Madrid meltdown

Tonight I just want ed to take me. I'm so done with everything. I'm melodramatic and I don't care.

But it gets so exhausting. Being alive. I know I'm so blessed but I can't even use my blessings well. And I know there are plenty of people REALLY suffering out there who would trade places with me in an instant. I wish I could give them my life and my opportunities. I can't do this right.

I always imagine myself being held. Safety. Warmth. Security.

Even if I get through this, I can't help but think it'll only pick back up again on the other side. I'll continue to be chased. I'm always going to be running, out of breath.

I'm just a little girl who loves to smile and be in the light. I only came outside to smell the flowers. But I found weeds there too. They're poisonous.

I'm still pissed that I ever re-fed. Dear God, Ellie, why did you have to be the one to go? I still would give you my life instead. I just know I could've kept going if I'd never left Walden. I had death in my hands and I let it fall.

I'm disturbed and I know it. I've been this way for most of my life. Sometimes I could really see myself pulling a Van Gogh and just cutting off my ear or something. I understand this madness. It's a deep part of me.

I haven't cried like this in a while. But it's good, it's cleansing.

I have about 40 academic pages to write. In Spanish. The Spanish part doesn't bother me so much. It's the research and actually knowing what the hell I'm talking about that's pretty up in the air. Also, I have like 10 days to do this. I've never known screwed like I know it now.

Why can't I just write shit like this and get credit?

Por fin, my first equestrian encounter!

I am a firm believer in staying authentic and true to myself. I know without a doubt that what I value as an expat is establishing myself in this community and coming to know the city that I'm living in. I want to be active and involved. I want to be integrated and appreciated, at least by a few. But I also want to be a wide-eyed child and just explore. There is so much here that I don't get to discover on an average week because I'm busy with school and other activities.

I am thrilled, pleased, relieved, and blessed. Today I fulfilled one of my lifelong dreams and longtime bucket list items: horseback riding! I know -- for those of you who know me, it's strange that this was my first time, since I'm from Vermont. But this experience is even more epic because I did it in Madrid, Spain! I'm proud of myself for persevering, because I almost didn't make it out there at all. I'm going to backtrack a little and give you the whole picture.

I was out late last night with some of my new madrileño friends. It was really nice to be out with locals and not be near any fellow Americans - in other words, truly on my own in a foreign city. I felt wonderfully and completely immersed. The beauty of it is that it was all natural and of my own doing - of my own initiatives since being in Spain. First I went to dinner with a friend I made at a language exchange meetup a week prior; later we went to a bar to catch up with a mutual friend and a German girl who's a student in Spain (and has practically flawless Spanish). During dinner, Alex and I laughed so much. It was extemely healing for me, despite the fact that I felt like a 5-year-old because I kept forgetting things and making mistakes with my Spanish. But I don't normally laugh that much with Spaniards, so it was totally worth the insecurity and frustration I have toward myself (I still struggle with the process of language learning...I just want to be 100% fluent already!). But this guy is pretty chill and smiles a lot, which is rare and refreshing around here. It was SO wonderful to be out of the classroom, completely away from the academic environment, to learn naturally and calmly through developing a friendship with a native speaker. These are the moments I cherish because this is what I have always dreamed of and expected from myself when I used to fantasize about living abroad; it wasn't necessarily about the number of places I was going to see, but rather the people I was going to meet and the depth and quality of my relationships with them. There's nothing like international friendships; we all have so much to share with, learn from, and teach one another.

Most of my classmates are gone taveling this weekend. I felt a certain excitement about having Madrid to myself (or feeling that way). Sometimes I just need that kind of space. I was originally going to be away as well, but only ended up stressing myself out a LOT over the last couple of weeks when I was trying to make travel plans. I felt a lot of anxiety and pressure...but what for? Nothing was working out as I tried making plans. I kept changing my mind and still felt unsure about the whole thing. I was creating way too much unnecessary anxiety for myself. At first I felt like I really needed to go somewhere far and exotic, because everyone else was. But then I realized that I didn't have any true desire of my own to do so. I mean, I'm an adult and I'm here in this Master's program pursuing my own goals, no one else's. I'm not paying thousands of dollars to just do what's popular. No, that's absolutely absurd. I want to be my own person and follow my own intuition. There's really nothing wrong with staying local on a long weekend. I can have just as many amazing experiences here in Madrid (or nearby) as the other people traveling in other parts of Spain or even in Paris. And it doesn't take much for me to prove it. The long weekend is half over and I've already accomplished what I feel are some amazing tasks.

