sorry for the format being sloppy...i copied and pasted this from a couple different places since it's an accumulation of journal entries/emails.. and can't figure out how to fix it. oh well.
It’s been a rough week. Things definitely haven’t gone smoothly. Actually, for a
couple days there, things went a little TOO smoothly, if ya know what I mean. Sorry, kinda gross. But it’s life. Saturday night was fun, but it was the start of a very challenging/lonely few days. Before dinner, I went walking around town with my host family, just wanting to kinda spend time with them and talk (and since they speak NO English, and I hadn’t even had ONE Spanish class yet, talking is not easy). So we walked around town and went to this little outdoor shopping plaza near our apartment. Although it was definitely more of a social gathering for most people my age and the young men were either aggressively poised on the sidelines, waiting to swoop into the first available woman’s space, or lovingly strolling with their significant other (Ah, young love… haha. Not that I would know what that’s like. Apparently, my heart is made of stone.), I was busily flipping through my Spanish-English dictionary. Everything about my appearance screamed American tourist. And did I care? I’m walking around a mall in a hoodie, jeans, hair in a ponytail and no makeup with an old couple on a Saturday night. I think you can figure that out. My new friend Stacy and I had made plans to go out after dinner (btw, dinner here is at 10 pm on average with my family. Crazy, right?), but as I finished eating, I started to get tired. I guess being around the old people for too long was rubbing off on me. Stacy’s response to my lazy plans for Saturday night? No, ma’am. It’s our first weekend in Barcelona. So that was that.
After dinner, Pilar busted out a bottle of some sort of liquor along with a few shot glasses that, upon being filled with a shot, presumed to flash and sparkle multiple colors. Pretty much the gaudiest and most flamboyant thing I had ever seen—so of course I loved it! Delightfully tacky! After taking a shot with my family, I got ready to run and meet up with Stacy at the metro. By this time, it’s like midnight over here—which at home, I’m ready to call at a night by then… but here? People are not even getting started. After being yelled at and semi-chased by this really tall and scary looking homeless man, I finally caught up with Stacy and off to the bars we went. What a night! That’s really all I can say, being that I don’t really remember much of it… Hmm…
Sunday morning. Oh, dear lord. I was supposed to go with my family to their other daughter’s house a couple hours away for lunch… But I woke up, not in my bed but knocking on Death’s door. I’m pretty sure he answered, but I was too hung over to crawl through the threshold. That’s when it started, although I’m still not really sure what started. The sickness. The horrible, never-ending, if-i-could-only-figure-out-how-to-open-this-giant-window-in-my-room-so-i-could-jump-out-of-it sickness. Never have I ever. Everything on my body hurt, and even with 2 pairs of SmartWool socks, long johns under my pjs, a hoodie, and my toboggan on, I was still shaking so hard, the frame of my bed was rocking (and NOT in a good way). Of course, being the prepared person I am, the only medicine I had was some Aleve for cramps. Wonderful. My family, thinking I was just hung over, had left for Miriam’s house all day so I was completely alone in my tiny room a million miles from home. Left to die. In my feverish stupor, I stumbled across the room and managed to take not one, not two, not even three… but four(!!) Aleve tablets, later taking the time to read the instructions that said never to take more than 3 tablets in 24 hours. Meh. Rules were made to be broken. I still don’t know what happened to me; I’m guessing it was like a 48 hour bug or something that was triggered by lack of sleep and overabundance of alcohol (although, I only had three drinks over the course of like 5 hours…. So that just doesn’t make sense).
I can’t remember the last time I was so tired. Every move, even just rolling over in bed, took so much effort. I had the urge to pee for like 20 minutes before I finally convinced myself that even though peeing on myself in bed would bring temporary relief and even a little extra warmth, being wet would only make me colder—that was the winning point of the argument. The smell of anything made my stomach turn. One of the guys I met from the night before texted me, and just seeing his name on my phone reminded me of alcohol, which made me want to throw up everywhere. I didn’t text back. Poor guy. Food? No comment.
