Get Out of Your Mind: How the process of learning a language makes you a better educator

      Picture, for a moment, yourself doing something you consider a huge weakness . For example, let’s say you’re not the best skater. Imagine being set up on a stage in front of hundreds of people, your very own skating rink on it in the deadpan silence. You acutely hear each gasp and “ohh” each time the audience watches you fall, crash and slip. After all, this isn’t exactly your forte. Feeling that embarrassment burn on your cheeks? That is exactly the feeling I lived with the summer of 2015. Willingly.
      When I was 20 years old, I decided that for whatever reason, the main goal I had for myself in life was to learn five languages by the time I was 30. I grew up in a Guatemalan household in which we were taught to respect the boundary between our “home” language and our “school” language. Home was Spanish, school was English. My mom believed that keeping this boundary would help us develop concrete fluency in both languages. Thanks to my parents’ philosophy, I grew up a fully bilingual Spanish/English speaker. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was given an amazing gift because true bilingualism is something that is hard to create. More often it happens through a collision of fortuitous circumstances.

      When I was 18, I decided to embark on another language by my own choosing. Learning French was an incredibly gratifying experience and is what I consider to be my first true learning experience, as I was painfully aware of every minute mistake, hesitation and awkward slip. I vividly remember struggling to make my mouth wrap around their (to me) foreign phonetic system. I remember my throat being sore for days after a 1.5-hour session on just the French “r.” 

I remember learning vowel teams that made no sense to my Spanish/English brain. I remember learning French syntax, then slowly blending in colloquial expressions, which opened a new uncharted territory of my brain in which I could no longer tie new concepts to familiar Spanish/English ones. Learning a new language as an adult was not easy or painless. It took many tiresome repetitions of conjugation tables. It took many repetitions of writing sentences in a particular syntactical structure until it stuck. It took learning complex sentence structures and adding in even more complex tenses. All in all? Six semesters of college, one summer in France and countless “language practice nights” to really get the hang of it.

So it was that at 25, I decided it was time for lingua numero quatro: Portuguese. I took six months of Portuguese in Austin, then two years later booked three weeks of intensive Portuguese classes, an apartment with two Brazilians and their bulldog, then hopped on a plane to the city of Porto Alegre in Rio Grande do Sul. I relived each agonizing moment of the anxiety you’re faced with in what are usually normal, mundane daily moments. 

You would think that after a decade of dealing with banks, entering a bank wouldn’t be such an ordeal requiring the guard on the other side of the glass door practically yelling at you because you don’t have the vocabulary to understand that the metal detectors won’t allow the door to open if you don’t put all metal objects and your cell phone aside before entering. And let me tell you, it sucks getting stared at like an idiot by a sixteen-year-old cashier at a grocery store because they’re quickly mumbling acronyms of Brazilian systems you didn’t know existed, and you just shrug because you don’t know what they want from you. It’s equally embarrassing to order a plate of food for dinner, getting a skeptical look in exchange, only to realize you basically ordered a huge plate of cubed cheese, nothing else.
     And it was worth every moment. Now, having learned a new language with five years experience as a high school English teacher under my belt, it made me realize that learning a new language is quite possibly one of the most beneficial things I could have done for my educator self. As we age, we tend to get into our routines and comfort zones. We know (for the most part) what life offers us, and we become more selective about the experiences we want. 

Fully immersing yourself in a different language is like plunging into a deep, cold pool. The first few seconds are abysmally shocking, and it’s only after you start forcing your muscles to tread water, breath steadily and get into a groove that you start feeling ok about being submerged in this foreign matter. Learning a language is exactly like that. There are few moments you aren’t painfully aware of how you sound to other people, aware of how much much brainpower it’s taking you to recall, craft and pronounce every word and sentence. It takes weeks of “treading” to start feeling like you’re getting the hang of it.

 
     As teachers, we forget what that process was like—being asked and forced to do things daily that push us past our natural limits. It is exhausting and it does take a certain amount of bravery to repeatedly do things in which we are very likely to fail. That month speaking Portuguese with Brazilians presented many moments to me in which all I could think about was how these situations were likely the ones my students experienced daily. It was certainly embarrassing to have to speak out loud days I wasn’t feeling on my game. I imagined my listener questioning how mentally proficient I was, much how my students probably feel when I ask them to read or answer critical questions out loud in class. Reading in Portuguese was often frustrating when I’d get to a phrase where a combination of vocabulary and foreign syntax forced me to stop, look up a word, try to figure out what the sentence was saying, and then realizing I’d forgotten what the paragraph was even about because it’d taken so long to do all that. That is probably what my students go through when confronted with any text slightly beyond their reading level.