One of the first things I needed from this weekend was to relax. I needed a vacation from all the emotions and tension I've built up inside over the last several weeks. I just wanted to chill out and breathe. I need tranquility. And the past couple of days have given me that. The silence of solitude can be lovely.

So before, when I was frantically trying to get a plan together for this weekend, one of my goals was to go to the country and ride a horse. I adore animals and have always, always dreamed of riding a horse. When I gave up altogether on reserving a trip, I thought I would have to postpone the horseback riding idea. Then, I was poking around on Meetup.com (super obsessed with this site), and God took care of me in an instant. There, before my eyes, was the page for a coincidentally brand-new horseback riding group in Madrid! I couldn't believe it. I hadn't expected to find anything right here in the city. I thought for sure I'd have to travel to another town to fulfill this dream. So anyway, of course I signed myself right up for what was plainly God's answer to my tumultuous ride of internal turmoil over the past few weeks. (You have no idea what the stress of planning for this weekend had been doing to me...I felt all sorts of shame and depression about not being able to get my act together and make something happen.)

During the week I didn't think much about planning for the riding lesson because the Meetup page said it was in Madrid. I assumed I'd just get on a metro and find the place fairly easily. But after I got home last night from my mixing with the locals, at about 02:00, I decided I should probably take a glance at the map to see where I needed to be in fewer than 10 hours. And joder, it looked as though it wasn't going to be feasible getting to the riding center by public transit alone. Great, I thought. JUST GREAT. Once again, my plans for the weekend had been crushed. And I felt kind of screwed because it was already so late and this woman who had organized the meetup was expecting me to be there. But I didn't have her phone number or anything...just the messaging page on the Meetup site. So I wrote her a message after 03:00 asking how I could get there without a car and hoped she would see it before leaving to meet me at the riding center.

Needless to say, since I went to sleep so late (or early, rather), I was still exhausted when my alarm sounded. I stayed in bed for a long time, contemplating whether there was any point in making an effort to go out today. I really doubted I could figure out how to get to this place. My exhaustion also made me feel depressed. I honestly felt like I may as well just sleep the entire day away. But then I thought about what it would mean to give up the horseback riding. Even though it certainly wasn't the only day I could ever possibly hope to do it, what would be the point in wasting a perfectly good opportunity? Also, I felt guilty at the thought of just not showing up and letting this woman, Barbara, down. Since she had just recently created the group on Meetup, I was the only person who had joined it and RSVP'd, so far. So I felt pretty much obligated to follow through.

By God's grace, I pulled myself out of bed. I checked my messages and found that Barbara had replied, telling me where the nearest train station was and that I could walk from there to the riding place. I looked at the clock and the map. There wouldn't be time to take a metro to the train and then walk from the train. As I threw on clothes and gobbled down some yogurt, feeling shitty for taking so long to get out of bed and for being in Madrid without any real plans (etc., etc. goes my silly brain), I decided to just take a cab. Fortunately (and divinely so, I'd say), there was a cab available sitting on the side of the main road by my street. Unfortunately, the driver had no idea where this place was, and we had quite some trouble finding it.

I felt awful when we started going in circles and then when the taxista had to turn off the meter because of it. It seems like this shit always happens to me. WHY ME?! I always want to shout out to the world. I'm always having a hard time with stupid, simple things. But this time I was legitimately annoyed because I didn't want to arrive late, miss the class, and have paid 30 euros in taxi fare for nothing (and then have to figure out how to get home after the taxi was already gone). BUT... As I got out of the cab, I saw a woman walking toward me. I looked at her and she looked at me. I think I made it a bit awkward because I didn't say anything. "Alissa?" she finally said. "¡Sí!" I replied. And that was that. I had finally freaking made it. The world hadn't ended.

