I suppose it's too early to be homesick, and in all honesty, I really haven't been at all. Granted, there are a few people I have certainly missed, my brother comes to mind, but life here in Spain has been sufficiently exciting, to put it mildly, to keep me busily entertained. Before coming here, I made a commitment to enjoy what this year has to offer without dwelling too much on all I [could] miss from home. I'm only here for a year, and I'm sure that before I know it, it will be July again and time to pack up and head back. Obviously, there is a lot in Spain that the States don't have, so I want to appreciate it while I can, and I don't want to waste my time worrying about things that will still be in America when I go home.
In any case, as glorious as it is here in Cadiz, I must admit I am anxious to get to Barcelona and settle down. It has been like an extended luxury vacation, but living out of a suitcase does get old pretty quickly, though it's really just a mere inconvenience, I know. As the poster child for "creature of habit," I can't wait to establish a structured routine and know what to expect out of a day. Also, while I'm thoroughly enjoying myself, I feel like my time here has been rather selfish. I'm eagerly anticipating Barcelona where hopefully I'll be able to find somewhere to serve; I don't want to be in Spain (or anywhere, for that matter) just for me. Additionally, I want to assimilate already and no longer prominently stand out as a foreigner. But perhaps most of all, I'm looking forward to moving into an apartment, knowing I will be in the same place for the remainder of the year, and finding a place to call home.
Interesting concept "home" is. I've essentially spent my entire life in San Diego, minus the few years in Virginia and all the summer months spent in Honduras. I didn't exactly have to part for college either. Still, the spirit of home has changed, particularly in the past few years. I definitely felt my dorm room in the Earth Hall South 213 apartment was more home than my room back in Escondido last year. Aside from the physical fact that my Little Mermaid blanket was now there, along with my favorite jeans and t-shirts, art supplies, important photographs, and other meaningful trinkets, my heart had settled there too. That room had become my place of refuge, my sanctuary, my haven.
Now as I glance around mi cuarto in Cadiz, which is certainly more than I ever expected (don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining in the least), the barren walls, the impermanence of the stacked items on my desk, and the unpacked travel bag of toiletries in the bathroom, bring back the yearning to be settled. Somewhere. Anywhere.
But really, what makes home home? Family? Friends? My Ariel pillowcase (which, by the way, is here with me)? I feel it premature to discount both the faraway factors and also those that surround me now. Minor dilemma. Then I realize that home is simply where the heart is. And that is Escondido, Reston, Tegucigalpa, Valley Center, La Jolla, and yes, even here in Spain.
And since that was such an emo entry, here are some pictures!
One last note about home: FELIZ CUMPLEANOS, Papa! Birthday well-wishes all the way from Spain. We went to an outdoor flamenco concert a cafe plaza last night and I enjoyed it for you--you would have loved it. :) By the way, Sierra thinks you're only 45. Hehehe.