Dream Today, Do Tomorrow

All my life I've been waiting for a fairy tale to come my way. I strongly believe my wait ended the other day when I visited the enchanting city of Toledo, Spain. First of all, I'm from Toledo, Ohio, and it was just a typical known fact that Toledo, Spain is its Sister City. Let me start by saying there really isn't much similarity between the cities other than the spelling of their names. They are pronounced differently, at least by the natives of each city.

Toledo (Spain): toe-LAY-dough
Toledo (Ohio): tuh-LEE-dough

I love and appreciate both pronunciations. However, I had no time to speak or pronounce anything as my breath was taken away by the vast beauty of this tantalizing town. I was warned of hilly climbs and steep declines. I feared not because I'm used to the hills of San Francisco, and felt ready to nurse my homesickness for my home away from home, too. Two birds with one stone!

As the narrow streets twisted and turned in between the 6-7 storied buildings that included homes, banks, restaurants, and shoppes displaying ancient swords, while out of nowhere, a beautiful structure just sneaks up upon you. You go from breath-taken, to weak in the knees. Imagine!





The pictures are of the Monastery and the Cathedral, respectively. Log onto Facebook if you'd like to see more pics! If you don't have a Facebook account yet, I highly encourage you to make one. Myspace frustrates me when I try to upload multiple pics, and it's much easier on Facebook. Besides, Facebook is the new white that's okay to wear before Memorial Day and after Labor Day. =)

I could describe this city forever. I feel as though I've completed one great mission, of many, in my life. When I was younger and learned of the city Toledo, Spain, I never realistically thought I'd make it to Europe. It was just... a thought. The older I get, and the more I see, the more I realize that anything is possible.

I've also learned a great lesson in life, too. Everything happens for a reason, as it explains and justifies the sadness we endure in our past, that in turn, is responsible for the happiness we experience in our present moments and situations. Too many times, we hear it being said, "I wish I had done ____", or "If I were ____, I would ____", "If I only ____".

What IS stopping you from filling in those blanks and changing them from conditional statements, to actual intentions, to completed events of the past that you can later talk about? That is all the future has to guarantee you - the ability to share your experiences and help others live the fullest possible life.

File it under Nuña

... As in Nuña Damn Business!

The other day, this world lost a vibrant soul, a mother, a grandmother - one of the finest persons I've had the pleasure to meet in my lifetime. Ronnie Miller, the mother of my Aunt Laura and Uncle Carl. I only met her once that I vibrantly remember when I was maybe 11 or 12 - nearly fifteen years ago. That exact date isn't relevant, but some words she told me are and always will be: "What others think of you is none of your business!"

She told me this in response to my groaning complaints of typical pre-teen angst, and the phenomenon of the "invisible audience" we create thereof.

Oddly enough, I was in class earlier this week, on Monday I think... and that quote surfaced in my thoughts very randomly, and suddenly. Without thinking, I scribbled it down on the inside pocket of my folder while I was being lectured on the Spanish Present Perfect tense.

Why is such a quote so relevant now? I've been in a different culture and element for almost 3 weeks now. No one knows who I am. I don't know anyone. The typical social cues are irrelevant - the ones I witness, and the ones I portray. I stand out like a foreigner, of course, but in some ways, I feel like I get away with not "doing as the Romans do in Rome". And quite frankly, it doesn't matter what other people think of me here. I'm in Spain, learning the language, culture, and spending money here... stimulating the economy, albeit the Euro is 1.3:1 to the US Dollar. Besides, even if I *did* know what others were thinking about me, I most certainly can't understand them.... yet! And when I can and do understand them, I will have developed and created a near new value system, and strengthened what I've already valued for years...

In the end, it doesn't matter what or who I am... as long as I'm true to myself and what I want out of life. So yeah, what others think and expect of me is none of my business. I'm on this earth to please only myself and the ones I love and care about the most.

In closing, I really wish I could express more deeply into words how happy I am with myself right now and the person I'm discovering myself to be. Three weeks ago, I was my own worst enemy. Now, I'm getting (re)acquainted with myself. I'm also realizing those who have touched my heart over the years and left fingerprints behind, too. You all know who you are, but Ronnie, I don't think you ever knew. Wherever you are, take care of yourself and rest in peace.