And here’s the insane thing: I CHOSE to experience that awkwardness. Our students don’t have that choice. Education, after all, is compulsory in our country. Our students are asked daily to put themselves in the most humbling situations a person can experience, yet we become frustrated with them when they aren’t giving us their best every day, when they’re “too tired,” when they don’t provide us beautiful, thought-out responses. We don’t, however, stop and ask them to reflect on how they’ve grown day-to-day, why they don’t feel comfortable answering things out loud, reassuring them that “to err, is human.”

 
     If nothing else, learning a new language will render you a more empathetic being, and will equip you to better to support your students with varying perspectives. You’ll have the presence of mind to know when you should be breaking things apart more for students, when to give more time, when to assist students with building confidence. 

As researchers of a study on multilingualism at the University of London, Birbeck concluded: “To speak a second language authentically is to take on a new identity. As with empathy, it is to step into a new and perhaps unfamiliar pair of shoes.” To further this analogy, walking in someone else’s shoes enables you to fully understand and reach that person better. As educators in an increasingly multicultural world, isn’t this one of our largest challenges? If many educators chose to undergo the process of learning another language, I get the feeling we’d have many more students being reached, helped and pushed beyond limits ever before seen.

Ruminations of Past

"I'll give you a quarter if you shave off your eyebrows." Unsurprisingly, the obedient five-year-old boy disappears and returns minutes later, eyebrow-less.
Confronting his grandfather in complete solemnity, the boy holds out his hand and patiently waits for his reward.

Recounting this story fifteen years later, Miguel still has trouble getting through it without frequent bursts of laughter, especially when he reveals he never even got his quarter. Not to mention, this hoodwinking happened twice, with the same tragic result.

He isn't my only cousin with a story of my grandfather's benevolent mischief, however. Pretty much all my cousins, and even aunts and uncles, have countless stories of my grandfather's good-natured tricks.

So why is it that when i asked his ten children to describe him, they used words like, "austere," "hard-headed," and "workaholic"?
"It's curious," says my Aunt Vicky, "it wasn't wasn't until he was older and quit working that we discovered he was such a joker. Growing up, he made us work hard and made sure we abided by our strict Catholic doctrines."

I once heard that the reason people begin fervently reading the bible and frequenting church as they age is that they realize their days are numbered. My grandfather messed up--he did it backwards. Having been a dogmatic, fervent Catholic his whole life, it seems it finally dawned on him that it was time to relax.

Rafarel Jose Reyes Navarijo (yes, the mother's maiden name is essential and always is by Guatemalan standards), was born in 1932. I could talk about how he was the child of a peasant farmer in a third-world country, how he grew up during the depression in this environment, or how his childhood in general unfolded (which I can assure, is of great interest). However, that would only give you a general idea of my grandfather.

As one of his over forty grandchildren, I have come to believe what's most important is what he passed on to each of us, and how his strong character has prevailed after all this time. He passed away several years ago, and yet, I see the remnants of his jovial, strong nature everywhere. Every time my dad finishes a marathon, watching my cousins play the slyest tricks on each other, the cadence of my aunts' voices praying the rosary and even watching my uncles down shots at any family gathering. They all remind me of him.

Of his many traits, I'd say his humor is a big part of what he passed onto our family. Some of my favorite times were watching soccer games. Soccer in my family is like American football to most American families. For a while, my dad organized his own team, recruiting people he knew to play on his team in a Houston-area league. Myself a lover of soccer, I would go and usually tag along with my grandfather. He enjoyed pretending he was in charge of all. "That stupid kid never passes at the right moment!," "See, the problem here is they just won't communicate!" Sometimes he'd steal the ball for fun and hide it just to see the uproar he'd cause.

Just because he enjoyed a good joke every now and then, however, did not mean he was incapable of vengeful wrath. One night in Guatemala, my older sisters and cousins, then in their flirtatious teenage phase, were serenaded by a local group of similarly-minded teenage boys. Mind you, it was past midnight. My aunts found it amusing and indulged their wishes to go out and talk to them. That is, until my grandfather woke up.

We all furiously crammed into a corner room in the house while listening to his thundering steps make his way from the opposite end. He found us all right.

I have to say, watching a 60-something-year-old man run around with a broom smacking everyone on the behind that he could reach, not excluding any adults, while listening to our loud parrot screeching in protest to all the commotion while he's trying to sleep, made for one of the most memorable nights in my life.

Of all traits, however, his religious fervor was the greatest impartment. About three years ago, I went to Guatemala for Holy week. Now, in the United States, Holy Week is that one week around Easter in which Catholics have church every day. It's great because it allows for an extra holiday on Good Friday, usually.

