This last week I actually wanted to go home, but I just wasn’t quite sure where home is for me. I grew up in CO and my family is still there, but it definitely does not feel like home to me. I thought Manhattan was home for a while but I’ve realized that it was the people there that made it feel like home, and none of those people are there anymore so it’s really not my home. Which leaves me with Austin. I like Austin... I really do. But once again, mostly because of the people there. The friends that have become my family have made it unforgettable, but it still doesn’t quite feel like home. Which is one of the reasons I did this program-I was looking for something that I wasn’t finding in Austin. And for the most part I thought I had found it here in Spain. Obviously, not every day can be a great day but even my so-called “bad days” don’t feel that bad. That was until the Thursday before last... that’s when it all started. The day started off on a bad note because not more than 1hr after waking up I was standing on the curb in shock. What happened you ask? I GOT HIT BY A FREAGIN TAXI CAB! Ok. It obviously wasn’t that bad because I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this, but it hurt quite a bit and it really shocked me. I couldn’t believe 1) that I had gotten hit and 2) that the driver just kinda shrugged and drove off. Not very nice SIR! The rest of the day was pretty lackluster until I was standing on a corner waiting to cross the street. I herd a loud noise by my head, and turned just in time to see and feel a bird pooping on my left side. Now this wasn’t a dime or quarter sized type of poop. No, this was a bird that got into some wedding rice and was dying from the inside out type of poop. And it was black! Black tar poop that dripped from my left shoulder all the way down to my boots. Gross! Plus I had just washed my coat the weekend before. Do you know how long it takes for a coat to dry on a clothes line in the middle of winter? More time than I had. So the rest of the week pretty much continued on the same note until I got to last Thursday. I should have taken my forgotten breakfast as a bad omen but I genuinely thought the day was going to be ok. Which it was until about 10:30am when I went to buy a bus ticket. I work an hour outside of Zaragoza so I have to commute everyday, but this Thursday the entire teaching staff was required to stay for an evening meeting so I needed to ride the bus home. So I went to buy my ticket and the guy told me that they didn’t sell tickets ahead of time, but that I should arrive 10min before the bus departed so I could get a seat. Sound strange? To this American it was, but I gave a No Pasa Nada shrug and decided to come back at 1:20. Unfortunately, when I did come back the man somehow thought I said Tarazona instead of Zaragoza and told me that the bus wouldn’t be here a few a bit. But by the time we straightened out the fact that I didn’t want Tarazona and wanted Zaragoza the Zara bus had come and gone. Great! So I had to wait 2.5hrs fo the next bus. Not a big deal right? Uh..yeah it kinda is when you work in a small town and literally the only thing open during siesta is the tiny bar on the other side of town that all the construction workers go to get a couple cervezas and a little rowdy. Awkward. So I sat in the empty bus station (with the lights out–thank you siesta) for 3.5hrs (cause of course the 3:30pm bus was late) only to get to Zaragoza to take another hour and 15min bus ride to get to the stop 30mins from my house. Now during any other week this probably wouldn’t have felt like the END OF THE WORLD but last week it did. And it made me start to question myself. Why did I come here, what the heck was I thinking knowing I can’t speak Spanish, why is Spain so inefficient sometimes? Can’t I just go home? All very valid questions after only eating the piece of fruit you carry in your purse and the commute that should’ve taken hour that turned into 5hrs. But it suddenly hit me. If I didn’t want to be in Zaragoza, where did I want to be. Colorado, Kansas, Texas? Where? And then I realized. I wanted to be just where I was. That’s the reason I came to Spain. Because I love it! And I like a challenge. And what better challenge than to move to a country where you can barely speak the language and try and live a life. I can’t think of too many others. So, here I am. In Zaragoza but still without a place to call home. But I’ve realized that maybe I don’t need that one place to call home; I have many “homes.” That’s because I wear my heart on my sleeve and therefore, it can travel with me! Wherever I am.. that’s where my heart is too. And that’s also where my home is. So right now, Zaragoza is my home because this is where my heart is, but one day I will have to leave this place too. And one day, Zaragoza will just be another destination on my journey home... wherever that may be. Monday, January 23, 2012
STUMBLE: Clicking My Heels
There are many different ways to describe it; apartment, casa, pad, crib, house, residence, or sanctuary, but to me it’s just home. That place that makes you feel like you belong- when you go there everyone knows your name (or at least they used to), and you feel most comfortable.
