...And then it was too much.

I have come to the very obvious realization that change is not something that merely happens- and even as one gradual process fades out, another one begins to slowly mold itself together. I really am starting to see this idea take form in my life lately. I am not the same person I was a year ago, even a month ago before I left my home in the States to be here in Spain. Of course I don't notice each new mannerism I pick up or the FADING of my apparently strong Michigan accent I came here with.

It is only when I stop what I'm doing, literally, and fully grasp what my life as become.
Here, just as I do back home, I surround myself with things to keep my mind, my hands, my mouth, my eyes busy. My planner is always full, my phone always ringing, and I like it like that; I enjoy a busy life. 

The only issue with maintaining that lifestyle here in Sevilla is that I am missing the bits and pieces that I pass by each day because I am in such a hurry to get somewhere always. And thus, because of this, I am also not realizing how beautiful the change is in my life- how amazing such a short amount of time can alter my mindset, free my prior irrational inhibitions, and allow me to see things with an entirely different light than ever before. 

The reason I am saying this very redundant and simple statement- that change is gradual and you don't notice until you stop and smell the roses, or whatever- is because I had some kind of moment the other day that I can't seem to explain properly. So, again, allow me to share feelings that words just ruin in my attempt: 

Since I had arrived in Spain and until very recently, I hadn't yet fully allowed myself the time or effort to process my emotions, my thoughts, my doubts. I was just living each day one single moment at a time, not thinking ahead or about what was behind me. Of course, despite me allowing these feelings to fall to the back, I was still aware at some level that they existed. Of course they did. They were there somewhere, surely.
I wandered around El Centro by myself again. I love doing this and it upsets me when people say they "don't know how" or "don't like" to spend time by themselves. Granted, I don't particularly prefer or seek out my own company, but it is nice to catch up once and a while. 

I got some Cappuccino ice cream, saw buildings and stores completely new to me despite my regular stroll down that very road just about every other day. Intuition or otherwise, something told me to go into the Cathedral. 

I stepped up into the doorway, and as per usual my breath literally escaped me. I allowed my eyes to wander, they traced around the ceiling, noticing the intense detail in the sculptures, and then down the rows of pews. All I wanted to do was to store away to memory the beauty in front of me. My feet took me up the center isle toward the main altar. I looked to my right and a tired-looking security guard sat observing patrons and tourists. I finally reached as far as I could toward the front and I spun around facing where I had just come from.
I felt guilty then for taking pictures the last time I was in there. I get so frustrated with cameras and pictures; they will never be enough. Never. 

A large (Asian, of course) tour group stumbled in the back doorway too loudly. They stood around with their stupidly large cameras around their necks. I could hear the Snap! Snap! Snap! of them taking stupid pictures of details that anything aside from the real thing would only be an injustice to its beauty. I could take a thousand pictures of the same thing and still never be satisfied, it could never be enough to capture it fully, to describe not only what I see, but what I feel as well. 

I turned back around, the tour guide to my back. The security guard and I made eye contact and I self-consciously looked away when I realized she witnessed me just standing completely still for however long it took for me to judge the tourists.
I did a lap around the outside of the pews, stopping at each altar, smelling, listening, doing everything I could to convince myself, even if not possible, that I would never forget these moments. Somehow I was back in the middle isle. Something whispered to me to sit down. So I did.
Those thoughts I talked about before, the ones that I have been pushing aside to deal with later finally came to a head that day in the Cathedral.
I could sense some kind of presence in my head; bitty thoughts started circling around the outside of my mind; slowly at first, then gaining speed. It became more than gradual, thoughts spinning then, words zooming by.
Then my head exploded with inner-dialogue. The thoughts raced. My concerns and fears bumped into one another. They all were growing, the voices getting louder, the thoughts getting bigger. There wasn't much room anymore. It wasn't all going to fit!
I didn't know how to stop the near-shouting in my mind. Then I heard familiar voices: my mom crying as she hugged me goodbye, my best friend calling me on the phone, stressing about work and school, my brother's laugh, my dog barking at the passing neighbors my cat purring while curled up on the couch.
All the voices started to melt together. They all grew louder, louder. Everyone was screaming then. It was like a large crowd at a football game. An indistinguishable roar of a sound. I couldn't pick out the individual sounds anymore, my head was going to explode, my skull was going to split open. It was painful then, the thoughts and words smashing against the inside of my head. I knew it would last forever, this would never end.
I became dizzy, I remembered where I was. But everything was fuzzy. The brilliant colors of the altar blended together like wet paint. I think I noticed my hands folded in my lap, but I can't be sure now looking back.
The roaring crowd in my mind grew bigger, stronger. It was unbearable.
I will die with this pain.
It will never go away.
Can anyone else hear them, surely someone can?
I felt like screaming myself.
The muscles of my face pull tight, my eyes squinting, my jaw clenching.
This will never end.