In Guatemala, Holy Week is the week in which businesses shut down, families gather around altars and the entire nation is swept up in intense rituals (remember to exchange plenty of currency beforehand, unless you want to be penniless rather soon, like I was).

For a solid week, we had our routine: wake up early, go to church, come back, do household chores, go to church, go eat, go watch processions, come home, pray. My grandfather saw that this routine was strictly observed.

My favorite part of all was watching processions--large parade-like events in which people walk for endless miles, from dawn till dusk, carrying large, ornate wooden structures with sculptures of Christ and Mary upon their shoulders. I remember going when I was younger. I would ask my grandfather, "Why are they carrying those? What happens if they do?" My grandfather would respond with "Are you happy?"

"Well, yeah."

"You realize that Jesus suffered immensely, just like these people here are doing, so that you could be happy?"

As a child, it seemed simple enough. I continued watching the people laboriously carrying the immensely heavy wooden structures. As the incense drifted through the streets, enveloping all around us in a dreamy haze, I contemplated the meaning of it all.

"You have it lucky," one of my aunts said, nudging me.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When I was your age, your grandfather would actually make us take part in the processions. From sunrise to sunset, we'd be out there, carrying those heavy statues."

She then told me of the usual fasting and intense prayer that accompanied such days. As I grew, I came to realize all the more just how much my grandfather had sown the seeds for a strong family.

The greatest test of all came the summer of 2002. I was 15 and enjoying my first summer as a high school student. It was one of those mornings in which you are unjustly robbed of what should have been a nice carefree summer day by a phone call that changes your life. Mine came in the form of my sister calling to tell me my cousin Daniel, whom I had grown up with and considered my brother, was in the hospital.

Groggily picking up the phone, I remember irritatedly demanding to know why she woken me at 7 a.m. on a summer day.

"Karina...Daniel's in the hospital."

"What happened?"

"He just got surgery done for appendicitis."

"Oh, well...he's ok, right? People have those all the time."

I expected him to go home that day.

"Well," my sister said slowly, measuring each word carefully, "it wasn't his appendix that was bothering him. They found a tumor."

I remember sitting there and not knowing quite what to think. My family and I found out soon enough that the tumor that had been growing for a number of years, undetected, was fatal. The 17-year-old, easygoing young man we knew as Daniel, who was always dedicated to our family, an avid long-distance cross country runner, who was going into his senior year of high school, wouldn't live past the month.

His parents did not know how to let Daniel know. It hardly seemed just for two parents to tell their son, who aspired to do so much with his life, that he would never see the fruition of all his hard work.

My grandfather got us through it, though.

He'd gather us all together in the hospital. Three times a day, he'd round everyone up to pray in the small chapel of the Texas State Hospital. We'd pray the rosary, and he'd read us comforting passages to alleviate our worries while we prayed. He gave us all hope and made us see that everything in life had its purpose, as impossible as it appeared at times. He brought in his many friends who were priests from both abroad and our local churches. He kept order and balance as well as a smile on everyone's face, including Daniel's. Himself not in the best of health at this point, he was the pillar on which we all were supported.

By the time Daniel’s funeral came around one warm summer day, we were all, including Daniel, prepared to admit of this loss. It was a quiet and peaceful on a warm summer day.

A year later, my grandfather's own time came. In those last few days, we watched people stroll in from various countries and cities in the U.S. He made sure we were the last ones in the room, however.

He gathered us all around for one last counsel: "Your grandmother and I loved each and every one of you. We created a family with eleven kids, got to watch our eleven kids have many more kids of their own and watched our family grow and prosper. It's almost inhuman and borderline insane to attempt such a thing. But you know how we did it? We kept God close to us at all times. Without Him, we would have never been able to create such a loving, healthy family. Always remember that anything is possible with His help."

Having been a member of the Franciscan order, he was buried in his brown Franciscan robes. His funeral was carried out in strict Catholic procedures, just as he himself would have had it conducted.

Unexpected Sweetness: giving organic supermarkets a second try

“Geez it’s cold in here.” This was my first thought when I stepped into HEB’s Central Market. This thought was quickly replaced, however, by a barrage of further contemplations.

Looking around, I was immediately aware of two things: I was one of the few young people in the store, as most shoppers appeared to be suburban mothers and relatively young business men in their polished, crisp dry-cleaned suits. I also quickly took notice of the countless number of banners announcing “fresh,” “all-natural,” and “organic” above the nestled-in-ice foods.

From these observations, I was quickly able to establish the kind of place I’d wandered into: one of those so-called “yuppie” venues I hear people at school complaining about endlessly.

