Help Me, Ronda.

It's been awhile. Sorry about that. As the semester winds down, I've been thinking (or intending to think) about my paper and my exams and my friends here more than posting.

I do, however, have all the pictures up from recent adventures on my photobucket.

There is nearly just a week left of my life in Seville. It's bittersweet of course, especially since I have just finally accepted being here, have finally just settled in, and have finally stopped being bothered by the majority of nuisances and differences.

Last week or so, I came to the conclusion that, though I appreciate Seville, I do not like it. It is not mine like Wisconsin is mine. The palm trees are not mine like the birch trees are mine. The Guadalquivir is not mine like the glacial lakes are mine. The pigeons are not mine like the squirrels are mine. The dirt is not mine like the grass is mine or the hills are mine.

Spain is rich in history and quirks and strangers talking about exotic underwear on the 34 to Prado de San Sebastian. I live here. I have shared in these quirks and have absorbed the curious stares on the bus for 3 months. I am no longer phased by them. I do not pause as I stride through Plaza Nueva, my heels striking the pavement in a decidedly quick, American gait. I dress like a Spaniard and walk stoic passed the compliment-doling, weed-offering Canis on the street like a Spaniard, but I smile at the dogs on the "sidewalks" like a distracted child and quietly sing along with the dated, American nineties music in the department stores. I no longer feel like a foreigner, or an extranjero, or an American in Seville. I feel like an adjusted Samantha in Seville.

And Samantha is ready to go home, because Seville isn't hers. I was so fed up last week (and last month in general), as though all the frustrations I had been tossing our meaninglessly into the air and onto Ellen's lap were finally resurfacing because I had never really turned inward to deal with them. When I signed up, I knew studying abroad would be hard in a lot of ways and in different ways than I had the capacity to imagine, but knowing the anvil is going to fall on your head before it hits doesn't render the impact any more merciful.

I feel that in wanting so much to see a marked change within myself, I never noticed it slipping in under the radar, but I think this acceptance and growth finally began to materialize when, last Friday, I went to Ronda, a sitty (whoops...city) nestled oh-so-snug-ly in the Pyrenees mountains. I realized what I've missed so much is the convergence of what is natural with what is man-made. In Ronda, the houses line the cliffs. In Sevilla, the cliffs would be bulldozed to make way for the houses.














...Yeah. I think I could get used to Ronda (which means "night watchman").

Sunday, I went to Granada (which means "pomegranate"). From the few moments I actually absorbed the city atmosphere and second-hand smoke, and watched bubble man (picture taken by Ellen and edited by me, as my camera couldn't handle the light source), I think I might have liked it better than Sevilla. It too, rests in the mountains. It has a colder climate and appears to house colder climate people, though, truth be told, I didn't think much of the supposedly awe-inspiring Alhambra (I think the Guardia Civil is going to come after me for saying that).




















But I chose Sevilla, not Granada, and I do not regret it. As I was sitting in my little grey bus seat today, I looked out the window toward the Torre de Oro as we crossed the bridge and realized that I wouldn't see it many more times before I have wake up at the butt crack of dawn, pay 25 euros for a cab, and take my final European flight to cross the Atlantic. It's as though everything I do now carries this sense of finality which neither bothers me, nor brings me joy.

I don't think I can properly explain how I feel about this place or what I've done here. I think I've wasted a lot, but that the waste hasn't been wasted on me.

I've learned.
I'm learning.
I will learn.

Whether I'm comfortable with it or not.

I will come home and torture all of you with countless, seemingly-arrogant tales that begin with the words, "Vale, when I was in Spain..." and you will all wish I would just go back. Some part of me will probably want to. I know that, just like entry shock, re-entry shock will be hard in countless subtle little ways I cannot foresee.

But I am ready.

See you then.

As a sidenote:

Janet Olson said...
Curious minds are wondering, "What's up with Samantha?" Speculative minds are saying, "Oh, she's probably really busy finishing up her semester and getting ready to come home." Say in your blog if I'm right, and if so, I win! Just say, "Mom's right, just like always." Say it fifty times.

Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always. Mom's right, just like always.

Daughter's obedient, just like always.