Then it did. My ears were ringing as they do after a live concert. My head was still vibrating from aftershock. I wiped a drop of perspiration from my forehead. Each individual muscle released and slowly found their ways home. I let my head tilt back and my shoulders drop. My eyes stayed closed and my lungs filled all the way up before I expelled a heavy breath. What. the. hell. just. happened.
I suddenly felt very alone, for the first time since I had gotten to Spain. In that moment I couldn't understand that other people even existed in the world; I was the only one for miles and miles.
I shivered- possibly from the chilly day.
I felt my neck relax, the tension in my back let up. Finally the booming in my head fizzled to nothing.

And then I cried. I don't know why, as the tears seemed to come from nowhere. They fell so easily. I opened my eyes, looking around, embarrassed; I was aware just then that I wasn't, in fact, alone. Everyone could see me crying. How ridiculous I must have looked.
I reached under my glasses to wipe the tears away. I stood up to leave. I wanted to go, I wanted to get out of there. But i couldn't. My body wouldn't move, it wasn't listening. My eyes filled again, a lot easier this time.
I do not know what happened, or why it did, but I let my guard down completely that day in the Cathedral. I cried and cried. I sobbed a sad cry. I cried for my family, hoping they were doing alright. I wished I could be there while they needed me. I cried for my best friend and how sad I felt that she couldn't be here with me. I cried for my friend whose dad recently passed away. I cried for everyone in my life. The bawling wouldn't stop. Finally frustrated with my glasses sliding down my nose, I held them in my hand, all while continuing weeping.
In intervals, I would wipe my face, clearing away rouge mascara and evidence of my breakdown. Each time, though, it would just start up again. Eventually I gave in and stopped trying to contain it. I literally wept out loud, my head in my hands, hunched over in the pew. I sniffled, I chocked, I whimpered. It must have been quite a mess to watch.

I thought maybe at most 10 minutes had passed since sitting down. I was proven very wrong when I looked at my watch.
50 minutes.
Almost an hour had gone by while I crumbled in the most beautiful Cathedral in the world.

Becky says this presence I felt: the whisper telling me to stay and to sit, the overwhelming feelings I couldn't control- she said that was God. Another friend simply said that it was really weird that something like that happened to me.
I don't know yet what I think happened.
I assume I had reached my threshold of emotions- good, bad, sad, and ugly. I think I literally needed to explode. This makes sense, because it was later that week that Intuition carried me to Plaza de España. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to feel all the passion and excitement I did if I hadn't gotten the release at the Cathedral that day.
It is a bit of a fault that I am physically and mentally hindered when I reach my limit.

Maybe I am immature and just too easily excitable or hypersensitive.
But I feel as though I am lucky that I feel as much as I do. I don't think many people in the world have as much fervor as I do for every single thing I see. 

A little of this, A little of that

Here are just a few little snippets of thoughts rolling around in my noggin:

Every single day I carry love with me. I have a ring that I wear on my right hand (the finger alternates) that says "love", the frienship bracelet that Abbie, Ellie, and I have is a charm bracelt and the first charm Abie bought me for it was one that says "love" as well. I also retrace a heart on the inside of my left wrist each day that I am feeling a bit down and need a quick reminder of love in my life.

While walking home for lunch after another amazing class, on Valentine's Day, of course, I had a bit of a hop in my step. It was another gorgeous day, the skies were the most unreal shade of blue. The few days prior, I had been feeling a bit homesick, just missing the comfortability of the people back home, wishing they could see everything I'm seeing, because words just can never do it justice. Anyway,  despite that being a glorious day, I was still wishing I could just pick up the phone and call my best friend, or pull my brother my the wrist around this wonderful city. As I passed a little corner store (that sells 2 euro bottles of wine, by the way), I noticed that on the ground someone had spray-painted the word 'Love' in gold and silver paint. It was so brilliant. I felt like I was literally walking on a road paved with love. I felt like someone had done this just for my viewing (how selfish of me). I cannot describe the feeling of happiness that I felt in that moment.

Let me take a quick moment to talk about my classes- I did not intend on enjoying them as much as I do. I was thinking that class and schoolwork were the last of my priorities while here in Spain- mostly because I am already graduated, I only need a C or higher to pass the course with a pass/fail type of grade, and there are so many other things I would rather do than school work, any day. But, the thing is, I accidentally am in love with my classes- I can't stop.

