June 18th - June 30th

Binge Write

When I landed in Barcelona, I was in love with everything, oh my god it felt like a pinche novela. I mean sure, the thought of colonization crossed my brain, the idea of Mexican Spanish not being Spanish-Spanish lingered, but fuck was it beautiful. The air, the faces of strangers, the voices I could hear and the songlike syllables ringing out differently than the shit I knew, it was different!  The excitement of finally arriving was all over my skin and it dripped out of the sweat on my hands. Especially during the moment I lost Bam as the subway train doors closed between her and I, separating us into a panic.

But I continued on, because I had to find wifi to communicate with her.

The train station at Barcelona Santa was like a parade of romance, as bodies swayed in the purple hues. It wasn’t the rush of late night commuters to and from work, no. It was something much more new. They held a community dance class at their train station, it was spontaneous to me. I was alone, and I was so in love.  

It was a trap.

As soon as we arrived at our Hostel, Equity Point near Plaça del Mar I knew I was in a tourist heavy spot. It was near the beach strip. Eventually, after finding Bam (at our hostel), and meeting some American/British dudes, I found myself dripping with anxiety (in a bad way) as I had to watch every person that walked past me to ensure I knew I was safe. I don't know if it's due to the fact that I come from a place where you just know you gotta watch people or fearing that my American ignorance would be too much, but I was on edge.

I eased into laughter with three Americans. At first I was scared that I was just clutching to what I knew, being fearful of the unknown, but they ended up becoming the tightest homies during the trip. We had some absinthe fueled nights on the beach where we discovered you couldn't wear sk8-high Vans to most of the clubs, and people generally looked down on you if you went out in beach clothes. Barcelona is classy attire only.

After a few nights of this classic fucking alcohol mess and mimosa-filled brunches, we met a group of french travelers. Now these guys, were fucking classy. As their cigarettes rested in the ash tray, and the smoke twirled around me like a mosquito, I noticed there was a beautiful man in their group. He drew me. I know it sounds cliche, but not like one of his french girls. He drew me from afar while I was in the hostel lobby  eating free breakfast. I was sitting down, eating and played the house guitar afterwards. When he showed me, I blushed. It would be the beginning of a romance that was not quite meant to be. Considering he was like, you know way out of my league. 

Bam and I were all about the music, and the parties. We were 21! So, we prepared for Sonar music festival. One of the highlights of our trip. Some artists I was stoked for were Flying Lotus, FKA Twigs, A$AP Rocky, The Chemical Brothers, Hot Chip, Jaime xx, RL Grime, and Cashmere Cat.

At the festival when I was let's just say at the highest point of my night, I texted my family. Why? Because I'm un poco awkward. 

I found out mi abuelita was dehydrated and went to the hospital. I was terrified. I felt so guilty for being all the way in Spain. I instantly called my best friend and begged her go to my house and tell me over the phone what my grandmother looked like.

But only because, when I was 18 years old, before this whole trip even happened (as you may have read previously) my mother refrained from letting me know over the phone that my other grandmother had passed, and it was only after my school trip that I found out grandma was gone. I wondered if this scenario happened again.

My best friend admitted she looked weak. As she spoke each word I tuned out the sounds, the makeup on everyone's faces, the smells, the sights, to hang onto each word. I made her put her on the phone.

I spoke to her, mi abuelita and I told her that she was my favorite person. Mi chula guapa, que quiero mucho.

And my mind eased. My mom sensed the fear and joked with me that she got to call off work and she was happy about that because she didn't have to bathe one of her patients in the nursing home. I laughed with her, pretending not to notice how close she works with death of old age on a daily basis. Did they know I was high? Maybe. But, they played it off just like I tried to.

I took a walk around the festival to ease my mind. Everyone around me was having a fucking killer night, and here I was looking like my world ended. Every few minutes I’d come across someone or people who would just stare at me and ask if everything was alright. Two individuals approached me and asked me if something happened, and if I needed help. The importance of checking in with someone you see may be life saving when attending these gigantic festivals, so I truly appreciated them. They were screenwriters from Spain, who proposed a magic trick to “flip” my perspective on whatever was upsetting me. They made coins disappear and reappear behind my ear, and then gave it to me and held my hand and looked into my eyes and said everything would be alright.

I found Bam, and our friends from France; we had grown closer by this point. We were like a tight knit family, speaking with gestures more than language. I appreciated them. As Bam and I approached the restroom, she had the idea to face paint for donations and to switch things up.

I was approached by a person that would actually have a huge impact on my life. She wanted one turquoise triangle on her forehead and nothing else. When I heard her speak I thought she sounded Australian, but she was Kiwi! I mentioned how I'd be moving to Melbourne for a study abroad program in two weeks. Her eyes popped and I could see she had an idea emerging. I asked her if she knew any good hostels or backpacking spots. She chuckled and said I should stay with her. I thought she was bullshitting. Nonetheless, I exclaimed I'd love to and we exchanged numbers and even texted each other throughout the night. Little did I know, She would really come through.

The next morning, I found myself roomless as our paid night was over and we had no money to pay for another. I was tired, and tried sleeping at the beach, only to be burned by the sun. I walked, I pleaded for a corner to crash in. I found a cathedral instead.

Sitting in the right center of Basilica de Santa Maria del Pi, the church's enormous frame cradled me like an ant inside of a coffee mug. It was bigger than life itself. When I walked in, I had to keep walking, because every time I stopped in front of a saint, I nearly cried. I should also mention that I did something really stupid, I walked in wearing shorts and a tank top which you should not do. It can be seen as disrespectful; and really distasteful. But at the time, I was tired, sleep deprived and it was very hot. Stupid entitled American.

The stain glass windows only let in a small amount of light as the sun illuminated them from behind. I did cry. I sat and put my hands together and le di gracias a dios por dar me esta vida. I'm not even religious, well I'm agnostic. But my mother is. I could not stop thinking about her. I almost felt like I owed it to her to be religious in that moment, or maybe faithful and hopeful in something, someone taking care of me. To have made it this far around the world, surely, hit hard right then.

Pide que cuidará  a mi familia, especialmente a mi mama. Empese a pensar mucho en ella.

There were candle chandeliers and stone floors and shiny wooden benches. It was quiet. And again, I forgot you weren't supposed to wear shorts or tank tops and bring in bright pink skateboards. Contrary to the previous night, the silhouette of purples, reds, and blue stains my memory rather strongly.

& something else

For our last two nights in Spain, Bam and I used couchsurfing in Europe. I met a man, Salif who was from Senegal who had his friend drive an hour or so from his home to pick us up in Barcelona. He lived in Mataro and was a very, very sweet and fatherly guy. He showed us photos of his family back in Senegal and talked to us about his beliefs. He was muslim and spoke in the most poetic phrases. One that particularly struck me was "la vida es un rio de sueños", he would look at Bam and I and smile, knowing that we had just come across our own dreams in the midst of traveling. 

I asked Salif's brother to translate something given to me by the french artist before we parted ways. Salif's brother looked at me and his eyes jumped. 

"Wow," he said. 

To paraphrase; when I look into your eyes I feel like I've known you my entire life, and it feels as though I'm returning to an island in your arms, one I always knew but somehow lost. 

I smiled, and remembered the way we looked at each other that crazy night I thought my abuelita would leave me. I still have his post card on the wall, and I look at it when I think about different kinds of love.