To explain for non-family members... I'm not actually blood related to anyone in Madrid. My Uncle Carlos was an exchange student who lived with my Mom's family when she was in high school. He's been my "Uncle" my entire life, even though I only had a glimpse of a memory of meeting him when I was little, and I've only met him and his family a couple times in my adult life.
Regardless, he and his family have welcomed me graciously into their home in Madrid. I've loved getting to know him as well as his lovely wife and two daughters (who are 12 and 15 and more beautiful and socially-adept than I ever will be). I can't really explain my joy at being able to help load dishes into a dishwasher or eat ice cream in front of the tv- things that feel so blessedly normal I have never been so grateful for.
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But along with the normal, I have been experiencing the city, but at my own pace (snail speed compared to SAS, but what I think I need right now).
I've spent hours in art galleries, and I intend to spend more. I avoid the tour groups and let my thoughts lead me. I love the Bibical scenes that I recognize but those that I don't even more, the colours and the stories.
I've spent a considerable amount of time in the Parque del Retrio, Madrid's largest park, 10 minutes from the house. I take a different route every time through it, and always find something new.
Carlos took me to a football match... This is really important here, apparently. All I know is I watched like six hours of soccer last Saturday and we're going to another match tomorrow.
Some of my SAS friends would be slightly appalled about how little I have done in Madrid. But to honest, I kind of want it this way. When I get home, I have precious little time to transition back to real life, then to camp. This is my vacation, and if that means reading in a park every day and eating sushi with my cousins and ice cream with my uncle then I am getting the most out of my time here.
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I've been really struggling with how much I want to go home.
I remembered recently the countdown I had on my whiteboard all last semester, counting down the days until I left. I couldn't wait to leave. And now, the thought of waiting 7 days until my flight home seems forever. Not to mention the 8 hour flight across the ocean.
I'm concerned that this aching desire to go home means that living overseas isn't the right fit for me. I'm afraid that I'm actually secretly one of those people we whispered about on the ship, those people, who have no desire to leave their home town, who think North America is the best this planet has to offer.
But then I think about the excitement that buoyed me as I walked off the ship into a new country. Somewhere new to explore. And I loved the places that felt most like I could live there. I suppose once I spend a long time in a new country, truly making it home, then I maybe wouldn't miss Canada so much.
And then I remember that I have a lot to look forward to in the next year. My final year of my undergrad (including my little brother attending the same school, which means we'll get to spend more time together than we have in the past three years, which delights me to no end), fantastic new housemates and a challenging job, not to mention a summer at the greatest place in outer space before that. Being away has also confirmed how much I care about my friends at home. I'm excited to return to their friendships and how they will continue to grow in the upcoming years. And there's something cheesy about how distance makes the heart grow fonder... it's true, I think.
Some of my friends on the ship had absolutely no desire to return to their home, even displaying a sort of revulsion at the thought. I thought that was a little sad. The world is wonderful, but if you can't find any spark of happiness in the place where you were raised, I don't think you're looking hard enough.
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All for now. Buenos noche.
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