by the same woman behind the desk, and she is always cheerful and kind and makes me feel at ease (that may also have to do with her telling me that she's a Doctor Who fan).
Today, though, I got one of those worker drones, so angry to be doing their job that they treat you as if you're inconveniencing them by requiring them to...you know...do the job they're being paid for.

It was with this unpleasant woman that I got my card rejected for the second time today (it was also rejected at the Grocery store but I assumed it had meant that their machines didn't read cards that weren't chip & pin, not an actual problem with my card).
Embarrassed, I quickly charged it, not bothering to buy the 2 other tickets I need for my March 2nd trip to London. I then left hastily.

Walking back to the bus stop, I gazed around at the buildings that I passed, the smashed in screen of the National Bank of Scotland ATM, the old, stone buildings, and a smile came to my lips. I was casually walking down a beautiful street in England, by myself, knowing exactly where I was going, surrounded by the hurried voices of British people. I felt adult (although I was aware that 'feeling' adult means you're not really one yet). I thought back to five years ago, and how I never could have imagined that I would ever be in England, walking down a street, by myself. Despite my social awkwardness, I really enjoy being out in the City Centre, taking in all the sights.
It reminds me why I'm happy to be here, and it usually brings an uncontrollable smile to my face.



Another bonus: Leeds' city streets are FULL of hot men. They must put something in the water here because the number of attractive men is just over whelming. I fall in love multiple times daily with numerous men. They're hot, well dressed and have fantastic accents, it is so wonderful, and also makes me realise how deprived I've been at the University of Illinois and the United States in general.

My opinion? Send our children to grow up here so they can grow up to be attractive (it must be something they do here to make the vast majority so fine) and then ship them back to the US once they're 18.


In other news, my Chinese flatmates (yes, I still don't know their names, I'm a horrible person) made me and my other flatmates dinner last night.
I was wary, considering how much our kitchen smells of spices.
They made dumplings and had vinegar dipping sauce and curry with a variety of vegetables. It was so good. Spicy, yes, but also really, really delicious, and, the first home cooked meal I've had in my dorm.
We all sat and ate together, 2 from China, 1 from Ethiopia, 1 from Canada, and me, the US/Cuban representative. We laughed and ate and I was pleasantly surprised by the good time we had.

Allá

From My Dorm:

Today I am excited.
As in, hopeful, looking forward. The least amount of homesick that I've been for the past week.
Why? you ask.
What makes tonight so different than all the other nights?
One word:
PLANS.
That's right! I have plans. Travel plans.
To Edinburgh I go! And only a few weekends away.
And next weekend I get to (hopefully) go visit my friend Sarah who goes to UEA.
And there will be a day trip to the Lake District, a day trip to Stratford upon Avon (Shakespeare's hometown) and the U of I sponsored London Weekend and let's not forget (as if I could) the all important Doctor Who Convention weekend in Cardiff!!!

I am GOING places; Which, if I think about it, is exactly what I came here to do.
To see things, to write, to read, to learn.

I called my grandmother today (it's part of my wierd homesickness where everynight now before bed I want to talk to a few family members to hear there voices and tell them I love them...it's probably one of those 'you don't know what you have til it's gone things', but suddenly telling them I love them has become very important to me)
Anyhow: I called my grandmother today, and in the background I could hear my 19 month old sister shouting in Spanish "Allá" which translates to "there" or even "over there". She was saying she wanted to go "Allá" to get the food my grandma had made but which was still too hot for her to eat.
It was a relentless cry in her lispy pout "A-llá. A-llá. A-llá!"

I understand my almost 2 year old sister. I too am anxious to go "There". There is where the food (or, fun) resides.
I am excited.
So, as a famous (and my favorite) Doctor said: Allons-y!
I am ready to go Allá, whether that be Wales, Scotland, London, or Spain.



P.S:






I TOLD YOU!!! Box of Chicken Bones!

Stumped, Stuffed, and Slightly Nauseous

They said at all the study abroad meetings that you should really only bring 1 suitcase. And when you pack it, you should unpack it and take about 1/2 the stuff out.
At risk of sounding redundant (or making it my mantra) the study abroad people forgot one thing:
I am Cuban.

I do not 'pack light'. We arrive with boatloads of stuff, we leave with boatloads more.

This has had me struggling for the past two days.
I'll look at my suitcase, which is a little more than half my height (not that I'm that massive at a whopping 5'1) and I'll think
"Damnit! That's too much."
I'll begin removing things (question: who needs 7 pairs of jeans?) then I'll think
"I'm going to be there six months!" (answer: I do!)
I am bringing too much and not enough.
And let's not neglect to mention my Cuban grandmother who is like a Spanish speaking second person in my brain "Of COURSE you'll need that! Don't take that out! It'll all fit! Can you take this as your carry on? Will this go on your carry on? Are you taking this as your carry on?"