Dawn of a New Era, End of an Error

I never thought I'd live to see the day where someone other than an old, rich white man would be President of the United States. I mean, seriously.

When I was in the third grade, I remember seeing a picture of all the Presidents side to side. It ended with Reagan because it wasn't updated just yet from George H.W. Bush being elected, but I looked at it and asked my teacher, Mr. Bowes, why they're all white men only.

"Because only they know how to run a country", he said boldly and with a how-dare-you-ask sort of tone. I was only 8 years old, but I remember curling my eye brows and looking over to one of my classmates, Genevieve Easley, who was the smartest person in the class. She heard what my teacher said, she rolled her eyes, smirked, and sat down shaking her head. I thought to myself that she should be President someday just to prove him wrong. She's black and a female.

I don't remember if it was that same day or a few days later, but I asked my Mom the same question: why are all the Presidents white men only? In retrospect, I can still see her face, and it went a little long, and she began to ponder. She smiled at me and said, "I don't know exactly why, but that only means you have a better chance at being President in the future." (My Mom always said great things like this to me growing up!)

I wanted to be an astronaut, and I had a crush on Joey from New Kids on the Block, but having an aspiration to be President wasn't one of them. Plus, all I knew of President Bush at the time, is that Saddam Hussein called him the Devil of the White House, and I didn't want to be a devil.

I just wanted to be me... I helped my sister with her Easy Bake Oven, and watch Jem with her, but I also played street hockey and football with the guys - she did too! Looking back, I was pretty much one of the girls, too, while she was always one of the boys as well. She and I both got into fist-fights with boys and girls alike. Holly threw down as if she were one of the guys, and I threw down with girls that wanted to fight like one of the guys. No one was safe with us. All of this is how we developed a stronger bond as teenagers and into our current early adult lives.

Anyway, I digress a bit to get back tot he purpose and theme of this post: change on a broad level and for the best.

It was right around this time in my childhood that I realized I was different. I wasn't the typical boy, and my peers picked up on it. The boys would make fun of me, but then became confused when I'd brutally tackle them playing football at recess. One time during Field Day in the Spring my 5th Grade year, I was tennis partners with a boy that made great efforts to make fun of me on a daily basis for "acting like a girl". Well, he was "in my way" during a tennis game and I left a huge welt on his back from whacking him with the tennis racket. He quit making fun of me after that.

The 6th Grade came about, and President Clinton was elected. My teacher, Mrs. Johnson, had us pick a candidate (Bush, Perot, and Clinton), and write about their platforms. I told my teacher that I didn't like any of the candidates because, again, I was ruffled by the fact they were all white men. I told her that I wanted Bill Cosby or Madonna to be President. She laughed at me, and said, "unfortunately, our country will always be far too racist and sexist to elect anyone like them." She said this in a comical, pragmatic tone. Then it became clear to me: she's probably right, but I still hoped that some day, I'd see one or the other.

All I really recall from the Clinton era is that people had jobs and the economy was booming. People were happy, some of the BEST music came out (Nirvana, Bush, Soundgarden, et al.) and then President Clinton got a blowjob, but he was nice and didn't make her swallow.

I do remember thinking that Hilary would make a good President someday, but the fact she stayed with him after all that hulabaloo made me wonder of her true intentions. However, over the next several years, I began to like her less and less, and the Democratic party was falling apart. I figured we'd be stuck with old, rich white men forever as Presidents. I felt so defeated that I was a registered Republican myself.

However, once again, I thank you President Bush for being SO HORRIBLE that you allowed a minority to be elected to office - someone smart and with the ability to construct declarative sentences and read something more difficult than a TV Guide. THANK YOU for destroying the defeatist attitude of Americans that believed the dream of America could live on and allow those that have come to the amazing United States of America over the course of history at a true chance of guaranteeing Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

As a minority of America (oh yes, minority - I may be white, male, 'All American', fiscally conservative social libertarian, but GAY) I'm finally proud of my country for living up to it's true belief that all are created equal. And I'm so happy that I will someday tell my children how wonderful it felt to cast a vote for Barack H. Obama as a registered Republican.

