Palabra del dia: extrañar --> to miss
When I woke up this morning, it was raining. Not a hard rain, but a mist, with cloudy skies. I checked the temperature for today-- 55 degrees. First actual cold day of the season. This meant only one thing: no dress today. So I pulled out a turtleneck and my boots to make me feel sassy. The thing is that I haven't worn the turtleneck since I was in Granada. This is evidenced by the clothes pin marks on the bottom of the shirt, showing it had last been dried hanging outside my window in the Granada air. When I realized this, it all the sudden hit me. I'm Granada-sick. And it's bad.
Days like today make me think of Granada in a strong way. As I was walking to class, the clack-clack of my boots made me remember walking through the plazas on the way to class in Granada, my boots making the same distinct sound. Suddenly I was put right back there. Sitting at breakfast, eating the toast with strawberry jam that I came to crave each morning, and drinking my cafe con leche. Looking up to see Ma in the doorway, a smile and "buenas dias!" coming from her cheery self. I miss walking (half-sprinting because we were always late) to class with Ronni and Betsy, laughing and being the loud Americans we were told not to be. The people, the buildings, the birds, the flower salesman, the tile roads that my traction-free boots would almost make me wipe out on everyday, I miss it all. Hearing "hola guapa!" as I walk to class, feeling like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world, even if the attention is only because I'm a blonde in a sea of brunettes. Greeting Hermi each morning, his half-smoked cigarette dangling in his hand, arms outstretched for a comforting hug. I've got it bad.
I thought that after almost 4 1/2 months, the same amount of time that I was in Granada, I would be okay. But I'm not. I thought I would go back to normal, but I was wrong. I admit, some of the changes in me are for the better, but that doesn't change the fact that it is different, very very different. I thought life, especially in a place as familiar as Jewell, would go back to normal. But it hasn't. And I don't think it will.
I feel like I'm biding my time, trying to soak up all the time with my friends during my last year here. I'm waiting for the day I can apply to go back to Spain. Not because I hate it here, but because a huge chunck of my heart is left there. I will return to claim it back. I have to.
Until then, I'll keep buying cheese that makes me think of Spain, wearing clothes with pin marks, and walk in boots that threaten to take my life each time I wear them, all so I can remember where I've been, and what I have to look forward to. Hasta luego...