The loveliest man rode by me on a bicycle this afternoon after sangria with some friends. He was wearing the staple of European fashion: a scarf, which was perfectly draped around his neck. It bellowed slightly in the wind from the bike. He wore a buttoned up pea coat and had a bag of fresh produce in his front basket. His smile was subtle and probably had a great story to tell. He seemed like the type of man who would have a separate room in his probably small house just for old books. I might venture to guess that he owned many first editions and yellowed pages of Peter Pan and some of Jane Austen's books. I bet he enjoys telling stories and reading excerpts from these books to his grandchildren. They probably jump right up on his plump lap eager for grandpa's grand tales.

Mopeds and the little motos do not have to follow the regular rules of the road. They can weave in and out of lanes. It seems very dangerous, the way they dodge cars, stop very (too) close to pedestrian crosswalks. I never want to drive on myself I don't think, but I'd love to go for a ride. Note to self: make this happen.

- I am in complete control of my daily happenings. I control when I wake up, where I go, who I get coffee/beer/sangria with. For the first time in my life, I feel as though I am the only one who is the boss, I am the one with the final say. This, although a very stupid realization, is very much a new one to me. I was always in need of the reassurance of others, the permission of someone else. 

- My intentions for coming to Spain seem to be very obvious to myself, but very out of focus to a lot of the other students here. I feel as though many students have taken this opportunity as a 3 month long vacation. I sense a very different appreciation for the sights I am seeing and the people I am interacting with. 

-My love for the world's oddities and history is very apparent. While seeing Roman ruins for the first time, and walking hallways that Gladiators once treaded themselves, I was literally drawn to tears. I sobbed and my makeup was smeared thinking about how incredibly lucky I was to be touching my feet to those stones, my hands to those walls. 

- My intuition is much, much stronger than I ever gave it credit for being. I used to mistrust my gut, or ignore it even. Now any time I have a very distinct or strong feeling for anything (ice cream to eat, direction to walk), I absolutely trust that feeling without a doubt. Any time I feel torn between decisions, I think back to what I initially thought was the right choice, and that is the decision I make. Never once has this feeling lead me to a place or to people I disagreed with or that I did not want to see or meet anyway. I am becoming increasingly good at recognizing the signs of my DEEP DOWN IN THERE feeling, and I am yet to go against it. Frankly, I am afraid to at this point. 

I love this city. These words make me frustrated because they don't even scratch the surface of the brilliance of Sevilla. I am never leaving. 

A personalized tour

I know that I am abolsutely going to butcher it the second I try to describe it, but I must attempt to put words to this feeling of mine I keep referring to. No fail, each and every day my intuition makes an appearance. It really is odd how keen this sense is that I have, and I am going to sound like an absolute fool while talking about it. I found that writing about the ways I am inspired here in a personified way, as in my last post, made it easier for me to convey the very difficult to describe feelings I have. I think I will try again this time with the same idea.
So sometimes I am drug around, seemingly aimlessly by this odd force within me. I know it must sound super hooky and weird, but here is my attempt at putting my abstract emotions into concrete words:

