I wake up at 6:30 to the sound of the radio playing reggaetón, which is the most popular type of music in Chile. Choosing what to wear is no hard task- my school has a uniform. Grey knee high socks, grey skirt, and a collar shirt of the school. It is the best thing ever, I vote that the US should use uniforms in more schools because not having to worry about what to wear everyday, or how your clothes will appear in the eyes of others, is fantastic! We then prepare and eat breakfast all together, the opposite of my normal habit in Ann Arbor of rushing out the door 20 minutes after I wake up and drinking a smoothie for breakfast during first hour. 
After enjoying the bread, and yogurt with fruit and cereal, my brother Pedro and I hop down the stairs, ask the doorman to open the gate, and jump on our bikes. I almost die four or five times while we bike the short mile to school. Dodging walkers, trying not to get distracted by the beautiful mountains, and never having enough eyes to look out for the crazy drivers that congest the wide streets. Biking in Santiago feels like a video game, it’s quite a rush, expect that there aren’t unlimited lives. At the stoplight closest to school, I feel a little earthquake everyday as we wait for the light to change, that is- we can feel the subway passing underneath us, reminding me that this city moves from above and below. The guards greet us as we finally arrive at school and park our bikes. I say goodbye to my brother as I climb to the third floor, where my course is. Upon entering the classroom and saying hello to my classmates, I don’t take off my coat- there is no heater and the hallways are all open, so the temperature inside the classroom is the same as outside. I sit at my desk, next to the window where I can look out and see the sun stretching over the mountains into the ever changing clouds. When it rains in Santiago the mountains are painted white in the morning, which slowly recedes as the day wears on and the temperature rises.
After a small period of reflection time, where the head teacher of our course talks to us, classes begin. Each day has a distinct schedule because we all take 14 subjects, therefore don’t have every class every day. After a short 90 minutes of class, the bell rings and we all grab our sandwiches to head downstairs to the patio, where we enjoy the first of four breaks that occur throughout the day. Each one lasts 10-15 minutes, and is a nice integration of social time into the academic day. It is also an opportunity to see schoolmates that are not in my course-all of my 14 classes are with the same thirty people. Some boys play soccer while everyone else converses and tries to avoid the flying balls which can come at you from any direction. 
This pattern of class than break, repeats three times, the last of which replaces a 40 lunch period with the break. My friends and I always try to leave our last class before lunch early, so that we can beat the crowed to use the microwaves that line the walls of the cafeteria. With warm tupperwares clasped between our hands, we head to a grass area on the other side of the school, where in the warmth of the sun we eat, talk, laugh, nap, and occasionally do some last minute studying.
Then its back to class for the last two hours of the day. Everyone is fully awake by this time, so the conversation level rises, especially in the boring classes. When the final bell rings, I say goodbye to everyone then see my life flash before my eyes as I almost die four or five more times biking back home. If I don’t have soccer practice or a game, I use the time before my mom and brother get back home to workout. After double checking that I hate my keys, I greet the doorman and then set out on my run. My normal route takes me down four streets to form a box. I run next to the river, lined with gold poppies, on a path in the park-three of four of the streets have long, skinny parks in the middle of the two lanes. I run past people doing exercises on the workout equipment that is stationed every kilometro or so. I avoid eye contact with the adult monkey bars which I should probably stop and do. I run in as straight of a line as possible on the path, knowing that if I run in swigges I will risk being hit by someone biking past. I wish that I had headphones to block out the whistles and calls of “Hello princess!” “Beautiful” etc. I wonder who taught these men that this is acceptable, and how they talk to their mothers and daughters! I enjoy acrobatic shows and cool tricks by people trying to make a little cash by performing for cars that are waiting for the light to turn green. I never get sick of looking at the mountains, or the towering and glistening buildings. When I returned and am showered, the mountains to my right outside our balcony are glowing pink as the sun threatens to disappear to my left. I study until everyone else arrives, then we prepare dinner together, which usually includes empanadas, while discussing our days. Lists of new grammar and vocabulary are written on the whiteboard next to the fridge, growing the more we talk. My brother jokes around with me by testing my ability to understand his “flaite”(roughly translated to uneducated) spanish- which is slowing transforming from just a bunch of sounds to words which I can guess/distinguish. There is also the occasional chore of hanging the clothes to dry outside or running to the store around the corner to buy apples. When dinner is over it is already past my bedtime-nine is a typical hour to dine. After cleaning up side by side in the narrow apartment kitchen, I go to sleep still not believing that this is all real. Repeat:)