And my answer to her is often, "Yo no se". I don't know what I'm bringing and what I'm not. I'm not sure if I'll need my running shoes, an extra towel, my face cleanser. I am flummoxed.


Another thing (I'm not proud of) is that I'm a stress eater.
And I am immensely stressed.
My bonus Mom BZ made me the most delicious (no hyperbole) cake I have ever tasted for my going away party a few nights ago.


The frosting, the cake, the layer of ice cream, the layer of fudge....
Needless to say, I have been stuffing my face for the past couple of days.
I've been having my 'lasts'.
My last jibarito from Borinquen.
My last ceasar salad from Noodles.
My last ranch chicken.
Food that I very likely will not have until my return six long months from now.
The result: feeling overly full.



One of the joys of being me is my lovely habit of psychosomatic problems.
I am nervous and excited about my trip.
I am waking up earlier and falling asleep later (mostly because I can't turn my brain off).
I am in a constant mode of excitement which has lead to me being an anxious ball of energy. And when everything seems to be causing me trouble, the anxiety builds:
My laptop has failed (in the most literal way where it is now completely empty of all the songs/tv shows/movies I actually paid for on Itunes.) The energy converter I ordered still has not arrived in the mail. My suitcase might be too big and/or heavy. I don't understand my class schedule. And on and on and on.
All of this tension manifests itself as a feeling of tight nausea in my throat.


It's all so unimportant and ridiculous.
In the end, I will have a suitcase, I will have clothes to wear, I'll be fine,
I'll get to England in one piece.

It's the unknown.
Everything ahead of me is still up in the air (and over the ocean).
I don't really like the unknown.
But if there's anything I've learned about myself over the past 5 years (moving from suburbs to city, house to house, city to university) I've learned that I always land on my feet.

And I hope that when I'm miles in the air tomorrow, instead of feeling claustrophobic and panicking about the future,
I hope I take a moment to remember that this is not a frivolous trip. I did not randomly decide to study abroad in England. It's something I've literally dreamed about since child hood.
Rather than seeing it as being alone in a new country,
I'll try to see it as fulfilling my childhood dreams.

Spic: a Definition

I am Cuban.

That's what I normally say when people ask me.
It's not just a geographic location of my ancestors for me. It's my culture, my family, an all encompassing word meaning
family gathering for holidays
family meaning aunts, uncles, grandparents and my 30 thousand cousins (and they're all as close to me as an American's 'nuclear' family.)
It means that what others see as 'yelling' is our normal mode of speech.
We do everything passionately and loudly: whether it's love, eat, talk, laugh, cry or scream.

In less than a week, however, I will be embarking on my journey to Leeds, England for my semester abroad. When I'm asked what I am, I'll probably answer "American" because that is where I was born, that is where I grew up.
Being American hasn't ever really sat well with me.
I speak fluent English (and not fluent Spanish). I've got that Chicagoan accent where I hit my A's hard. I like most 'American' things, I've got American values instilled in me (mainly the notions that hard work and education are required to have a successful life in which after graduation you get a job and work til retirement). I've got all of those things down.
But I was aware, as I child, that we were different. I am not light skinned like all the blonde haired white girls flouncing around at recess. And I doubt many other American girls had someone approach their mother in a parking lot and tell her to go back to her country.

My point being,
I'm not just an American coed doing a semester abroad. I won't just have one cultural identity to learn to assimilate with the British. I have two.
I am a Spic. Yes, Spic, usually used as a derogatory term for Latino people (normally from Cuba or Puerto Rico) is a word I've taken as my own. It's something I'm proud of. It doesn't mean stupid, it doesn't mean we clean your houses and serve you meals at those 'authentic' restaurants people seem to adore.
We're people. We laugh. We love. We cry. And we've got our own set of values.

Family.

To the isolated American, I've noticed that leaving your family to go away for college is normal. Expected.
I decided to attend a University that's a 3 hour drive from home and for the year preceding college, I got asked multiple times (by multiple family members) "Are you sure you want to go so far away?"
Now I'm getting on a plane to attend a school that is an 8 hour plane ride away. To which 3 male family members (both grandfathers and my younger brother) said "Aren't there a lot of terrorist attacks in England?" Translating to: you should stay.

England has been a place I have longed to visit since my early years (yeah, it's stereotypical, but it did start with Harry Potter). So go, I will.

But don't mistake this for an 'Eat Pray Love' adventure. This is not a white woman's marvelous foray into strange new lands where at first she struggles but then meets a charming gang of locals and then has adventures and is accepted and has a readymade group of friends she can go out and dine with at her leisure. I am not Julia Roberts.

I will go out.
I will meet new people.
I will be in awe and excited about my new surroundings.
I will try to make new friends and have new experiences.

But all of those experiences will be perceived through the 2 lenses: that of an American college student
and
of a Spic.