Barbara was really sweet, and patient with my low confidence and awkward Spanish. She told me that the instructor was actually still teaching a class, so it was perfectly fine that I was a few minutes late. "He's Cuban," she said (in Spanish), "so he's on island time and very laid-back." Did she say CUBAN?! I thought. Holy shit, now I'm REALLY glad I got myself out of bed this morning and made it here!

It turned out that not only is Edgar from Cuba, but he's also very easy on the eyes! You've got to be kidding me, I thought. This day was just getting better and better! But then I quickly saw that he's a smoker. Thumbs-down in that department.

Anywho...the class was perfect. Barbara and I were Edgar's only students at that time, so it was nice and relaxed. The horses were sweet and calm. I was as gleeful as a child when I looked into the eyes of my horse that Edgar gave me. I really felt childlike in my soul when I took hold of the reins and Barbara and I began walking our horses over to where we would be riding. I couldn't believe this was finally happening. My only exposure to horses has been at the Champlain Valley Fair and Addison County Field Days once a year. Seriously, I think that's about it. I just love horses! I admire their anatomy, their beauty, and their strength. I used to diligently draw them as a child. These gorgeous animals have served humans for so long. What a wonderful gift to the world!

I felt real fear when it was time to mount. The horse's back looked very high up, as did the stirrups. I honestly did not believe I had the upper body strength to boost myself up with enough momentum. I thought I would almost certainly fall and either hurt my body or my pride in an instant. But Edgar thankfully helped me up, and it really wasn't so bad! Phew. First step down.

In my first moments in the saddle, sitting up high with no back support and not yet holding onto the reins (Edgar was, from his standing position on the ground), I felt insecure. I again felt that I would fall. But this feeling only lasted moments; after I had the reins to myself, I felt much better.

During the whole hour-long class we just walked the horses in small circles in a little sand-covered enclosure. We learned how to stop, start, and steer the horses. It was all very basic, but I loved every moment.

This one came out the best. Sorry the others are so dark!

Edgar and Barbara were also very pleasant to talk to. And guess what? I asked Edgar where exactly in Cuba he's from, and he said Matanzas. That's the same town where my maternal grandfather was raised!!! I love making these connections. The more, the better. Even though I'm in Spain for now, my goal has always been, and always will be, Cuba. My heart is there, even though I've never physically been, and even though my Cuban blood comes from my mother's side only. One day I will make to the island, and I will conduct the necessary research to learn about my grandparents and their family histories. Their stories must be known and must be told.

I was a bit sad when it was time to dismount and say goodbye to the horses. (I was also nervous to dismount! But Edgar helped me again.) At the same time, I now know that I'm capable of doing this, and I know that I definitely want to repetirlo.

Another blessing God provided me at the end of the day was that Barbara offered to drive me to the nearest metro station! Since I had arrived in a taxi, and definitely wasn't going to go back in one as well, I was a little anxious about figuring out how to get myself to a train station. I didn't know the area well, but I knew it would be a bit of a hike on foot. So I was extremely pleased that not only did I have a wonderful riding lesson, but I also was given the gift of peace about returning safely to the city. I mean, there's really no other way to see it; Barbara's kindness was truly a gift. Looking back on the stress of just getting to the place at the beginning of the day, I felt so relieved that the whole thing turned out so well. God just took care of me completely! Barbara even said that if I come back in the future, she would be willing to pick me up at the station and bring me to the riding center with her. How lovely!

A random tidbit to this tale: Part of my fantasy about riding horses came from the movie Titanic. I kid you not! You know why? Because I've always admired the way Rose continued to live her life after Jack died. I love the scene where she passes in her sleep and the camera moves to the pictures at her bedside, showing all the things she's done despite the tragedy she once knew. I love the picture of Rose on a horse. Something about that image is so signficant to me... It's like, I've had some of the same dreams as her. I know what it's like to be close to death, to even want it, and to come back from that with possibly more life than I ever had before. I have so many ambitions, dreams, hopes, and goals. I may never achieve them all, but if I can accomplish at least some of them, I will feel satisfied. I will feel invigorated, strengthened, and alive. When I engage in activities I have yearned for over a long period of time, I feel independent and capable. I feel like I've conquered the world of my fears and iniquities.