I’m sure you’re wondering why it is that I have just now, after three years of living in Austin, discovered Central Market. Unfortunately, I have no satisfactory answer. Truth is, I just never cared to spend any of my time or funds on this place, mostly because I believed it to be just another Austin-esque environmental gimmick. However, I recently sprung an interest in establishing a healthier eating regimen, which includes branching out to foods I am not accustomed to, and I had an inkling Central Market would be the ideal place to find these foods. Though incredibly dubious at first, I walked out completely satisfied. It took some wandering around to get a sense of the place first, however.

As I began walking around, I felt a little displaced. The vegetables seemed impeccably arranged. There were rows of squash, bell peppers and tomatoes, all gleaming as if each vegetable had been individually polished. I was overly-cautious moving around the items, fearful of causing the slightest disarray to their neat little pyramids. The deli and seafood sections, though a little more welcoming with workers waiting to help, were still slightly unapproachable. The neat rows of fish filets, all perfectly cut and shaped, made me hesitant to ask for any. There were just so many choices! Each section I reached, I encountered numerous labels and names I did not recognize. Everywhere I turned, I was met with various bleached-blonde, perfectly-tanned women, carefully reading labels on each product. It was not fun waiting patiently to find my crunchy peanut butter or the perfect cucumber.

When I reached the bakery, however, all my unease dissipated: cookies make anyone feel at home.

The scent of the slightly frosted buttercream vanilla cookies meshed with fresh fudge brownies glowing under the warm bakery lights made me instantly feel I was where I belonged. With a batch of my favorite cookies in hand, I made my way through the cooking utensils aisle, with its marvelous array of choices and came across a bar where people were gathered around a wine tasting.

The wine appreciators sat around a lively-lit bar, cups in hand, laughing and chatting with their neighbors while savoring what I suspect was delectable wine. The light jazz music added to the festive scene, reminding me of a classic Renoir painting. It turns out Central Market hosts a series of cooking and food appreciation classes open to anyone seeking to become a cuisine connoisseur, for a relatively reasonable price as well. I might just have to take up a class or two myself one day!

The employees also helped me feel more at home. Walking around, I found myself surrounded by nicely-dressed, well-kept young men asking, “Would you like help with that ma’am?” With their help, even the seemingly impossible-to-get-to delicious luxuries atop the highest shelves were not out of my reach. I was happily handed my canned fresh green beans. Who wouldn’t feel more comfortable with this kind of service? Their female counterparts were no less friendly, willing to help with a smile whenever help was solicited.

As I approached the cash registers to pay, I was greeted with the fresh, yet sweet aroma of flowers. Not a bad tactic, Central Market. In case you are flustered while competing in the bumper-basket war as you shopped down the aisles, bright, cheery gardenias and tulips are there to assure that at least your last moments in the store are enjoyable.

“Paper or plastic?” When I was asked this as I rung out, I had to pause for a minute: I couldn’t even recall the last time I was asked that question. Glad to see there are still places one can be brought back to previous decades, when this question was commonplace at a market store.

As I walked out of the Market, I realized I was already thinking of what I would buy the next time I was in the store. This thought was elaborated in great detail later when I got home and tried my peanut butter. It was crunchy, yet nice and fluffy. Though I had taken a chance on my peanut butter, as it was one of the few items not offered as a sample, I found myself content. The rest of my goods were no less satisfying. The most remarkable part, to a college student, was the fact that my total was actually in the same price range I usually expect. Tastier, healthier food for the same price—there is no complaint over that!

Though before I was an avid cynic of places that claimed to be “organic” and “all-natural,” Central Market has given me enough reason to begin taking more interest in trying out locales of this nature. I mean, any place that can get me to actually start cooking has to have something more to it, right?

News on News: the St. Edward's Student Newspaper's History

St. Edward's University's past is filled with enthralling stories, events and people since its birth in 1885. Its rich history paints a picture that showcases the school's intriguing persona. But how is it that we have such a clear idea of its past? We owe much of this fortunate documentation to the campus' student newspaper.

Though it now goes by the name, "Hilltop Views," this newspaper has had as many names as the school has had renovations.

Making its debut in 1888, the campus newspaper, for it was not strictly a student newspaper, was called "The College Echo," more commonly referred to simply as, "The Echo."
Name wasn't the only difference, however: the newspaper's focus and content was radically different as well.

The first issue featured an introductory salute to readers that read: ""We hope our company will prove not altogether disagreeable, if not captivating, and that you will bear with our foibles, for we are very young and wish to profit by experience."

Along with welcoming readers, the first issue also featured six feature stories. Among these was an article on "optional studies," or, electives, such as art, music, telegraphy and phonography. There was also a story announcing the construction of the Main Building, complemented with an architectural sketch displaying the awe-inspiring design.