After enjoying the bread, and yogurt with fruit and cereal, my brother Pedro and I hop down the stairs, ask the doorman to open the gate, and jump on our bikes. I almost die four or five times while we bike the short mile to school. Dodging walkers, trying not to get distracted by the beautiful mountains, and never having enough eyes to look out for the crazy drivers that congest the wide streets. Biking in Santiago feels like a video game, it’s quite a rush, expect that there aren’t unlimited lives. At the stoplight closest to school, I feel a little earthquake everyday as we wait for the light to change, that is- we can feel the subway passing underneath us, reminding me that this city moves from above and below. The guards greet us as we finally arrive at school and park our bikes. I say goodbye to my brother as I climb to the third floor, where my course is. Upon entering the classroom and saying hello to my classmates, I don’t take off my coat- there is no heater and the hallways are all open, so the temperature inside the classroom is the same as outside. I sit at my desk, next to the window where I can look out and see the sun stretching over the mountains into the ever changing clouds. When it rains in Santiago the mountains are painted white in the morning, which slowly recedes as the day wears on and the temperature rises.
After a small period of reflection time, where the head teacher of our course talks to us, classes begin. Each day has a distinct schedule because we all take 14 subjects, therefore don’t have every class every day. After a short 90 minutes of class, the bell rings and we all grab our sandwiches to head downstairs to the patio, where we enjoy the first of four breaks that occur throughout the day. Each one lasts 10-15 minutes, and is a nice integration of social time into the academic day. It is also an opportunity to see schoolmates that are not in my course-all of my 14 classes are with the same thirty people. Some boys play soccer while everyone else converses and tries to avoid the flying balls which can come at you from any direction. This pattern of class than break, repeats three times, the last of which replaces a 40 lunch period with the break. My friends and I always try to leave our last class before lunch early, so that we can beat the crowed to use the microwaves that line the walls of the cafeteria. With warm tupperwares clasped between our hands, we head to a grass area on the other side of the school, where in the warmth of the sun we eat, talk, laugh, nap, and occasionally do some last minute studying.
Then its back to class for the last two hours of the day. Everyone is fully awake by this time, so the conversation level rises, especially in the boring classes. When the final bell rings, I say goodbye to everyone then see my life flash before my eyes as I almost die four or five more times biking back home. If I don’t have soccer practice or a game, I use the time before my mom and brother get back home to workout. After double checking that I hate my keys, I greet the doorman and then set out on my run. My normal route takes me down four streets to form a box. I run next to the river, lined with gold poppies, on a path in the park-three of four of the streets have long, skinny parks in the middle of the two lanes. I run past people doing exercises on the workout equipment that is stationed every kilometro or so. I avoid eye contact with the adult monkey bars which I should probably stop and do. I run in as straight of a line as possible on the path, knowing that if I run in swigges I will risk being hit by someone biking past. I wish that I had headphones to block out the whistles and calls of “Hello princess!” “Beautiful” etc. I wonder who taught these men that this is acceptable, and how they talk to their mothers and daughters! I enjoy acrobatic shows and cool tricks by people trying to make a little cash by performing for cars that are waiting for the light to turn green. I never get sick of looking at the mountains, or the towering and glistening buildings. When I returned and am showered, the mountains to my right outside our balcony are glowing pink as the sun threatens to disappear to my left. I study until everyone else arrives, then we prepare dinner together, which usually includes empanadas, while discussing our days. Lists of new grammar and vocabulary are written on the whiteboard next to the fridge, growing the more we talk. My brother jokes around with me by testing my ability to understand his “flaite”(roughly translated to uneducated) spanish- which is slowing transforming from just a bunch of sounds to words which I can guess/distinguish. There is also the occasional chore of hanging the clothes to dry outside or running to the store around the corner to buy apples. When dinner is over it is already past my bedtime-nine is a typical hour to dine. After cleaning up side by side in the narrow apartment kitchen, I go to sleep still not believing that this is all real. Repeat:)
Bike,helmet?
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