So I hope this entry may have inspired something in you, if you're reading this. I hope you get on that horse you've always wanted to get on, and pull yourself up even when you think you might fall. You'll never gallop if you don't get up and walk...

Woods and Whisperings

Read novels in a cozy chair
Watch the nature from my long window
Sip my mug of hot chocolate
Sing beautiful repertoire in Latin
Paint in oils on linen
Dance all night long
And walk through the trees, enjoying the crackles of leaves and melodies of birdsongs.

I see the mist, feel the chill on my cheek, and fear nothing.
My sweater is long and loose. There is a blue tinge to the air and I can smell the greenness of these woods. My heart beats powerfully with the thrill of intrigue and mystery. I am a little girl, stumbling through a forest, wondering what's about to happen next. It's a secret, it's an enchantment, it's a garden all my own.

I hum a new tune, thinking about Mozart and how I wish he were here so I could appreciate his genius and his struggle. Everything I see is a painting, or a potential one. I can't wait to get back to the studio and take this treasure before me into my own palette. I will recreate serenity in a medium that isn't quite permanent but still satisfies.

This solitude isn't loneliness, here in the dewy woods. I'm flattered to be here and I love exploring. Every tree, every stone or bush, is protecting and concealing. I want to know more.

I look up and can just see the distant sunlight reaching through branches and fog. It's my sign that I'm headed in the right direction. Inhaling, I close my eyes and relish the moment of earth and mist and freshness. I want to soak it into my bones.

I continue on and it's just a memory, that which is behind me. But I'm stepping on fallen branches and not trying to skirt around them. It's okay; I'm sure of myself here.

Horses and cloaks and carriage wheels. Tracks in the dirt.
Lanterns burning.
A child humming, stroking the yarn of her doll's head.
Whispers of fairies and stardust.
Nightgowns and stories by candlelight.
A braid over my shoulder, I carry my weight in firewood.
A violin serenades me with its delicate timbre. Chatter ensues.
Rough-hewn furtniture and dainty doilies. Handmade trinkets.
Tea and some biscuits, resting under dust, and a bottle of ink left uncorked.
The parchment stiffens, threatening to curl.
I made my home here, and I haven't gone back.

Stay alive...and live!

I had this thought the other day that I just have to write down. I don't think I can remember it exactly as it was in my head (and damn, it was so brilliant), but I'll try to flesh out the gist.

I was thinking about suicide. Not planning my own, but thinking about the idea of taking one's life and what it means. I thought about this while I was at a crosswalk in Madrid and watching all the cars and Vespas zipping by. One wrong move, one foot into the traffic and I could be killed in an instant. I thought about God and faith and that I can't believe that people who don't believe are just living their lives for nothing. How can so many people be on this earth and not know why they're here? I looked around at the people walking by on the city sidewalk and realized that this is exactly the problem - they don't know why they're living, so they're not really living. I scowled at all the people smoking (because practically everyone does here) and thought about the tragedy of how unhealthy it was; I thought about all the millions of other ways humans in general mistreat themselves on a daily basis. Drinking, hoarding, self-harm, and overall neglect are just a few. Cities make disease seem so prominent; I'm constantly taking note of people's skin, their facial features, their posture, and general demeanor, and I notice how indicative it all is of their wellbeing (or lack thereof). How truly sad it is that we waste our precious time, youth, and natural-born health destroying it all, and for what? We gain nothing.

I looked up at the scaffolding on a building under construction. I am terrified of heights, and every time I see construction way up high, I am in awe at the brave men working up there. How can they not be afraid? I thought. Don't they know they could so easily fall and lose their life? In one second? How are they not afraid of that possibility? It's not irrational or unrealistic, after all.

Then I realized this: the truth is that most of us don't actually value our lives. We're just afraid to die, so we keep on living, existing mundanely. We don't actually value our lives, in the grand scheme of things. And this scares me! We don't want to kill ourselves because we're afraid of what may or may not come afterward. If we didn't have that fear of dying, of the experience itself, and if we didn't think there would be any consequences, then maybe we'd all be jumping off buildings. Life is tough and unfair, and people can be cruel. We all experience struggle, and sometimes it can seem so unbearable it's just not worth living through. But we wouldn't actually go through with suicide as a means of taking the easy way out. Neither do we strive to look for God and meaning amidst the struggle and misery. So we settle for indifference, for apathy, and we just accept the fact that so many things in life suck. And we survive.