Each subsequent issue functioned not only as a way to keep the the campus informed, but as an outlet for creative writers, featuring academic essays and short stories. Topics included everything from philosophical themes to sociological issues.

It was well-respected and even admired by other publications, including Notre Dame's Scholastic, which "concluded, after seeing three issues of the publication, that it had 'taken a leading position among the papers of the college world," according to Brother William Dunn's book, "St. Edward's University: A Centennial History." The Ave Maria also a Notre Dame publication, called it "an unpretentious but excellent little paper."

The University of Texas' campus newspaper, "Texas University" looked favorably on the "Echo," as well.

"The fact is we like your paper...in short, you have a well-rounded and well-proportioned paper, and one that does your credit," read a comment by "Texas University" in Dunn's book.
Another important feature, however, was the staff's choice to abide to a code of "impersonal journalism." News articles were rarely by-lined; writers' names were hardly ever mentioned, unless a creative essay or something of similar nature.

Quite a change from the present-day Hilltop Views.

Feeling the newspaper was in need of revamping, the editorial staff decided to make a dramatic change in 1947 and changed the name to "The Hilltopper."

The first issue summarized the history of St. Edward's up to that year and included a direct address from then-president Brother Edmond Hunt, to the students. He also directly addressed the newspaper's creators.

"I take this first issue of the Hilltopper as an opportunity to commend the enthusiasm of the paper's staff...this is no mean job...organizing a student publication laid to rest during the war years," said Hunt, for the publication had just picked up from discontinuance after the trying WWII years.

The new Hilltopper ran fairly smoothly in its almost-forty-year run, hitting only a few minor snags along the way, including a dispute over criticism of St. Edward's administration.

The Echo's editors, however, did attempt at taking a more "Aristotelian" character: balancing criticism, reporting and commenting on St. Edward's as well as Austin community events. They even saw that worldly issues of the day were addressed.

Eventually, however, the Hilltopper, according to Dunn's book, became something other than journalism. It eventually solicited enough negative response to bring about its discontinuance once again.

What ensued was a brief trial run of "The Edwardian" from 1984 to 1985. With a poor layout and writing style, however, it was short-lived.

Finally, after a two years of getting the paper together and revitalized, the St. Edward's community welcomed "Hilltop Views" in 1987.

While originally published by Student Life, the current newspaper in these past five years was moved to a humanities department publication.
Some feel that this has helped the newspaper become more in line with standard newspaper conventions.

"When I came to campus eight years ago, the focus of the newspaper would change a bit from year to year depending on the students involved and their interests. Now the paper has a steadier and crisper focus on campus news, and it reports the news consistently well," said Associate Dean of the School of Humanities, Richard Bautch.

Current co-chief editor Dianne Saathof agreed with this statement.

"We have a lot more credibility, so we're able to do a wider variety of interesting stories," said Saathof.

Nowadays, the newspaper has attained a near-standard-newspaper status; whereas in previous volumes the newspaper was bi-weekly, monthly, or even quarterly, Hilltop Views is now a weekly newspaper.

It is almost exclusively student-run, with a full staff consisting of section editors, copy editors, graphic designers, photographers and a marketing team. Writers are paid per issue and, instead of as before, where many of the writers were faculty and staff, contributers are now all students.

They hope to continue the tradition of preserving the campus' memories. After all, it is largely thanks to this long-standing hilltopper tradition that we know our school's past.

Austin Playhouse Featuring "Les Liasons Dangereuxes"

The Austin Playhouse's, "Les Liaisons Dangereuses," a captive tale of betrayal and under-handed scheming, is sure to have you returning to theater to see more.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses, based on Pierre Choderlos de Laclos' 1782 French novel, deals with the turbulent events in French aristocracy society pre-revolution. While it has had many adaptations, this version was of the best I've seen yet. The actors were marvelous, with great charisma and chemistry on stage. The harpischord music was soothing and, where appropriate, rousing. The viewer throughout the play is privy to all conniving events that seem sure to lead to a tragic end. You will find yourself on the edge of your seat the entire duration of the play.

Part of what has made this show such a success is Austin Playhouse's philosophy and work ethic. Begun only eight years ago in 2000, it has a lot to show for its short lifespan. This is due largely to the way in which each person involved with the theater takes great part in the development of each production.

Their actors, many of them from the Actors Equity Association, have perfectly balanced chemistry on stage that stems from their involvement with one another. "We have a company of artists that have worked together for years. They trust and know each other. They inspire each other," said Don Toner, founder of Austin's Playhouse.

Toner also said that theater is run more as a family company than anything else. According to him, actors work alongside the artistic directors, costume designers and set designers. Even his own family is involved, helping with everything from concessions to playing parts in the productions themselves.