I am quite certain I left my contact solution in Toledo, so since then I have been using my roommate's. I do feel guilty using her things, so just about every day I say to myself that I need to go to the pharmacy (I pass about 700 just on my walk into El Centro) or to this huge Walmart/Macy's/Target/Kroger of a store called El Corte Ingles. Of course plans always come up, a friend wants to meet for coffee, someone else wants to wander around the city, etc, so I just didn't exactly make time to pick up stupid contact solution.
So, the other day I skipped my very precious siesta to make time to go to the store. FINALLY. I hadn't made plans with friends and at that time most were still esting lunch/siesting anyway- it was so perfectly set up for me to finally make time for practical things.
I set out toward El Centro with absolute and full intentions on going strictly to Corte Ingles. I even had this stupid mantra going in my head, just repeating "Corte Ingles, Contact Solution" over and over. I crossed one of the tinier streets, and of course about halfway across, the towers of Plaza de España made an appearance. They just popped their little heads up above the trees to say hello.
The thing is that Plaza de España and I have a very special relationship: A friend and I accidentally stumbled upon it one afternoon just as the sun was setting, of course. The brilliance of the building, the light hitting it just right, horse-drawn carriage rides, the glittering water fountain, the row boats in the moat; nothing about meeting this new friend of mine was less than perfect.
Anyway, so on the day that I had a mission, the towers enticed me, but only as per usual (because let's he honest, who wouldn't be absolutely mesmorized by the beautiful building?). I continued on with my walk, my mantra now screaming in my head to block out thoughts of aborting my plans and visiting the lovely place.
Still, I walked a few more feet, stopped, considered just maybe going to Corte Ingles another day, rethought, hesitated, and walked on again.
Just as the mantra started to become a bit of a song in my head, I got a very mean shove in the back by a very rude and hurried pedestrian. He was probably both confused and frustrated with my constant stop-and-go manner of crossing the damn road, and had finally enough of it. I turned around 180- not a soul. And again the other way: a girl with headphones in turned up far too loud, a father pushing a sleeping child in a stroller, pre-teens standing at the newspaper stand waiting for friends. Completely behind me, standing about 4 feet away, looking quite impatient, arms crossed, a stern look, brows tangled in the middle of his creased forehead, was a tall guy with dark hair. He seemed upset with me.
It was Intuition, the guy who has an awful staring problem, the one who I've always been curious about, but never enough to approach him due to his very formidable appearance and raspy-sounding voice. Sometimes I notice him on a park bench, or standing at a street corner, always with the same look on his face.
I, the type of person who avoids conflict like the plague,was still yet to confront that very brash-looking man, but I still had always wondered what it might be like.
"Maybe I can just have a small chat and it won't be so bad," I've always thought. But my more cautious and timid side always was able to find reasons against it.
But on that particular day, I think he had had enough of me ignoring him, pretending not to notice the hot stares that burned me just about every other day. I pulled off to the side of the sidewalk, allowing the people behind me to pass by. Intuition shook his head then headed toward me.
My body shifted, I avoided eye contact, my insides turning into knots.
As he approached, he reached out to shove me again. I twisted my torso to avoid the blow.
"Stop being so mean," I said as though I was an elementary school kid finally confronting a bully. I was scared of him, intimidated really. He was so persistent this time, he had never acted this way before. Finally he just pointed straight at the towers, and gave a small twitch of a nod.
"I can't go there today! I have things to do, I need contact solution and shampoo. I could probably grab some body wash while I'm there. Also I think I need toothpaste. I can't just keep-"
He cut me off, that rude man, Intuition.
Now, being in Europe I have begun to get accustomed to the lack of personal space here compared to the U.S., but Intuition literally violated even those minor rules when he grabbed my by the shoulders and literally turned my body toward the Plaza.
Of course I wanted to go, of course I could spend hours, days there. I was hesitant. I looked back up at him. He only narrowed his growling gaze and pursed his lips a bit more.
I took on step toward the direction he has placed me in, but I stopped there. I really couldn't. I shouldn't. I just needed to go grab my stuff, and I could just always come back. I had made up my mind. Corte Ingles it was.
Then Intuition did something I never, ever thought he would do. It was such an aggressive move and made me very uncomfortable. He stepped in front of me, picked me up by my waist, and threw me over his shoulder.
"PUT ME DOWN! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??" I kicked my stupid feet and punched his stupid back. Who does this? I don't care how well I know you, you don't just pick people up like that! I could have killed him.
He walked briskly, dodging others on the streets, crossing the road without looking. I was so frustrated at that point, but I realized my strength was nothing to his massive body type. I still threw in a kick here, a slap there.
He didn't even stop as we approached the backside of the building. He marched right up the two flights of steep stairs and pushed past the Asian tour group posing for corny pictures. By that point I had grown tired, and gave up hope of this brute putting me down, so I just let my head hang down his spine.
We went over to to one of the balconies. He stopped, and turned around so I was facing outward into the Plaza.
The sun warmed me from the inside out. I lifted my heavy head, as all the blood had rushed to it by then. I stopped breathing. I felt my heart slow too. Every bit of my body became relaxed and I felt like I was home.
I hadn't even realized he had put me down then, that's how transfixed by the scene I was. The sun was hitting the towers in the most brilliant and beautiful way. Some Native American (weird, right?) guy with a huge feathered mohawk was playing a soft, lovely song on a wooden flute. Birds chirped, a toddler ran into her mother's arms down below. I looked up in the distance and saw the stoic Spanish flag slightly dancing in the breeze. 
Suddenly every inch of my skin became very apparent to me, I could feel everything. My hands on the painted tiles of the balcony, the shirt on my neck and stomach, the ring on my finger, the hair brushing my forehead. I remembered to breathe just then, gasping for air, almost choking like an idiot. 
In that moment, I swear I was infinite, as Stephen Chbosky would say. 
As cliche as it sounds, I felt so alive right then, I no longer wondered if this all was a dream, because it wasn't. It was real, it was what I was touching, what I was standing on. It really was what my eyes were seeing. 
Then I heard snickering from behind me. I remembered back why I got here. 
Intuition, that dirty, trickster of a man, who badly needs a shave, was just about doubled over with laughter by the time I fully turned around.
"You're an asshole," I said with a stupid, huge grin. I joined in his contagious laughter.
We sat together under the arches, just watching the people come and go. I have no idea what time is was when we finally walked back together. We shared a beer and told lots of stories before we each headed off in different directions. 