But if we valued our lives, we'd have a million times more of a reason to stay alive and live. If we actually knew, realized, admitted, acknowledged, celebrated the fact that there is no one like any one of us, and that God breathed life into each of us with our own unique purpose, then we might treat ourselves differently. But it's just so obvious that we don't care enough. Or we forget to care. There are so many other filthy humans walking around that it's easy to melt into the mix and forget that it is AMAZING that I or you even exist. I mean, there never has been and never will be another me. I am precious and valuable beyond anything I could imagine. Sure, I'm a sinner and I always will be one. But that doesn't make me or anyone else less special. Of course, I won't live forever, but that's only here. My body is on loan. My soul is eternal. What I do here does make a difference.

I've realized that no matter what I do in life, no matter where I am, no matter how many wonderful things could be happening for me, I can generally find something to feel depressed about on any given day. (It's just like that for me. I have always suffered from varying levels of depression.) But I also know that God is keeping me here for a reason. There's just no way that I could have gone through what I've gone through for absolutely nothing other than that's just the way life is. I believe that my struggles are all significant. I believe they're shaping me as an individual but that they're also affecting the world. I believe that God sent me here to change the world, because no one else can do it in exactly the same ways that I can, since there's only one me. I believe everyone else on the planet has a purpose to fulfill as well, not just me. We all can change the world because we are all equally loved by God.

The key ingredient here is believing in our own worth and the value of our lives as part of a greater context. My life isn't only important if I have family or friends who love me and make my time enjoyable, or if I have talents and hobbies that are interesting, or if I have enough money to donate to a cause and feed an entire village in Africa. No, my life is important because God made me. My life is important because it is human.

Humans are horrific and incredible beings. We're capable of so much (good and bad), yet our imperfect nature keeps us vulnerable. It should keep us humble as well, but interestingly enough, there still exist many humans who must face multiple trials in life before learning the key component of humility. I happen to be one of those humans. I didn't realize just how human I was until shit hit the fan. Thanks, God (no, seriously)! I really needed a kick in the butt. For real. I couldn't have gone on living so inauthentically because all I was doing was denying my own humanity for years, because I thought being a good person meant being a perfect person. Wrong!

I'm going to admit something to you (or probably just to myself, since I doubt anyone is reading this): I am afraid of mediocrity and the mundane. I want to be fabulous and famous (eek, it's horrible to write but I think it's true). I want every day of the week to feel special. I want to be on fire for God and for my life and its purpose at every moment. But that will never happen. We can't always feel that way, because the external world lets us down now and then. However, what I'm suggesting is that we at least think about this stuff more often. Remind yourself that no matter how lame or boring or difficult or distasteful or frustrating or unfair your life is, you will always be a priority for God. His love for you can never be defeated, and He always has your best interests at heart. He can never do you wrong. He is love, and He is all that is true and good.

I went to Mass last night here in Madrid, and the priest said something that really struck me during his homily (and I'm pretty psyched that I was paying attention at that moment specifically):

We shouldn't try to behave well in life (i.e. make good choices, do good deeds) in order to make God love us; instead, God's love for us should inspire good choices and good deeds.

Wow! Okay, it sounded much better in Spanish, but that is my basic translation and I think you can still get the point. I was dumbfounded and also not that surprised...I mean, this is a pretty simple and what should be obvious conclusion. Why do we think God will love us or help us more if we do something good for our neighbor? That is so backwards! Why isn't God's love for us (which is the biggest Love you could ever hope to find) enough? (Well, it IS enough, but we don't always realize it.) Why aren't we doing more to act on His Love? God's Love should be a springboard for us to change the world. Yes, I realize that not everyone has access or the means or the capacity or the health to do all the amazing things out there...but that is why He created you and me! If not someone else, then why not us??!

