AKA Abraham Bacoln

I had a little realization the other day. I like Spain.

Thing is I expected to love Spain, and I don’t. I just … I don’t know. I thought I was supposed to love it here. Granddad lived here. It’s on the Mediterranean. I like the language.

But I just don’t love it here. I like it. But I don’t love it.

Now I realize completely that I’ve only seen a very small part of this entire country. There are other cities I’d probably like more than Málaga and other cities I know I’d like less. There are areas with different weather, culture, food, and everything else. However, I’ve talked with the professors here, and with students that have traveled far more extensively than I, and everyone agrees that while the other parts of Spain are different they’re still Spain. The mindset and function is still Spanish.

And I’m not even trying to say anything bad about this place. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it. Well, of course there’s something wrong with it, there’s something wrong with everything – nothing, no place, no one can be perfect. But I have no complaints with Spain, nothing directly negative.

I feel I’m not getting my point across. Perhaps having to think and speak a foreign language for weeks has messed up for often brain make with talking and thinking words for use.

My point is that when I got here I contemplated (fantasized, imagined) what it would be like to live here, what it would be like to be here forever, and slowly, finally, I came to the conclusion that it just wouldn’t ever happen. I don’t love this place enough.

I’ll be glad to visit again but never for this long, I don’t think.

———–

Boring words start here:

I have a farmer’s tan. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just don’t go to the beach enough, I suppose. I put on my sunscreen but apparently there’s only so much it can do against the sun, every day, and I don’t walk around town shirtless to even things out.

Here’s the Create Your Own Joke section. I suggest one about me blinding everyone with my pale white skin. That’s bound to get big laughs at the Giggle Hut. New! Fresh!

Lunch today was a salad, a plate full of entirely too much fettuccine with chorizo and zucchini, and fresh honeydew for dessert with a slice of carrot bread (think banana bread with carrots instead) on the side. I consider today’s meal a scientific endeavor. Every day at lunch I am fed too much. Most days I have to push myself to eat it all, but I try real hard. The two (or three) times that pasta has been served I have had no problems. Therefore pasta == dangerous in that I will eat whatever’s put in front of me, regardless of quantity.

You could probably kill me with pasta is what I’m saying.

But please don’t.

I just checked my notebook for things to write about and I think I’m going to have to skip writing about how I had beside me an old worn and scuffed drinking glass filled with room temperature water – I picked it up and as I lifted it I smelled, and it smelled so intense … no, that’s wrong. The scent itself was minute, miniscule, but the emotion underneath was forceful. It didn’t smell exactly like but instead simply reminded me of the smell of fresh clean skin, out of the shower, warm and now dry, and subtle. No lingering residue of soap, no perfumes, just the fragrance of another human being, close, so ephemeral that you really have to put your nose to their skin to even notice.

I have to skip writing about that. I don’t think I can get the point across correctly.

note: kill kevin with pasta while laughing at his tan lines

Comment by Kyla July 23, 2007 @ 6:47 pm

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