5. 'Skin and Bones' (Part II): superPPVVivors

First phase of the game: Sign up and survive.

Filling in every field, attaching the exact documentation, submitting the application without a single error, printing it, and getting it to the Civil Registry of Granada on time was like crossing a battlefield strewn with obstacles, one after another, until I was practically brushing against madness. During those two days of racing against the clock, I could feel my body wearing down to the bones, as if every step toward the finish line consumed a piece of me. It was already December 29, and the deadline expired at two o'clock sharp in the afternoon. I remember leaving the registry with the dull face of someone who has stared at a screen far too long, my soul creaking with exhaustion, but deep down, I was smiling: I held in my hand the copy of my small victory, stamped and registered at 1:37 p.m. A true photo finish.

Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what I was getting myself into, or whether I truly wanted to throw myself into that adventure, but I did know one thing: once the deadline expired, there would be no room for regret. So each step forward kept taking on the look of an inescapable resolution; the idea of leaving was sketching itself in my mind with a mix of longing and fear. I could feel that impossible dream of moving to the other side of the ocean gaining ground in my will, settling in slowly, like someone building a house of cards in defiance of the wind.

Once the papers were handed in and sent off to Madrid, a wait of about ten days began while they processed the lists of the "admitted," the "admitted with right to appeal," and the "excluded" for failing to meet some requirement. This had turned into a genuine gymkhana, a high-level endurance test not suitable for the faint of heart, where any single factor could wreck everything invested up to that point.

Once the papers had traveled to Madrid, a ten-day wait began. Ten days in which the names would be entered on one list of the admitted, another of the admitted with right to appeal, and a final one of the excluded, those who failed to measure up to the requirements. That wait had already become an endurance test, a gymkhana that kept tearing away little pieces of my calm, a trial of luck reserved only for daredevils with heart conditions. Any unexpected twist could undo everything I had done until then.

To soothe our uncertainty, the Ministry sent us a "General Guide to the Program in the United States" and, to my delight, a "Guide to the State of Texas," the destination I had requested. Both, however, were a rundown of information far too theoretical and not the least bit concrete. The true lighthouse in the gloom was the Telegram group "PPVV USA," where other candidates and visiting teachers, all on the same odyssey, shared experiences, doubts, joys, and assorted discouragements. That amalgam of voices formed our common refuge, a sort of clandestine network where experience and inexperience met, trading tips that saved me endless headaches. In the main group, people talked about everything and everyone; and, like a great weave, other subgroups kept being spun into it: the "Selection Process" one, the "PROFEX" one for questions about the platform, the "Muface/Health Insurance" one, the "J2" one, for spouses' visas; the "Flea Market" one, the "Pets" one, for those who, besides their bodies, were transporting the soul of an animal; and even a "House Swap" group, in which teachers, in a gesture of camaraderie, offered up their homes for other teachers' vacations.

At the end of January came the first scare: the Ministry got in touch to tell me I had ten days to fix some documents that had been wrongly included in the December application. Once again, I charged forward alongside my inseparable battle companions: Sir Stress and Lady Patience. At last, after weaving through a labyrinth of papers and stamps, I managed to correct the error, obtained the updated documentation, and sent it off to Madrid before the deadline. Finally, I could breathe again.

In March, they confirmed that my application had been admitted, though not selected. This was like a yes, but a no; half an achievement. What mattered was that I met the requirements to continue in the selection process and could keep playing. Out of some 2,500 candidates for four countries, around 800 had been left ‘out‘ in the first cut, whether for lacking an official English certificate, the master's degree in education or the CAP, or for filling out the registration poorly. At least I was already in the drum. First phase completed and on to a new level!

When March arrived, I received a confirmation: my application had been admitted, though not yet selected. That alone was a triumph, since it meant I met the requirements needed to continue in the selection process. The hectic December and the stormy January had been worth it. Of the roughly 2,500 candidates who applied, about 800 were discarded in the first cut: some for not holding an official English certificate, others for lacking the master's in education or the Certificate of Pedagogical Aptitude (CAP), or for having filled out the application incompletely. At least I was already in the drum. First phase of the game cleared. I had reached a new level!

Second phase of the game: Interview with ‘Mr. State‘.

On April 3, 2023, I received an email from the advisors in Austin (Texas), and the words seemed to open a window onto the future:

“If you are receiving this email, it is because your profile matches the demand of a school district in Texas for the 2023-24 school year and, therefore, its representatives will hold a videoconference interview with you. You have just received the day and time of the interview through a communication from the PROFEX platform. Also, as you know from the call for applications, Texas requires passing a written English test, which will consist of an essay to be completed in twenty minutes through the Canvas platform. Our next communication will come at the end of the interview day to confirm your selection (conditional on passing the written English test) or your non-selection, in which case we will try to arrange a second interview with another district for another day. Selected candidates receive a firm job offer and a preliminary contract.”

I can tell you that both the English essay and the interview were relatively easy formalities, carried out virtually. Nothing like earlier calls, which demanded showing up in Madrid in person.

During this phase, you could be moved to another state at any moment, and if the district needed elementary school teachers, it didn't matter that you taught secondary: to elementary you went. Nor did it matter whether your background was in math or engineering; if the open position was for a Spanish teacher, that's where you would end up. In short, we were puppets in the wind of the district's needs.

To my relief, the English essay and the interview turned out to be mere formalities, fairly simple and, on top of that, entirely online, unlike other calls that were held in person in Madrid.

Third phase of the game: Interview with the principal.

This could be the final level of the video game, which we might well call "superPPVVivors," where the final ‘monster’ awaited you: the interview with the principal, who in my case turned out to be a woman, as you will discover later on. They tended to be kind and understanding people, but that was little comfort, since this was the supreme climax of the entire process: "the interview." I later discovered that depending on the ‘key words‘ you used and the self-assurance or ease you showed at that difficult moment, your hiring could be on the line.

The final level of this game, which we might well call "superPPVVivors," was the honorable interview with the principal. In my case, I was received by a female principal, who was not at all the end-of-level monster I had imagined. At this point, I stood on the threshold of a long process: hiring depended on the key words or exact words I uttered and the composure I displayed.

In mid-April I passed the general interview for Texas, and days later, the next one for the Pflugerville district, a stone's throw from Austin. I couldn't believe my luck: they were proposing the city I longed for most: Austin, the jewel of Texas, the Seattle of the South, with its cosmopolitan spirit and its cultural fervor—alternative, musical, vibrant. There my dreams of music production awaited me: the band, the recording studio. But in the end, they turned me down. I felt as if a wicked goblin had amused itself tangling up my plans.

I felt as if a wicked goblin had amused itself tangling up my plans.

Disheartened, at the end of April another piece of news reached me: there were no secondary positions left; I had to accept a job in elementary school or change states. So, since quitting was not an option, I pressed on, if only to satisfy my curiosity about where all this would end up. After such a long road, I wasn't about to back down with an “I didn't get what I wanted.” I was already on the launch pad to the Wild West. I decided to face the new conditions: in for a penny, in for a pound. Days later, I was assigned an interview in Odessa, in the heart of the Texas desert, a breath away from New Mexico. I did the interview, and this time I wasn't selected either. Maybe it was fate, or chance, or a certain sense of justice, but the fact is that the road to Texas was closing for good.

I bid Texas farewell with a sigh, and the next day, destiny was being written in different letters. Now it was Indiana knocking at my door.

destiny was being written in different letters. Now it was Indiana knocking at my door.