I think we became friends then, even though I do hate how pushy he is sometimes. 

I don't think I ever made it to Corte Ingles that day. I honestly don't remember. I did go eventually, spent way too much money, was very disenchanted by the spectacle of a department store, and they didn't even have the right kind of shampoo I wanted.



The view from where I stood: 

  

I'd like you to meet my dear friend, Inspiration

Although at the time of buying my fancy new journal I had decided not to share any of the pages with anyone else, some moments only call for the words that I wrote straight from the heart. I am nervous to share those raw emotions, but I'm sure the time will come. My journal has become such a great ally, and I carry it in every purse I have with me.

Here is a picture of my lovely friend:

Sometimes I am instantly inspired and I have this weird "need" to write down the words floating around in my head.

Let me paint for you a picture of how this happens:

I step out into the corridors after a long class on Classical History in Spain. The halls are always colder than the classrooms because the entire building is made of stone. The main quarter is where all the smokers gather and hold my breath so as to not have a coughing fit in the middle of the crowd. I look to my left and peer down a long hallway lit with lanterns that I imagine were installed before there was even electricity, although I have no idea if this is true or not. To my right is a winding staircase past an open barred doorway. Nothing in particular is on my mind other than realizing that still after 2 weeks of classes, I do not know my way around the monstrosity of impossible hallways and weird staircases that is this school.
As I exit the university I am again surprised, as I am everyday, at how warm the sun feels on my face, and I feel nothing but disbelief looking at the huge entrance gates from the main road. Every time I leave the school I also turn back around and take note of where I just came from; 'This is my school,' I say in my head, 'How can I be this lucky?'
I turn right after the school gates and head down San Fernando toward my regular coffee shop for a quick snack and coffee on my lunch break between classes. I look around, as I do each day, always spotting something new about my beautiful home city. Then on this particular day, I feel a light tapping on my shoulder, a slight breeze in my hair. I turn my head slightly, and I know it isn't a person's touch that I just felt. Inspiration is here again to say hello, and she requests my acknowledgment.
"Hello, Inspiration," I say to my dear friend, "You sly fox, sneaking up on me like this. Where have you been all day?"
Of course I don't expect that coy doll to respond. She only turns her cheek, so her gorgeous face reflects the bright sun, and she looks up at the blue sky. We walk together for a few meters, and I turn to her again. "Did you need something specific today or just the usual pouring of my soul?"
We stop walking then and make eye contact right there in front of the fountain at Puerta de Jerez.
"Oh," is all I can say in response, knowing what she meant by the slight smirk on her mouth.
Then, in a very sudden and exciting swift motion of her hand, she grabs mine and pulls me toward the coffee shop. I quicken my pace to run alongside her, not letting go of her hand- I like the comfort she gives me with her touch. Our hair is swept back from the gust of our run, my heart rate quickens, and my breath is short. I am exhilarated.
We reach the small outside tables and choose one under an orange tree that outlooks the Plaza. She is very polite and pulls my chair out for me, what a kind friend Inspiration is. Then without further need for communication, I reach into my bag and grab my now slightly worn- in journal and feel instantly warm and at ease. Inspiration snatches the journal from my hands, tears it open, pulls the pen out of the binding, and shoves it back into my hands. Sometimes she gets too excited to contain herself, but I share this characteristic as well, so I understand how she feels. I stare at her, that crazy friend of mine, even though she does this every time. Then she sits back in her chair, crosses one leg over the other, lets her arms rest across her body, and tilts her head back toward the warm sun, looking completely pleased with herself.
I continue to stare and when I don't begin to write straight away, she gives me only one more of her stern, but encouraging looks and my pen starts to glide across the page. I don't move it on my own, the pen and my hand have become one and are their own person now. I only am a spectator at this show, admiring the sloppiness of the penmanship and the stream of words that fall onto the page.
I love when Inspiration surprises me like this. I am calm but I am raw and open completely with her and my journal. They are my two best friends, and I miss them when they leave for the day.
Once the words start to slow and more effort is needed to hold the pen with the hand that is suddenly mine again, I look up and Inspiration is no longer sitting across from me. I desperately look around- Why did she leave like that? Why didn't she tell me where she was going? Then through the crowd, I see her blonde head as she walks down toward the river. She is light on her feet and has an air about her that makes everyone want to run up and meet her.  I know she'll be back- maybe tomorrow, or maybe not. I don't feel sad as I watch her walk away, but I do feel lonely. She is a loyal friend, Inspiration, as she is yet to disappoint.

