Yesterday I went on a 10 km walk with my host parents - Ludovica had to study - and I saw these horses just casually strolling on the beach. I asked if I could go take a picture and this happened..
my host mom ^
The guy who owned the horses - in plaid - asked me if I rode, which of course, I don't. He didn't believe it was possible for an American to not ride horses. I assured him it was possible.
Perfect example of the language barrier:
On an unrelated note... this is the leg of a pig we've been eating. His name is Fernando.
On evenings when we have this meat my host dad will slice it from the leg and then when it's not in use it goes somewhere? I don't know where it goes because it doesn't fit in the fridge but it goes somewhere. Anyway, last night was the final night of "Fernando the pig" and my host mom offered me the leg to finish... I thought she was joking. Anyway, Ludovica went for it. Poor Fernando.
This afternoon while my parents were at work and Ludovica was out, I plugged in my computer charger and all the lights in the apartment went out. Yikes. So I was alone in the dark for a few hours. During this time I tried to look on the bright side. I remembered my father telling me over Christmas that when he was abroad, he accidentally took out an entire hotel's power, so I guess it's sort of a traveller's rite of passage.
Here's a picture of my dark day
ALSO today, I took my first Italian math test.
"4B" is the name of my class
The date is supposed to be a joke although I don't get it, to be honest.
"Liceo Scientifico Fermo" is the name of my host school
I'm pretty sure I failed. The grading system here is sooo different from American schools. This is how it has been explained to me time and time again, although I still have a hard time fully understanding.
- First, everything is out of 10 and getting a 10 is impossible
- An 8 is considered an "A," a 9 is considered an "A+"
- 6 and 7 are considered passing
- Anything 5 and under is failing
On Saturday I gave a presentation on the American Revolution to my history class. I got an 8. In my mind an 8/10 is a "C," so I was unhappy. Elena and my history teacher tried to explain that an 8 was a really good grade but I am still having a hard time understanding why a 10 is unattainable.
Elena's explanation: the only way to get a 10 is to write a book on the subject and devote your entire life to it. A "9" is embarrassing because it means you tried too hard. An "8" is perfect because you know what you're talking about but you're not a loser.
Anyway, if you're confused it's ok because I am, too. I think the idea of needing a 10 is very American. We can't accept anything less because we believe - (some of us believe) - it's a direct reflection of who we are. I don't know, that's my theory. We'll see what happens with the grading.
As long as I stay above a 5 in my classes & complete a senior project, I should be good to get my Lower Merion diploma when I come home. Alright I'm done talking about grades. Basta!
Love y'all. Ciao.
No comments:
Post a Comment