I'm grateful for the gift of writing. I'm grateful for the gift of language. I'm grateful for the gift of beauty and my ability to see it and seek it. I may seem quiet on the outside, but there's a rumble inside that I know God is helping me to hone so that I can change the world. And maybe I won't make the history books or receive any recognition whatsoever, but that won't undo what I'm going to achieve in this world. The knowledge of God's Love for me and His purpose for my life will be enough.

Singing Mozart's Requiem...then and now, there and here

AY. DIOS. MÍO. Me he enamorado...¡de la música sacra de nuevo!! Hoy fui a un ensayo del Réquiem de Mozart en la iglesia, pero era un ensayo completamente diferente que normal. Esta vez cantamos en el santuario (no en la salita arriba), que es hermosísimo en primer lugar...pero también cantábamos con ¡LA ORQUESTA!

I was quite literally singing in a HUGE choir amongst a sea of violins, cellos, oboes, piano, trumpet, etc. all filling the church, with a super intense conductor leading the whole thing. You just HAD to be there. I wanted to take photos but all I had with me was my crappy Spanish phone whose camera is horrendous. Anywho, I literally felt goosebumps! The whole thing was amazing. There were four incredible soloists, all my age or younger, and my heart yearned to be one of them, to have an opportunity as a soloist in a piece this important.

I looked up at the altar, at the beautiful, colorful and immense paintings, sculptures of Christ and the holy family, ornate golden furnishings, a bright-patterned carpet covering the steps, the high, stone ceiling of this old church (the oldest in Madrid), and I listened to the music we were making. This all feels so royal, I thought. But why "royal"? Well, I realized, we were singing a Mass for the dead, and Jesus Christ is King. It's only fitting that His music be powerful enough to evoke a sense of royalty.

I sang every piece in the Requiem, even though it was my first time with the score. When we got to "Lacrimosa" my heart was in Heaven. It is such a moving piece, and it's the one that originally made me fall in love with Mozart. I am so happy that I get to sing it again! I first learned "Lacrimosa" during my freshman year of high school, in the chorus directed by Sue Thorpe. That was a magical year for me, musically speaking. I was challenged but I really blossomed as a result.

Ms. Thorpe taught me how to read music, which changed my life. She encouraged me to switch from singing alto to soprano. I had started as an alto because I didn't know anything about music (except that I loved to sing), and I can still remember Ms. Thorpe's words when we discussed my moving to the soprano section: "Go for the gold!" she said fervently. I had always been very uncomfortable and timid in chorus class, partly because I couldn't read music, and partly because Ms. Thorpe herself was pretty strict and demanding (although an excellent choral director). But that moment struck the right chord in me. I was thrilled at being encouraged in such a way. It meant that someone actually believed in me, and saw the potential in me as a singer.

I wish I were still in contact with Sue Thorpe. I wish I could tell her how much her instruction influenced me and changed my life. She left my high school for another job after that one year, and my choral experience was never the same again. But if I could tell Sue Thorpe today what her class did for me, I would tell her that she was the one who planted the seed of desire in me to continue studying music. Because of her, I knew that I would pick music as my major in college. And I did. (Well, it was one of my majors.) The music major was extremely difficult, in both colleges that I attended, and although in the end I decided studying music was not my jam, I'm still grateful for the experiences and the lessons. I'm still grateful that Ms. Thorpe made me realize that music is a legitimate and vital discipline of the arts, and that my voice is an instrument I must not forsake in life.

Thank you, Ms. Thorpe for what you contributed to my life. Had I not continued studying music, I may not have continued participating in choirs. And without my musical literacy, I would not be able to sing in two choirs here in Madrid, Spain, like I am. Thank you for your knowledge, your insistence on making good music, and the inspiration you were to me. I wish you could only know.

"Lacrimosa" is a lament sung in a Mass for the dead, but when I sing it, my heart rejoices and my soul rises in nostalgia.

Tangled

I need joy, I need joy. Music is key. I need to feel tears of complete spiritual fulfillment and song within my heart. I need that magical, enchanted sensation flowing through my veins. I need color, texture, form, shape, and vibrancy.

I can't seem to stay in the present. Worry makes me work hard planning for a future I have no knowledge of. I'm always insecure. Where will I live? Will I have enough money? Will I be on the street? What if all this work, all this internal energy and turmoil, was all for nothing and I'm just a nobody in the end? I've got a major protector part who simply can't let that happen.