Un Nuevo Color, Un Nuevo Día

Today home seems very far from me. A brilliant and very inspirational teacher from middle school passed away early this morning. My heart ached upon hearing the news, and I had a pang of guilt in the pit of my stomach knowing I would not be able to attend one last viewing of that beautiful woman. It truly humbled me for a moment and allowed me to slow down the quick pace my mind has been going these last few weeks. I wish I could do more than simply think of her and the ways she touched my life and many others' as well.

I painted my nails an obnoxious shade of blue today. I know it sounds weird, but I had very hesitant and mixed feelings about choosing to even pack this particular shade, let alone wear it. This is the color that brought me out of a very dark place not too many months ago. This color of stupid and ridiculous nail polish was chosen at the store simply because I liked the name on the bottle. But for some reason, this blue reminded me of happy times, it let me escape for only a moment when I first saw it on the shelf, and has since, each time I wore it on my own hands. This "Fly Away" blue did indeed carry me in flight away from things not so pleasant. 

I didn't want to use this color here in Spain as a reminder of happier times, or even as a reminder of needing a happy time at all, because I am in the happiest place in the world. Rather, this color now is a symbol of what I have overcome. It is a representation of how far I have come, and even further, how far I am able to go from here.

I have done so much while I've been here. I have touched the Mediterranean Sea, I have partied at one of the most wild parties in Europe, I have allowed myself to settle in and accept this beautiful city as my own. My classes have been finalized, I have semi- found my way around the Hogwarts that is our university building. Looking back, it feels as though I have been here for months, when in reality it has only been just 2 weeks. I love everything about the experience that has presented itself to me. Spain could not have come at a better time in my life. This is the place that I am trying to find myself in- which is funny that I had to travel an ocean away to search for my identity. 

Anyway, with the news of my teacher passing away and not being home for familial support I wish I could partake in, I have had such conflicted feelings lately. While I am becoming more and more familiar and accustomed to life here in Spain, I feel further and further away from home. The miles seem longer now, and the time difference greater. I don't miss home itself anymore, but rather the memories themselves. I feel as though my memory capacity has only a limited amount of space, now of which I am attempting to fill with places and experiences from Spain, and all the while I am forgetting the place that I come from. 

One more piece that I am realizing about the person I am becoming is that I have a very distinct ability to detach and reattach myself to places and people. I think I will always require a strong person and a tangible place in my life, but who and where these are doesn't matter much to me really. I am able to mold myself into the places I call home and with the people I interact with. This is not to say that I do not still have room for the places and the people I have left behind, but rather my vision only can see directly what is in front of me. It is becoming aware to me that this is both a blessing and a curse. I seek stability in my life, sometimes even desperately so, and yet I have this power to move myself around quite easily. I hope to sort out this conundrum while here in Spain as well. 

As an ending note, I am staring down at my bright blue nails as I type these words. I am reminded both of very dark times, but also of very inspirational ones as well. 

This is the color my nails were the night my family listened to my cries for help and when they could really feel my pain and understand it.
It was after this conversation that my mom demanded I take off what was left of the chipped paint and instead choose a warmer, cozier tone. I had told her I needed help appreciating myself, needed help pushing myself. Of course she knew that, of course my mom could see that I was breaking and that I needed anything to help me see that I wasn't completely shattered.
So my mother soaked a cotton ball in the polish remover and grabbed my hand herself and began to rub away this beautiful color that represented such a sad experience. 

And so today as I nervously twisted open the cap during my attempt to reinvent this color, I made a vow to myself: while I wear this polish, I cannot feel sadness, I cannot feel weakness. This shade of blue will prove that happy moments do in fact exist and that I am a strong person for knowing that. "Fly Away" is the color that I have chosen to accompany me on this grand adventure I have ahead. 

No words.

I touched the Mediterranean Sea. 

If I could be this happy always...

Merely days before leaving the States, Abbie and I sat in Barnes and Noble searching for probably about 45 minutes for the "perfect" journal for me to take on my trip.

"maybe this one?"

"No, that one is too small/ too big/ doesn't have lines/ isn't the right color"

Finally one just appeared to me, something about it said "world traveler" and again, I just had a feeling. (this whole following-my-gut thing is really working for me lately). Still hesitant about choosing the wrong one, I picked up, walked around with, and imagined living in Spain with each journal after that. None felt as right as the original I had seen. 

