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You are here: Home Life in Blogs & photos A boy in her life

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23/05/2008A boy in her life

A boy in her life Expatica blogger was teaching English in Spain until she met a boy who taught her a lesson in life.

LIKE most native-English speakers living in Spain, for a time, I taught English classes.

I taught at a few language academies, drilling insurance salesmen and bank executives on terms like 'policy holder' and 'fiscal year'. It was as thrilling as it sounds.

I realised I could make more money and make my own schedule by teaching private classes, and eventually built up a student base.

I had an intermediate-level student named Rafa, an accountant who was interested in holistic medicine.

When we practised the financial terms that he had to memorise, he had the attention span of a gnat. He invariably slipped back into speaking Spanish and the hour dragged on.

One day, he had an acupuncture session right before our lesson, so he asked me how to say some related vocabulary words: spinal column, meditation, pressure point, etc.

He showed me a book of reflexology, pointing out the different foot-soul connections and chattering away as best he could about their benefits. I was thrilled to see him finally taking such an interest in his English lesson.

Until he said, "Give me the foot."

-"What?"

-"Give me the foot - your foot."

I tried to beg off, but he was insistent. "No, Rafa, haha, you don't want to touch my foot... ha?"

-"No, give the foot. I show you something."

I shrugged and remembered that he was paying me EUR 30 an hour. I slipped off my sandal. I am grammar's whore.

He took hold of my middle toe. "Are you thinking of your mother?"

I was not.

He wiggled another toe. "Are you thinking of a boy in your life?"

I was actually thinking about how I came to have a Spanish accountant holding my foot at his desk at four in the afternoon.

I tried to remember if I had told anyone where I was going today - if this guy turned out to be a serial killer, would anyone be able find me? No, he was harmless.

But I began to realise that he was going to keep playing 'This Little Piggy' until I said I was thinking about something, anything.

"Yes, yes I am - a boy in my life."

He smiled with satisfaction. "You see, how the reflexology work?"

Rafa was a nice guy, and his enthusiasm was sweet and genuine. I put my shoe back on and we finished up the lesson, practicing the names of various foot-connected organs - appendix, kidney, pancreas.

I never went back for another lesson with Rafa. Not because his foot tomfoolery freaked me out, but because I realised by then that I just wasn't that passionate about teaching, and wanted to devote my time to something that excited me as much as this reflexology stuff interested him.

I like to think that he's left his number-crunching job to sell organic, ergonomic back pillows, or study acupuncture in Bangkok.

I have to admit though, every time I have a pedicure, I think of Rafa. So I guess now when someone touches my feet, I do, in fact, think of a boy. You see how the reflexology work?

The writer, Kristen Bernardi, is our latest blogger on Expatica Spain and will be contributing to a fortnightly blog on alternate Fridays.


1 reaction to this article

maria posted: 2008-05-25 11:40:40

Funny! I did a brief stint of businesss classes here in Spain as well and although I never had a foot experience I can relate to the quirks of that job!

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1 reaction to this article

maria posted: 2008-05-25 11:40:40

Funny! I did a brief stint of businesss classes here in Spain as well and although I never had a foot experience I can relate to the quirks of that job!

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