It's with everyone's close involvement that the Playhouse has achieved such a large audience over the years. With subscriptions now at 2,000 members, Toner hopes to reach more people in coming years. "Of course we'd love to have more people come see our shows. We'd especially like the support of the younger people in Austin."

This statement is reinforced by that fact that Austin Playhouse sells discounted tickets to students at half-price. For the high quality of the productions, this discount is quite a deal. Though the play was over two and a half hours, it seemed to take, beginning to end, no more than an hour. So engaging was the plot, so attention-grabbing the performance, that one is hardly conscious of the passage of time. Not to mention, the tasty refreshments served keeps one satisfied as well.

If you're looking for something to do that's a little out of your average outing, Austin Playhouse is sure to be a good solution to your dilemma. Located only a mile or so from St. Edward's behind Opal Divine's, it is convenient to access, offers great prices and is sure to entertain.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses will be playing until Feb. 24, and is well worth seeing. Be sure to check out upcoming productions as well, such as Stones in His Pockets, playing at Larry L. King Theater starting Feb. 8, and Blithe Spirit, starting March 28 at Main Stage.

Current showtimes for Liaisons Dangereuses are Thursday-Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 5 p.m. To buy tickets, call (512) 476-0084.

What it Means to be a St. Edward's University Student

At each university, and this is especially true for Texan schools, students often describe themselves by their school’s distinguishing characteristics. "Of course I’m school-spirited!,” “Everyone here loves rock!,” "I'm a die-hard fan; I go to every game!"

What does one do, however, when at a school with no common identity; on the contrary, the school's students more readily define themselves by a lack of identity?

This would be fine, except a lack is just that: a lack. How could you possibly define yourself by a lack?

Odd as it sounds, I think there are characteristics within this lack of identity when it comes to St. Edward's University students.

Our institution is defined by founders as "a private, Catholic liberal arts institution of more than 5,300 located in one of the world's most vibrant cities, Austin, Texas."

In broad speculation, different assumptions can be made. Private schools are notorious for fostering pretentious individuals. Catholicism is often equated with self-righteous religious fanatics. Liberal arts suggests self-proclaimed clairvoyant youngsters. Even the school’s location of “vibrant” Austin could allude to a school of earth-friendly hippies.

These assumptions are well-off, however. While I have no proof that such individuals don't exist here, I do have proof that not everyone fits these descriptions. I am Catholic, yet have many friends who are not. I know vegetarians, but also plenty who have to be hounded into recycling. I also know as many who remain uninvolved in campus activities as live for betterment of our community.

What's strange is that, while I know few ostentatious in their pride of being a Hilltopper, I don't often encounter those firmly opposed to being here.

But that's what makes us Hilltoppers unique. We can like our school without annoying people, flashing our gaudy purple and gold or gruesome maroon and white at every opportunity. We like people enough to have elected a school where we can meet someone in class and expect to see them at Meadows Coffee shop sometime.

We're okay with getting to know our professors enough so they actually recognize us if ever run into while grocery shopping. I've even encountered classes where we willingly meet for casual discussions on our own time.

No, we may not have a football team and our sports events don't have record-setting attendees, but I see my classmates help others whenever able. We help each other in subtle ways because we feel a sense of community, however undefinable, with our peers.

The best part about being a student at St. Edward's University? A few simple experiences can explain.

I remember one of my first weeks as a freshman. Walking from Doyle, the homey-even-if-moldy dorm, I stopped by our humble, small white chapel. The sun cascaded lazily through the trees as butterflies fluttered in the fuschia flowers beside the path. I remember thinking: "I'm home." The usual homesickness always with me evanesced. Just like that.

This morning, I walked into the coffee shop and looked around. I saw several of my peers occupying couches and tables, lightly chatting or absorbed in readings.

Something about the smell of coffee and morning sun combined with the sight of familiar classmates comforts me, because I know no matter how different we are and what varying things we find interest in, as that's largely responsible for our lack of common identity, we go through similar experiences.

We know how awful it feels when a class we were looking forward to is canceled because enrollment was not high enough.

We love to complain about parking, though walking half a mile is no comparison to other schools, where students have to make two-mile treks to classes.

We hate catching South Congress Cafe when they are closed or are out of the only edible-looking dish in sight.

And yet, in spite of these complaints, we love St. Edward's. It's really inexplicable, but something keeps us here. Every day as I walk past our eminent main building, I look up at the crimson-colored steeple contrasting against the azure blue of the sky and I'm happy. I am a St. Edward's University hilltopper.

Holiday Concerts

If there were something I would strongly encourage each one of you to do every Christmas season, it would be this: Attend at least one holiday-themed concert.