The other day, Jaime and I were walking around- she had to buy a textbook and I hadn't been to that side of town really before. While she was struggling in Spanglish to the shop owner, I browsed the store, testing out pens, flipping through notebooks. Then I saw an entire display of journals and planners that were the same brand as the journal I had bought. Except there was a greater variety at the store in El Centro than there was in Barnes and Noble. I found my exact journal, a matching planner, and a file folder as well. I could not believe they carried this brand at this hole-in-the- wall store in Sevilla, Spain!! My heart did flips and I got that intense feeling of pure happiness yet again. 

I sat with my journal today after class with a café con leche at my regular cafe spot (I have a regular spot!!!). It was so brilliant to warm up in the sun and spill my thoughts onto the paper of my very precious journal. Everything is just fitting into place here. Everything feels right. 

While waiting for Jaime later this afternoon, Julia and I shared our first Spanish Capiccino helado, which was amazing and so rich in flavor. Then Jaime, Julia, and I managed to get absolutely lost in a shadier part of town this afternoon. We had no idea how we had wandered so far from where we started, but the sun was beginning to set and we were only getting more and more lost. In our first attempt to gather our bearings, we discovered some really neat hotels that were very elaborate and sophisticated-looking, which was such a contrast to the surrounding streets covered in movie posters and anti- Spanish government propaganda. The second time we tried to get back to la Plaza Nueva, we made our way down several unbelievably small streets- cars' mirrors literally scraped the building walls. We walked past several stores, and then I saw it- at first we simply walked past it- but, once I did the quick translation in my head, I realized we had come across a used book store- which is what I had been searching for since we first arrived in Madrid!!!! There were extremely old copies of Sherlock Homes, Peter Pan, and a ton of collector's copies of Spiderman comic books. I was in heaven! I was doing that weird thing where I would thumb through the literally dusty pages, and I smelled every book, drinking in the years and the eyes that had glanced over those very pages. I cannot describe with words how happy I felt in that store. Every piece of my body was screaming with excitement, and I just wanted to burst out and tell the world about how happy I was. God, it was such an amazing feeling. 

So, that's the highlight of this post- we finally ended up asking a Pharmacist what direction home was for us- which was in the complete opposite direction as we had previously thought. I made it home just in time for some excellent dinner and small talk with my host mom, before hesitantly retiring to bed. 

I never want to sleep here, I feel as though I'll miss something, but it's funny because everything I try to see and pack into my days makes me so exhausted. It's a Catch-22 kind of world, I suppose. 

Buenas Noches. 

Sense of Direction?

Becky, Tanner, and I wandered around last Sunday, and over some fabulous desserts, I quoted my mother. 

The best way to find yourself is to get lost.

again-

The best way to find yourself is to get lost.

I have been bragging to everyone on the trip that I am having a difficult time actually getting lost in the city. Most people, for instance my dear friend Becky, wander the streets without a sense of direction whatsoever. Immediately upon arriving in Sevilla, it seemed as though I just knew my way around. I never once pulled out a map, I could come in and out of stores and restaurants and like a hunting dog in a very stoic sense, I was able to point my way home.

Somehow, though, just a few nights ago, I got lost. Tanner and I were wandering around El Centro, pointing out Tapas bars and shops we wanted to go in. We stumbled upon a narrow alleyway that lead to a beautiful curved apartment building centered around a fantastic fountain and several antique shops. We walked slowly past the display windows that showcased old coin and stamp collections. Somehow in the midst of awe I had for the vintage stores and the curvature of the building, when we emerged back onto the main streets, I had gotten completely and absolutely turned around. Tanner knew which direciton we needed to go in, but at that moment, he realized this was the first time I didn't know the way home. The sun had set, so I couldn't use that as a reference point and the Cathedral (which, as I just learned is, by law, the tallest building in El Centro) was hidden behind others. Tanner watched me literally spin around looking for some sense of familiarity in the buildings or streets, and he laughed when he realized I had finally gotten lost. 

I squealed with excitement and I felt another one of those bouts of pure happiness. I was happy to finally be lost. 

It happened again today. Tanner and I actually had a mission to find the ISA study abroad office, which is deep in El Centro down some narrow street. I had only been there the first day in Sevilla, but I still knew the general area. Tanner and I must have been just near it, but we never did find where the office was. We did actually pull out a full sized map and looked like true Americans. We had no idea where the office was. Then we continued on, no longer in search of the office, but instead just to get out of El Centro and near the University and to familiar territory. This only got us even more twisted around, until we finally decided we were officially lost. 

We somehow ended up near a beautiful garden on the top of a hill. From there we searched around for the Cathedral Steeples. I was sure the Cathedral was THAT WAY, while Tanner pointed in the complete opposite direction. When we finally saw the Gothic tips of the Cathedral, we discovered we were both wrong. 

After reevaluation of our wandering, we realized that somehow we ended up walking in a complete U-Shape. We wound up right back at the university which was exactly where we had started. 

