I’m a tour guide, ask me how!

Hello everybody! I’m so excited for year 2! But before we dive into phonetics class, giant course loads, and how to make Mc&cheese at 2am with only a kettle and some string, let’s talk about my first job, shall we?

Well it was during the summer of 2016. I had chosen to stay in Canada instead of going back to my home town of Quito so I could advance my career during the dog days of summer. As luck would have it I managed to get, wait for it, THE BEST JOB EVER. i.e. Tour guide for York University. It’s one of the best jobs because you not only get to meet so many people from all over the globe, talk to sooo many students, and hopefully make a mark on their search for a university (fingers crossed!) But I also got to work alongside so many wonderful people. Also, being a tour guide is  great because it boosts your confidence to level 70 (just so you know.)

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Working hard, clearly

But let me tell you, mes amis, there’s no moment in this world is more awkward: not walking into the wrong classroom, not waving at somebody who was waiving at the person behind you, not calling the teacher mom, than being a tour guide and having your audience look at you blankly throughout the entire tour, (ok, maybe that’s a bit of a hyperbole). But even so, my bad tours were not the groups that walked too slow, or spoke a lot, it wasn’t even that one tour where I lost like 10 people (you know who you are and I’m sorry!) They were the ones that said nothing and didn’t respond to what I was saying. Those seconds that turned into minutes, that turned into hours, of me looking expectantly at the after saying, “does anyone have a question?” and hearing crickets chirping on the sidebars were bad. Was I getting to them? Did I switch into Klingon without noticing? Blaring alarms were going on inside my head. Woah! I wonder if this is how professors feel during class…

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So if there is one thing I learned from my experience this summer, and I could leave you with a single piece of advice for this new year is this: Never, ever be afraid to ask questions. And look I get it. People don’t always feel comfortable speaking up, or they are shy. Trust me, I am one of those people. But if anything by asking  a question not only are you helping yourself, but questions reassure the speaker too, and they make them feel, heard, and validated, and overall great.

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Thus, ask any passerby where on Earth is room R S537.  Ask your professor/teacher about that thing that’s been bothering you for weeks, or try to ask one question each class (questions are easier than answers.) And if you can’t come up with any smart questions, try to ask one that will make the rest of the class laugh. Ask what the meaning of life is. Ask why is it that your key works only 70% of the time and not at all in that other door. Heck! Go to that cute girl or guy you’ve been drooling over since forever and ask them how their day was and what’s their position on the cake vs. pie debate! No te quedes con la duda. 

And finally, do you have any questions about Glendon/ York U/ The Great Gatsby/ residence life vs. commuter life/ my favorite colour/ causes of World War One/ linguistics?

 Ask me!

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The Times They Are A-Changin’

What can I say? The times, they are a- changin’.

To think that I managed to make it through my entire first semester and still seem like a functioning individual! I was going to absolutely all my classes, no excuses. I was eating (somewhat) healthy, I was handling all my time well and had no need or cause for staying up past 12 other than watching Gilmore Girls, I was even running every single morning. I was posting on my blog more or less regularly, dammit! Where did it all go wrong?

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LA MADELEINE DE PROUST

After several drafts attempting to write a post on the new year and the #OneWord365 theme, I have decided to let go it go (cue Frozen montage) for the moment and instead talk about a far more interesting and exciting  subject (to me at least) that has lately arisen in my life.

About a year and a half ago, in one of the many, many French classes I attended, I was presented with a short excerpt of a book called Du côté de chez Swann,  by Marcel Proust,  where the author talked about this little gateau shaped like a seashell, which he used to eat with his aunt accompanied by tea and how the very same cakes, when presented to him many years later recalled all those memories from his childhood that he had forgotten long ago.

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