And then… almost exactly 48 hours later, I was better, although still a little weak from lack of nutrients. That was Sunday and Monday. On Tuesday, I slept half the day, and then woke up ravenously hungry—and for one thing! GREASE! It’s weird. I never ever crave unhealthy fast food; that is, until I’m either recovering from a sickness or a hangover. Then that’s all I want. Ask me why, and I will tell you I don’t know. The thought of French fries and a Coke drove me out of bed, into the shower and out onto the streets of Barcelona. An appetite, at long last! Me without an appetite is like a day with no sun; it’s just a sad, sad thing. Finally, as the star in the night guided the wise men, I followed the flickering light to the closest Burger King. And oh, it was so wonderful. Worth every last saturated calorie.
Because I had been sick, I missed the first two days of classes, so on Wednesday I had my first Spanish class. Que es? Como significa?? No bueno. I didn’t understand anything. Even though this was beginner’s Spanish, almost everyone in there had had at least a few a years of Spanish. Learning curve? No, no. Learning INCLINE! On top of that, my teacher told us that we would need to be studying about two to three hours outside of our 2 ½ hour class every day in order to really learn. So if the people who already have a foundation in Spanish needed to study that much, where did that leave me?
So yeah… it’s been a discouraging week. Being alone and unable to talk to anyone for like 3 days straight really took its toll on me. Homesickness was almost more nauseating than my actual nausea. I didn’t have the energy to fight off negative thinking and definitely spent quite a few hours wondering if I made the right choice in coming over here. Fortunately, this morning I got to know a few really nice girls from my program, and when I told them how down I was, they offered me some wonderful advice. Stuff you already know, but sometimes just hearing someone else say it makes a difference.
i have a lot of mixed feelings about being here. its something that i needed to do and i'm glad i came here... but i've definitely already learned a lot about myself in only the few days i've been here. for instance, i've always wondered if i would like living in a big city and i've always wanted/needed to do it just to know--cuz i'm like that. i seem to only learn by experience. and i've definitely discovered that i'm not a big city girl. but i needed to do this or else i would have always wondered and had regrets. don't get me wrong; barcelona is a beautiful and extremely clean city. and as far as big cities go, i think it's amazing.. but i really miss the mountains/nature. that's always been my release, and it feels like i dont have that right now. no matter what's going on in my life, at home i could always just go be outside and it gave me such peace.. and right now, since i dont know the area very well, i dont have access to much/any of that...
also the people and their values seem to be pretty different here (but in barcelona's defense, i think that's just a metropolitan city tendency; i don't think this holds true only here). appearance is SO important.. and sure i like to look nice, but to be honest, i really dont care how stylish i am. i hate shopping bc it feels like a waste of time and money; plus shopping seems to just create the desire for more more more..
also, back to the outdoorsy thing... there seems to be NOBODY into anything outdoorsy. i mean, there are tons of runners here as far as like
on the sidewalks and stuff... but i havent come across anyone who would rather
spend the day hiking than the night clubbing/drinking... and sure every once in awhile i like to go out... but i would much rather go to bed early and wake up ready to spend the day outside than partying the night away. i'm sure there are people like me out here; i just haven't met them yet... and since i've never had a problem meeting people at home since i actually speak the same language as people, i didn't take into account that it might actually be kind of difficult over here.
granted, i've only been here a week--and the past 3 days i didn't leave my bed... so i've had way too much time to think and get a little homesick and not enough time to do things...
i guess i've always known these things about myself--but i just needed to make sure. and i'll definitely appreciate and enjoy my time here
(i've already learned SO much spanish), but i'm not going to compromise my values/who i am to try and fit in.
This experience is new and scary in a way I didn’t foresee. The language barrier is real. The lifestyle is very different. Values, appearance, activities—all unlike what I’m used to. And it’s hard. Even though a million people told me it would be, I didn’t listen... because if they had said it was easy, i wouldn't have wanted to do it anyway. And even though right now I’m struggling, I don’t think I will regret my decision to come over here. In just a week, I’ve already learned so much about myself. With each new experience, I learn more about myself and become more confident in who I am. What a cliché. But clichés are clichés for a reason.
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