Studying Abroad: The New Ninth Grade

Okay, so I’m going to be honest right now. I was never a big “sisterhood” girl. Raised with brothers, I tended to make friends with guys more easily than with girls anyway. Because of this, high school for me was actually not the awful pit of hell that it is for most people. Forget about all that dramatic he-said-she-said-OMG crap, because most of it was over my head anyway. I mean, sure, I had my awkward phase (and trust me, it was really awkward), but pretty much every single TV show or book I can remember from my childhood was about loving yourself for who you are and not caring about what other people think so I kind of didn’t really let it get to me after I turned fourteen and realized that my boobs were bigger than theirs anyway (in your face, Danielle whatever-your-name-was!). I grew up confident in who I was and comfortable in my own skin, moving easily among new groups of people and making friends.

Now, fast-forward several long years to studying abroad in Spain, circa two days ago: I realized that I, self-confirmed snickerer at the idea of sisterhood, am now living in a sorority. Out of 75 people participating in this program, 72 of them are girls. These are the people I have class with every day, the people I run into on the street, the people I have to hang out with on field trips--all girls. Whatever, right? No big deal, seeing as I’m one myself. 

Wrong.

I feel like a bad 80s movie about nerds trying to navigate through high school cliques, except I can’t even be played by Molly Ringwald. There is so much gossiping and manipulation and friends and enemies and frenemies and competition and glaring and craziness. As Donalbain would say, where we are, there’s daggers in [wo]men’s smiles.

Luckily, just like in an ABC Family sitcom that would cover this sort of crap, I have my go-to best mates to get me through it. Also (oh yeah!) I’m in Spain, so I should try not to hang out with Americans anyway. Things will start looking up, soon--it’ll get warmer so I won’t have to wear three sweaters in my house, and this weekend (it’s happening!) I’m going to actually make myself talk to real live Spaniards. Also, I’ve now got huge bricks of chocolate hidden in my drawer for special circumstances, like for stuffing my face on a gloomy day. Bonus: they’re so sturdy, I could probably tie threats to them and break peoples windows: “Stop acting like Regina George or next time I’ll throw something at you that isn’t delicious!” In the meantime, I'll just chill on the beach.