ILLUSTRATION BY EMILIA SCHETTINO
I was one of 11 students staying at a boutique hotel in Mexico City.
My own relationship with Spanish was rooted in guilt and a bit of shame.
Im a Latina raised in the Midwest, but I have little proficiency in the language.
Credit:ILLUSTRATION BY EMILIA SCHETTINO
My Mexican American dad was raised in Texas in the 1950s, the oldest of 11 children.
Spanish was spoken at home, but not in school.
That nervousness came flooding back during my first Fluenz class.
Then he jumped right into verbal exercises.
How many people are there?
he asked us in Spanish.
We responded in Spanish, too.
Then it was our turn to make requests.
Yo quiero un cafe con leche, por favor, I said.
By the end of the morning session, I could already feel my confidence growing.
Next came an afternoon class, usually one-on-one with a coach.
But the program wasnt limited to the classroom.
Midway through the week, we were taken to dinner atPujol, the acclaimed modern-Mexican restaurant.
Our table was filled with laughter and easy conversation.
On the fourth day, I hit a wall.
My brain felt exhausted and I kept mixing up the two.
My coach, Abby Contreras, seemed to pick up on my negative thoughts.
You have to look at how far youve already come, she said.
As we reviewed the week, I realized she was right.
I had to allow myself some grace.
Yo quiero ir a todas partes, entonces yo necesito practicar, I said.
I want to go everywhere, so I need to practice.