It's funny, because the entire time, neither of us were stressed or concerned much. We laughed the entire time, talked about everything. It was so fabulous. 

I guess my mom was right, I am starting to find myself with every time I get lost in Sevilla. 

Full Circle

There is a Masquerade Ball at this famous hotel in Sevilla called Hotel Alfonso VIII. I actually got asked to go to the ball by a creepy American guy the other day at the bar we watched the Superbowl at. My friend Tanner and I had been talking about how cool it would be to come that night to watch everyone all dressed up for the ball in their extravagant gowns and masks. What a wonderful thing to happen in Sevilla while we are here.

I'm not sure when it will truly hit me that I am actually here.
It's as though I'm waiting for this grandiose moment of clarity where the stars and planets align, the clouds part just right and somehow I'm filled with this innate knowledge only just revealed.. or something.
See, the thing is I've had small bits of that feeling here and there. Take my afternoon for example:
After a long day of classes, which also followed a long night at a discoteca, my entire body and brain were in pain. My body because everyone walks everywhere here, and my brain because everything is in Spanish so I am in constant translation mode. Granted, I knew these things before coming to Sevilla, that EVERYONE walks EVERYWHERE, and that they actually speak Spanish in Spain.  Mis zapatos are apparently made for aesthetic purposes and not comfort ones, so needless to say, my feet are killing me.
I ended up doing this bike rental thing they have all throughout the city, where you buy a pass and you sign in at any kiosk, grab a bike and go. They are super cute bikes that come with a basket in the front, a headlight for night riding, and a bell that reminds me of my childhood. Que perfecto! The bike system, called Sevici, has proved to be extremely beneficial on my poor, worn out feet, although when the next Sevici station has no more open spots to drop it off, you're required to ride to the next one, and the one after that if the second is also full. Today was a day of experience, as I wore shoes strictly for looks, knowing I would be using a Sevici. The first three stations I tried to drop the bike off at were full, so where I ended up finding one open slot, was the same distance as my house would have been to the school anyway.
Blisters are not comfortable.

...ANYWAYYY, today was yet another amazing day. Some friends and I meandered around the narrow streets, stopping in ridiculous and gaudy stores just to try on sparkly rings and throw feather boas around our necks. After we all tired out from our browsing, our quad became a duo, Ashley and Olivia headed home early for dinner. My friend Julia and I found an excellent Tavern-style Tapas bar on one of the main streets between our two houses. We stopped in for a pitcher of Sangria after making friends with the very sweet waiter at the door.
It's funny because time seemed to pass slowly with each sip of the fruity beverage. We talked about everything from our home towns, to high school, to future plans. We shared many laughs and our favorite inspirational quotes. I couldn't believe we had covered so much ground in such little time. This is funny to me because usually time passes quicker in moments like this. Maybe it's the opposite in Europe- they do a lot of odd things here, who's to say the passage of time isn't also different?

Once we finished the pitcher, we parted ways to eat dinner with our families. I walked into La Puerta de Jerez, which is this open area with a beautiful fountain and benches, and I couldn't get this stupid grim off my face. They say that Spaniards don't smile at each other on the streets as much as Americans do. I just wanted to blend in, but I felt this warm and (don't laugh) sparkly feeling deep down in "there". In that moment, with the amazing sights light up by street lamps at dusk, I felt a moment of complete and pure happiness.

After walking through Puerta de Jerez, you can see the gate to Hotel Alfonso. As I approached I saw a group of three older women. They had long dress coats on over very beautiful, glittery dresses. They each had a feathered mask in their hands. I had completely forgotten that tonight was the Masquerade Ball! I couldn't believe I was witnessing what seemed like to me a Red Carpet event in the middle of Spain. I did not care that the stupid Sevici kiosks were all out of order and that I'd have to walk all the way home by myself. I actually preferred it because the excitement I felt would likely hinder my ability to make logical sense if I attempted to speak to whoever was with me.

I used to hate using the word "perfect", because to me it meant that this was THE way things should be- "perfect" meant nothing could be better, the potential was reached, everything else was inferior.

But Perfect is the only way to describe my experiences here.

The best kind of feeling

Every piece of me- all the bones in my body, the entirety of my soul- is filled with happiness that cannot be broken.
All things fit in the most perfect way, and there is no other way I could imagine my life to be at this exact moment.

I found a Spanish copy of "Gone with the Wind" in my room in Sevilla.
I just got a kiss from a 3 year old boy who said I was "Muy Guapa".
and no matter how many narrow cobblestone streets I wander down, I cannot seem to be able to get lost in this beautiful city.

It is very simple- i BELONG here.