This last week I actually wanted to go home, but I just wasn’t quite sure where home is for me. I grew up in CO and my family is still there, but it definitely does not feel like home to me. I thought Manhattan was home for a while but I’ve realized that it was the people there that made it feel like home, and none of those people are there anymore so it’s really not my home. Which leaves me with Austin. I like Austin... I really do. But once again, mostly because of the people there. The friends that have become my family have made it unforgettable, but it still doesn’t quite feel like home. Which is one of the reasons I did this program-I was looking for something that I wasn’t finding in Austin. And for the most part I thought I had found it here in Spain. Obviously, not every day can be a great day but even my so-called “bad days” don’t feel that bad. That was until the Thursday before last... that’s when it all started. The day started off on a bad note because not more than 1hr after waking up I was standing on the curb in shock. What happened you ask? I GOT HIT BY A FREAGIN TAXI CAB! Ok. It obviously wasn’t that bad because I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this, but it hurt quite a bit and it really shocked me. I couldn’t believe 1) that I had gotten hit and 2) that the driver just kinda shrugged and drove off. Not very nice SIR! The rest of the day was pretty lackluster until I was standing on a corner waiting to cross the street. I herd a loud noise by my head, and turned just in time to see and feel a bird pooping on my left side. Now this wasn’t a dime or quarter sized type of poop. No, this was a bird that got into some wedding rice and was dying from the inside out type of poop. And it was black! Black tar poop that dripped from my left shoulder all the way down to my boots. Gross! Plus I had just washed my coat the weekend before. Do you know how long it takes for a coat to dry on a clothes line in the middle of winter? More time than I had. So the rest of the week pretty much continued on the same note until I got to last Thursday. I should have taken my forgotten breakfast as a bad omen but I genuinely thought the day was going to be ok. Which it was until about 10:30am when I went to buy a bus ticket. I work an hour outside of Zaragoza so I have to commute everyday, but this Thursday the entire teaching staff was required to stay for an evening meeting so I needed to ride the bus home. So I went to buy my ticket and the guy told me that they didn’t sell tickets ahead of time, but that I should arrive 10min before the bus departed so I could get a seat. Sound strange? To this American it was, but I gave a No Pasa Nada shrug and decided to come back at 1:20. Unfortunately, when I did come back the man somehow thought I said Tarazona instead of Zaragoza and told me that the bus wouldn’t be here a few a bit. But by the time we straightened out the fact that I didn’t want Tarazona and wanted Zaragoza the Zara bus had come and gone. Great! So I had to wait 2.5hrs fo the next bus. Not a big deal right? Uh..yeah it kinda is when you work in a small town and literally the only thing open during siesta is the tiny bar on the other side of town that all the construction workers go to get a couple cervezas and a little rowdy. Awkward. So I sat in the empty bus station (with the lights out–thank you siesta) for 3.5hrs (cause of course the 3:30pm bus was late) only to get to Zaragoza to take another hour and 15min bus ride to get to the stop 30mins from my house. Now during any other week this probably wouldn’t have felt like the END OF THE WORLD but last week it did. And it made me start to question myself. Why did I come here, what the heck was I thinking knowing I can’t speak Spanish, why is Spain so inefficient sometimes? Can’t I just go home? All very valid questions after only eating the piece of fruit you carry in your purse and the commute that should’ve taken hour that turned into 5hrs. But it suddenly hit me. If I didn’t want to be in Zaragoza, where did I want to be. Colorado, Kansas, Texas? Where? And then I realized. I wanted to be just where I was. That’s the reason I came to Spain. Because I love it! And I like a challenge. And what better challenge than to move to a country where you can barely speak the language and try and live a life. I can’t think of too many others. So, here I am. In Zaragoza but still without a place to call home. But I’ve realized that maybe I don’t need that one place to call home; I have many “homes.” That’s because I wear my heart on my sleeve and therefore, it can travel with me! Wherever I am.. that’s where my heart is too. And that’s also where my home is. So right now, Zaragoza is my home because this is where my heart is, but one day I will have to leave this place too. And one day, Zaragoza will just be another destination on my journey home... wherever that may be.