On Friday, I not only attended a holiday concert, but was a participant in one. St. Edward's University each year holds its Festival of Lights, an event in which the St. Edward's community comes together to celebrate the coming holiday season. This joyous occasion is week-long beginning with the lighting of a Christmas tree, continuing with a service project, and ending with a night filled with awe-inspiring music.

Now, while this year marked the 29th annual celebration, it was nevertheless new in the content included in the musical show on Friday.

For the first time, an orchestra and a mariachi band were part of the program.

The evening began with an outside ceremony in front of the Main Building, dazzlingly lit with warm, winter-air -clear lights. Various inspirational works, as well as an address by the president of St. Edward's were on the agenda, with a sprinkling of classic holiday songs as "O, Little Town of Bethlehem" and "Silver Bells." At the end of the ceremony, each person was given a candle and from the steps amidst the choir, I witnessed the lighting of candles beginning with a single lit candles and shared to to each neighbor until every person present had a lit candle.

The contrast of the sea of candles and the lightly lit Austin skyline is a sight I wish all could see; it truly is unforgettable.

With all the candles lit, we headed inside, singing "Silent Night" as we walked the three minutes up to the main concert area.

On walking in, guests were greeted with the festive ensemble of St. Edward's jazz band, "Steady." They got the concert underway with some upbeat jazzy tunes, including a snazzy version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

After the jazz band followed the new-to-St. Edward's mariachi group, "Alas de Oro." They sang only two songs, but they were, in my opinion, of the best in the entire concert. I must admit, I have might have a bit of a bias because I, along with every other girl in that room, was swooped off my feet by the talented young man who sang lead and played the guitar.

They ended their segment with the crowd-pleasing "Feliz Navidad," and the St. Edward's Orchestra piled onstage to carry on the festivity. This was my personal favorite of the night because there is nothing like hearing a live rendition of Tchaikovsky's famous Nutcracker songs.
After their breathtaking performance, the final performances of the night, by the various choirs of the University took the stage.

The Omni choir performed the ever-appeasing "Christmas Time" from "A Charlie Brown Christmas," and "Sleigh Ride," always appropriate for any Christmas Occasion.

Next, the St. Edward's University Chorale performed their...interesting choice of songs. I say interesting because they were, while undeniably entertaining, of a different nature.

It should suffice to say that I can't remember the last time I laughed during a concert. Not just laughed, but laughed alone. It didn't help that I was standing in the center of all the choirs. But really! What do you expect when they burst out in a song about a pig's head on a stick!?

The song was called, "The Boar's Head," which is, evidently, a tradition somewhere or another. All I know is when they started singing the line, "The boar's head I hear is the rarest dish in all the land," I lost control of my laughter, and had the hardest time suppressing a fit of giggles. No joke.

After the Chorale's performance, things got back to business. The St. Edward's Madrigals group graced the room with their sweet lullaby about the newborn Christ. However, they didn't end their performance on such a low note; instead, they ended with the most upbeat, make-you-want-to-dance song, "Uncle John," which included the most quizzical array of sounds.

This song was quickly followed by a joint performance by all choirs of "Old King Kong," a song which included the startling surprise of kazoos, which no one expected.

The finale of the concert was undoubtedly the best. A wonderful, breath-taking version of "Oh Holy Night," complete with accompaniment by the orchestra left every person in the room with the pronounced warm feeling of Christmas.

All in all, a wonderful concert. Seriously, go to one of if you can. If you've ever lacked Christmas spirit, this should do the trick.

The Guayaquil Mission

With the hundreds, if not thousands, of non-profit organizations currently in existence, it seems unlikely that yet another could make much difference. This is especially true for small non-profits trying to get a start. No matter where you turn, there are always donation requests. Seems an unlikely environment in which to succeed , right?

The Guayaquil Mission, however, begun merely five years ago, has disproven this speculation. Begun by a small, ordinary American family, since its inception, it has changed the outlook for a small town in Ecuador. Guayaquil's standard of living has dramatically increased, giving its inhabitants hope for a better future.

And all it took was a little inspiration from a family trip to Ecuador.

The Shaver family is one of many families in which one of the parents is American, the other, another nationality. Due to Anna’s Ecuadorian background, the family has been traveling to Ecuador fairly often. It was during these many trips that they would notice the inconsistencies between their own life in America and the life of those in Ecuador.

"My wife would come back depressed from seeing all those poor kids on the streets asking for food," said Mike Shaver.

So the couple began seeking ways to begin some kind of project that would aid the people of Guayaquil, Ecuador. Luckily, Mike Shaver was already involved in SEA-El Carmen, an organization already involved in international projects.