Love. It seems so rare. Yet so vital. And what ever is it? Sometimes I like to settle in to thoughts of love, not caring if I'm making it up or still completely clueless about what it really means. Who cares, when your imagination can make you feel good, even if it's temporary.

I am scattered and sprawled over too many passions, too many dreams, too many silly hopes and desires. My arms ache from the constant reaching and stretching. I hold on until they're about to fall off and when I finally rest, it's so comfortable I would rather just stay there and never make another move.

Once in a while, something comes up and I feel useful again. Life has some little meaning for me, reserved in a quiet place (and sometimes in a more boisterous one). I appreciate those moments. It's sad I can't predict them.

At the end of the day, maybe all I need is a long, tight, warm embrace.

Whose is this face?

I'm writing this on Cubanita Chronicles and not my other blog because it's in English... I should definitely be writing in Spanish, but I'm so full of emotions and frustrations that I need my mother tongue.

So I'm having a hard time. (What else is new?) In fact, I didn't think this would happen to me. I thought that coming to Spain would change a lot of things. I thought I would feel better. I thought I'd be awesome and engaged and actively involved in the culture and people of this amazing city. (By writing "amazing" I'm actually trying to convince myself that that's what I believe.) Granted, it's only been two and a half weeks, but I already have a head full of distress and ready to burst.

I don't even know what my problem is. I have some hypotheses, but that could be a load of bullshit. I do believe that life is generally what you make of it. Of course, we're all dealt different hands and some people legitimately have it harder to begin with. I can't honestly say I'm one of those people, since I am here in this program and have a loving family that supports me, so that adds guilt to my list of woes. I walk by people every day on the street who are definitely worse off and my heart cries out for them. But I don't know what to do other than pray.

It's like this: I know who I am, more or less, and I know she's pretty fucking incredible. (She's also become a bit harsh, if you can't already tell.) I look in the mirror and see someone beautiful. I look in my heart and see so much talent and originality. But somehow, I can't seem to get through a day truly believing and feeling that all at once. The woman in the mirror is another person, someone I desperately want to get to know. She's someone I'd aspire to be. She's confident and graceful and likeable. Her very presence attracts respect and admiration from others. She's the epitome of femininity and power (the positive kind).

The woman inside my heart is hidden and screaming. She's been out of the house before, but doesn't always get a chance. The silence is torturous.

When I recap in my mind what I've said to people, how I've behaved throughout the day, I am appalled that I still wear this face I see in the mirror. How could I betray her? How could I consistently sabotage a perfect opportunity to give her the limelight? What a shame. What a terrible, terrible shame.

And then I look out my window and see life. I see a view that's new and foreign to me. I smell smoke (oh, you know it) and hear cars and children that keep me awake at night. But I also hear Spanish. Lots and lots of Spanish. It's the language of my mother's parents that has always intrigued me so. This is my dream that I'm supposedly living, right here and right now. I'm living abroad. I'm an expat. I have arrived at one of the many places on my list.

But it doesn't automatically invoke a sense of fulfillment. What's actually out there, beyond the street I see from my window? Is there anything or anyone waiting for me? I've got to get it. Or I could just exist, become one with the crowd and sink into the masses with mundane sobriety. I could walk the streets, look up at the buildings, and never find the woman who truly owns the face I wear. I am a fraud, an imposter. And not even a good one -- as soon as I open my mouth, I am undone. All my ugly, crumbling infrastructure becomes truth and the world returns to its more important business. I resign to time.

It flies faster than the speeding Vespas and the more I think about it, the more I mourn what I know I'll have lost in the future. By then maybe I'll have met her, the woman to whom this face belongs. But maybe her body won't be worn out and tired and she'll no longer want the face because it still won't match. It never will. So I'll always be carrying what I don't own. I'll have to either learn to forget her or try to do her justice. Who knows what that looks like.

Ed is also a problem and he's everywhere. The Beautiful Woman is too strong to care but another part is weakening... It'll all be okay, though. It always is, in the end. God has a funny way of taking care of me when I least expect it.