This last week I actually wanted to go home, but I just wasn’t quite sure where home is for me. I grew up in CO and my family is still there, but it definitely does not feel like home to me. I thought Manhattan was home for a while but I’ve realized that it was the people there that made it feel like home, and none of those people are there anymore so it’s really not my home. Which leaves me with Austin. I like Austin... I really do. But once again, mostly because of the people there. The friends that have become my family have made it unforgettable, but it still doesn’t quite feel like home. Which is one of the reasons I did this program-I was looking for something that I wasn’t finding in Austin. And for the most part I thought I had found it here in Spain. Obviously, not every day can be a great day but even my so-called “bad days” don’t feel that bad. That was until the Thursday before last... that’s when it all started. The day started off on a bad note because not more than 1hr after waking up I was standing on the curb in shock. What happened you ask? I GOT HIT BY A FREAGIN TAXI CAB! Ok. It obviously wasn’t that bad because I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this, but it hurt quite a bit and it really shocked me. I couldn’t believe 1) that I had gotten hit and 2) that the driver just kinda shrugged and drove off. Not very nice SIR! The rest of the day was pretty lackluster until I was standing on a corner waiting to cross the street. I herd a loud noise by my head, and turned just in time to see and feel a bird pooping on my left side. Now this wasn’t a dime or quarter sized type of poop. No, this was a bird that got into some wedding rice and was dying from the inside out type of poop. And it was black! Black tar poop that dripped from my left shoulder all the way down to my boots. Gross! Plus I had just washed my coat the weekend before. Do you know how long it takes for a coat to dry on a clothes line in the middle of winter? More time than I had. So the rest of the week pretty much continued on the same note until I got to last Thursday. I should have taken my forgotten breakfast as a bad omen but I genuinely thought the day was going to be ok. Which it was until about 10:30am when I went to buy a bus ticket. I work an hour outside of Zaragoza so I have to commute everyday, but this Thursday the entire teaching staff was required to stay for an evening meeting so I needed to ride the bus home. So I went to buy my ticket and the guy told me that they didn’t sell tickets ahead of time, but that I should arrive 10min before the bus departed so I could get a seat. Sound strange? To this American it was, but I gave a No Pasa Nada shrug and decided to come back at 1:20. Unfortunately, when I did come back the man somehow thought I said Tarazona instead of Zaragoza and told me that the bus wouldn’t be here a few a bit. But by the time we straightened out the fact that I didn’t want Tarazona and wanted Zaragoza the Zara bus had come and gone. Great! So I had to wait 2.5hrs fo the next bus. Not a big deal right? Uh..yeah it kinda is when you work in a small town and literally the only thing open during siesta is the tiny bar on the other side of town that all the construction workers go to get a couple cervezas and a little rowdy. Awkward. So I sat in the empty bus station (with the lights out–thank you siesta) for 3.5hrs (cause of course the 3:30pm bus was late) only to get to Zaragoza to take another hour and 15min bus ride to get to the stop 30mins from my house. Now during any other week this probably wouldn’t have felt like the END OF THE WORLD but last week it did. And it made me start to question myself. Why did I come here, what the heck was I thinking knowing I can’t speak Spanish, why is Spain so inefficient sometimes? Can’t I just go home? All very valid questions after only eating the piece of fruit you carry in your purse and the commute that should’ve taken hour that turned into 5hrs. But it suddenly hit me. If I didn’t want to be in Zaragoza, where did I want to be. Colorado, Kansas, Texas? Where? And then I realized. I wanted to be just where I was. That’s the reason I came to Spain. Because I love it! And I like a challenge. And what better challenge than to move to a country where you can barely speak the language and try and live a life. I can’t think of too many others. So, here I am. In Zaragoza but still without a place to call home. But I’ve realized that maybe I don’t need that one place to call home; I have many “homes.” That’s because I wear my heart on my sleeve and therefore, it can travel with me! Wherever I am.. that’s where my heart is too. And that’s also where my home is. So right now, Zaragoza is my home because this is where my heart is, but one day I will have to leave this place too. And one day, Zaragoza will just be another destination on my journey home... wherever that may be. 
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