Only one key obstacle remained to resolve: how to get funding.

They sought assistance from their church in Houston, St. Vincent de Paul, and soon found it in their fellow members. Together, they came up with the idea of collecting used clothes to raise funds. Having been successful, they took their first trip to Ecuador to benefit the people in Guayaquil where they distributed sandwiches and food packages to the needy.

It was here that they made their first encounter with a priest in Guayaquil: Pedro Riasco. Also passionate about improving the people’s living conditions, he came up with the idea of starting a toy drive that would provide toys during Christmastime for the children. This, too, was a successful venture, and yet they all still were yearning to more for the community.

Thus, they began planning a grand plan that would include a school and clinic. This, however, would take much more money than they had thus far raised, and more help than money as well. They would need land, resources, materials, a staff, and people they could trust to create the school.

Through hard work and persistent dedication, they were able to obtain the deeds to two plots of land in Guayaquil from the government, on the condition that the school was up and running within two years.

They sought the assistance of the administrative coordinator of the church, Sister Virginia. She was hesitant to endorse the program, so Anna and Mike Shaver decided to take her on a trip to Ecuador to see the situation for herself. “She was devastated to see people living in these conditions,” said Mike Shaver.

From then on, they had the full support of the church administration, who helped organize both a charity dinner and set up a donation system for the Guayaquil Mission, as it became known. Just from a direct appeal to the congregations during mass, they managed to fundraise $43,000, and with the other fundraisers, they were able to collect enough money to begin the construction of the school.

After hiring the necessary professionals, buying the materials (as well as having some donated by generous people), they were able to build the first part of the school which featured six classrooms. They had just a bit of money left over to pay select women from the town to become the first-ever teacher staff at the school.

Since then, the program has expanded to include a clinic as well and has inspired more people from St. Vincent de Paul to begin fundraising for their own causes. These days, they still depend entirely on donations from the general population and generate interest by holding Ecuadorian Craft Sales in various places. They recently had their first at St. Edward’s University, where they raised $3,000 over three days, enough to continue paying the teachers at the school.

What’s inspiring about this story is that it was simply a small family dedicated to making a difference in others’ lives. “When we first started and were doing used clothes sales, we had people saying, ‘You can’t do that, you’re only collecting $40 in a day,” said Mike Shaver. However, taking no heed of this negative criticism, they managed to create a highly successful program that has helped many.

Wristcutters: A Love Story

As far as love stories go, it is a hard-pressed task to find one which doesn't leave you with the curious sensation of having sat through an excruciatingly painful ordeal. If not that, they often elicit feelings of tense awkwardness due to the usually-inevitable romance scenes.

As the title suggests, however, "Wristcutters: A Love Story," written and directed by Goran Dukic, may stray somewhat from the love film paradigm. Craftily put together through a combination of peculiar characters, even more peculiar scenes and a dryly quizzical script, "Wristcutters" will, if anything, induce feelings of complacent nostalgia for all held dear.

The story follows the journey of Zia (Patrick Fugit), a love-torn suicide, in his afterlife which, he discovers, is just his life as he had desperately tried to abandon it, only a little worse. Working at "Pizza Kamikaze" and living in a crumbled-down apartment with a roommate with who his only interaction is limited to griping about cottage cheese, Zia does nothing but relentlessly reflect on his failed relationship with Desiree (Leslie Bibb).

After an indeterminable time lapse, Zia happens upon a chance encounter with a former friend from whom he learns of Desiree's unfortunate, yet-fortunate-for-him, suicide. Imbued with a sense of newfound purpose, Zia sets off with his Russian-Rocker friend (Shea Whigham) in hopes of reconquering his lost love.

Here, however, is where the cliche love storyline culminates.

Bumbling along in a beat-up, old red car with dysfunctional headlights, the pair travels vast distances in the land of suicides searching for Desiree, along the way picking up an inquisitive young hitchiker (Shannyn Sossamon) in pursuit of her own mission. Together, the group encounters many outlandish incidents and meets seemingly apathetic people, all engulfed by the obsoleteness of the afterlife.

Yet for such a somber topic and setting, the film's array of humorous events and lines manages to keep the viewer in a hopeful, if not downright merry, mood. It is worth mentioning as well, that throughout the whole hour-and-a-half film, you never catch so much as a faint smile; in the land of suicides, apparently, smiling is physically impossible. But once again, it goes unnoticed for the entire duration of the movie, which is quite a feat.

All in all, this movie is recommended as a film for those looking for a love story diverging a little from the ordinary. Filled with unordinary concepts and carrying a dream-like quality throughout, it leaves the viewer with a fresh perspective on love and the afterlife.