all the women who're independent, throw your hands up at me

So Ecuador is great, in general. BUT-- I never realized how much independence I'd be giving up by coming here and living with a host family. I always thought that studying abroad would be a great exercise in GAINING independence: living in a foreign country, speaking a foreign language, learning how to navigate a foreign culture. I'm doing all of those things, but I still feel like I'm back in middle school.

Part of it is living at home with a family and going to classes at a university during the day. Ecuadorian kids don't leave home until they get married, usually, and sometimes not even then, so dependency upon parental units is extended for much longer than we're used to living in the US. College here is simply an extension of high school and is not the leaving-the-nest experience it was for me going to Wes. Not living with a couple thousand people my own age is quite the switch. The family life in general is mostly fine-- my family basically lets me do where I want, and I can come home at night whenever (since they're always asleep anyway and have no idea when I come in), which is better than the situations some other people on my program have.

The most difficult aspect is food, and the total lack of agency over what and when I eat. I think I violated some huge taboo by offering to help out with dinner or with washing dishes afterward-- that's the domain of the fourteen-year-old empleada, Marcelina. Being waited on by a fourteen-year-old is beyond awkward. As soon as I finish my food, I always leap up to bring my dishes to the kitchen, so that my host grandparents won't yell for Marcelina to come into the dining room and clear my place. Without fail, my grandmother Olga tells me to just leave my plate, and chuckles ruefully when I insist on bringing it to the sink myself.

And the food itself... I certainly couldn't have done any better when I was fourteen, but it's not usually particularly appealing. I also can't serve myself what I want to eat, I'm just presented with a plate heaped with eight types of carbs, some funky meat, and, if I'm lucky, vegetables. "¡No quieres comer nada!" says Olga, indignantly, and... right. I don't want to eat most of this food, but I do, to be polite, and because it's free. Breakfast is equally befuddling, because I usually find a cold scrambled egg waiting for me when I come downstairs. Why I can't scramble my own goddamn egg--if I even want one-- is beyond me.

What's more, the Ecuadorian concept of nutrition is laughably tenuous. Once at lunch, Olga asked me what I felt like eating for dinner that night, and I told her that I had really liked the spaghetti with veggies we had eaten the night before. "But it'll make you fat!" she said, although I've never once mentioned being concerned about my weight. "Doesn't matter," I replied, chomping on the pancito (a roll made from white flour) that my grandpa Enrique practically force-fed me, claiming it was "rico" and wouldn't make me fat because it's made from water. "But you also like hot dogs and fries, right?" RIGHT. Because hot dogs and fries won't make me fat, but pasta with veggies will? Okay. Papaya, they claim, is good for my brain and will make me smarter.

Eating out as frequently as possible alleviates some of this frustration: the simple act of selecting what I feel like eating is a joy. Even better is actually COOKING my own food. At Juan's house on Friday morning, I was elated to sautee veggies and scramble eggs. Sunday evening, it felt amazing to chop carrots for a real salad. Juan, with all of his international-man-of-mystery worldliness, was still surprised by all of us creating such a feast. "¡La cocinera!," he exclaimed, clapping on me on the back as I poked at a chicken kebab on the grill, commending me for my domestic skills. Um, okay, thanks, but none of this is actually difficult, and I'm certainly not a good example of a domestic goddess. I know I make a mean s'more, but seriously. Ecuadorians just don't particularly seem to care about doing things for themselves. I, on the other hand, really do, and I'm going to have to figure out a way to be a more active participant in my own feeding before I go crazy.