Nostalgia and Hemingway

Way back in January, the city our program started in was Madrid. This concrete-filled, fast-paced city was my first taste of anything European and was full of splendor and excitement.

Way back then, every aspect of my life was new and just blossoming. Seeing a bidet in the hotel bathroom was something of amazement. Hearing Spanish being spoken was weird and made me a bit uncomfortable. I was nervous beyond belief. I was scared in the way a child is the moment they look up from admiring the Lucky Charms and realize Mom isn't standing nearby with the cart anymore.
Every sense in my body was heightened and my head grew tired as I tried to pack it with as many memories and sights and sounds as possible.

When we were in Madrid, we learned that Ernest Hemingway loved the city. He came quite often for inspiration and to admire the Spanish culture. We stopped our tour in front of a large white building; it was the hotel that he had stayed in during one of his vacations there.
I remember it being one of the first "celebrity sighting" moments, where something or someone important had happened or been to the very spot I was standing. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what the tour guide was describing: horses pulling carriages, people pulling wagons of produce and bread, markets bustling with crowds, and children playing in the square.

I learned in one of my psychology classes that in order to remember something very well, it is best to look at as many aspects of whatever it is as you can. Take in each word of the poem, each tree of the landscape, every window of the building. Then close your eyes and attempt to recreate that very scene in your mind. Once the picture is painted to the best of your ability, open your eyes again and compare reality to the carbon copy you've drawn. The more times you do this, the better and easier it will be to remember it later.
I began doing this at this hotel in Madrid. After that, at each important and beautiful sight that I didn't dare forget, I went through this process. Mind you, it's not easy to paint mind pictures in crowds of people and when a tour group has left without you, but it really is worth the time.

Anyway, the other day, Tanner and I were sitting at a Burger King in Granada, a beautiful city not too far from Sevilla. I just wanted a Coke that I could refill as many times as I wanted, and he needed cheap food that he knew would both satisfy his hunger and his picky taste.
He demanded I talk about getting ready to go home, something I have been avoiding all discussion of. When the topic is brought up among the others in our program, I physically remove myself from the crowd. When someone at our table or in our intimate group of friends brings it up, I try to find ways to quickly change the subject.
Leaving Spain is not something I am ready to or want to talk about.

"It's time, Tara."

And I did, at least a little bit. And by that I mean that I at least acknowledged that the end is, in fact, a reality, and that this reality is fast approaching.
The realization was like a physical pain to me. Why would I want to re-cut open the wound that is just now beginning to heal? Why would I want to admit that the end of the greatest thing to happen in my life thus far is very near?

I know that it isn't exactly considered healthy to not only avoid, but to actually deny the very existence of aversive things, but this has been my way of coping for a very long time. I am also aware that I should change my ways to even further my healing/growing process. But, like a stubborn teenager, I will hold on to bad and insane habits if only just to spite the opposition.

Once we got back to Sevilla from Granada, I got to thinking further about my time abroad. I really started my "end of the semester reflection stuff" and began to do some research like the little studious one I am.
I reread testimonies of people who had been abroad, did time in the Peace Corps. I looked back on my old journal entires and blog posts. And I Googled quotes about traveling and being abroad.

I was thinking about all that "full circle" stuff, bringing it all back around from how I felt when I first arrived compared to how I am feeling now.
I thought about my mom standing at the front door, waving, and me telling Abbie to, "Go, Go!"
I thought about the feeling I had, sitting by myself on the plane from New York to Madrid, about how I realized that it was too late to turn back now.
I thought about the fear, the anxiety, the excitement, the loneliness, the fulfillment, and the real, pure, stupid bouts of happiness I get each day here.

I also thought about going home. About seeing my mom for the first time in months. What it will be like to hug my dog. To spend time with my brothers.
I thought about how excited I am to see my soulmate after so long.
I thought about how I don't remember how to drive my car or how to use a stove.
Mostly, I thought about how all I want to do is share with everyone my stories and my photos.

I thought about how different my life is now and how different it will be to go back.

Tanner and his dad had a long talk last night that he told me about today over coffee (He had coffee, I drank tap water- it's free).
His dad told him that he might not have cherished the time here as much if there wasn't a deadline, no matter how bittersweet that is to accept.
This also made me wonder about how this might actually be true.

So last night when I was feeling nostalgic and reading about other people's time abroad, I found a quote that stuck out among the many. 

It was by none other than my old friend Ernest, who I became familiar with all the way back on my first day in Madrid. 

On my first day in Spain. 

My first day in Europe.
The first day of my journey.

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” 

**Updated about 4 minutes later: As I posted the link to this on my facebook, someone on my newsfeed just below my status update had a Hemingway quote as her status. 

The Universe is full of signs.