Disconnecting

I'm not what happened to me; I'm who I chose to become.

Think about this... negative or positive, you should not represent what has happened to you, but rather just be the person you chose to become as a result of it.

There has been no better place than Spain to help me realize this peculiar difference. It was easy to run off to DC and San Francisco, to the middle of nowhere, and to the middle of my frustrated fears. Instead of making me better, it made me worse.

What's different this time? Instead of hating myself for who and why I am the way I am, I took responsibility for my past, owned it, forgave myself and others who have wronged me, and moved on to make a better life for myself. There is no better place to do that when you're completely out of your element and culture that tends to dictate and define you rather than realizing what is best for yourself. When you are stuck with yourself, you start to realize what's important to you and what you want out of life.

This trip has, in just three weeks, helped me rewire the life support system I've stayed reluctantly connected to, and there's no longer a shortage in the switch nor drugs being pumped to keep me afloat. Instead, I've disconnected myself to grow because *I* am responsible for who I become.

If you missed the metaphor, this trip feels like self-psychiatry without all the arm-chair bullshit, insurance companies, and medications.

Spanish Zombie

I feel like I need brains because mine is completely made of applesauce right now. No, I didn't go to a Rave last night and do every drug in the book, but I tell you... 4 hours a day of pure Spanish instruction is outright brutal.

At first, I was not happy with my placement. There are levels 1-7, seven being the highest. Then, each level has a subdivision of three. I was expecting to get placed into the 5 level, like 5-1 or 5-2, but I was placed in 3-2!!! Instead of throwing a hissy fit, I decided to just go to class and see how it went, and if it were too easy, then I'd request, not demand, to be moved up.

Well, I was put in my place, literally and figuratively. All four hours of my classes the first day were instructed in Spanish, no exceptions. I really don't think the professores even bothered to slow down to accomodate the class of foreigners. Well, needless to say, I only understood right around 50% of what was said. Maybe less. While the actual material was quite remedial for me, I rested myself assured that it would only escalate at a rapid pace through the quarter. As the week has gone on, I've been right so far.

So, right now, around 95% of my daily language use is in Spanish. That's triple that it was just last weekend. This "transition" period is very tough, but I'm not giving up. While there are times I want to get visibly upset and frustrated, I cope or find coping mechanisms. I try, for instance, to repeat EVERYTHING said in my head, in Spanish, in an effort to listen and process the language more naturally. After all, that's how I learned English, right?

How do I explain it: most of the Spanish going through my head now, I have NO IDEA what it is, or what it means. Can you imagine thinking, speaking, and listening to words, phrases, and sentences that you have NO IDEA what they mean?? Well, step back for a moment and think of my much English words, phrases, and sentences flow through your head. You know what they mean, but in whole, you do it, "without thinking" or knowing the full extent of the meaning... that's the point I'm at now, but definitely not fluid or fluent enough with Spanish... yet.

I will still never forget a certain moment in my childhood when I was talking to my Aunt Laura. We were talking about languages and Spanish. I had to have been no younger than seven. I asked her, "How to they (Spanish speakers) know what they're saying if they don't speak English? " And she responded with, "How do *you* know what *you* are saying (if you don't speak Spanish)?" My face and mind went blank.

While that was always meant to be a rhetorical question to me, and I've pondered over it for years, I think I kind of just "get it" now, as far as what she meant and what she wanted me to think about. Spanish and English are just languages that have different ways of expressing needs, wants, fears, desires, voltion, and and the ability to develop loving and lasting relationships with people of your culture, and ultimately that, of the world.

1.5 languages down, 6998.5+ more to go! Okay, that's too ambitious, but hey, I am known to excel in with what others doubt me.

One Great Realization

I've been having several amazing epiphanies since I arrived in Europe, but only few of them really stick to me. One thing I've really come to terms with over the last few days is: do what YOU want to do, and don't let others define you or influence you. It's okay to be selfish, and make voiced what you really need and want. It goes back to the me, myself, and I.

What you want me to do, and what I want myself to do, aren't nearly as important as what I want to do. I learned in a psychology class once about Assertive Behavior. To put it simple, it's implemented by the use of "I..." statements.

Then I suddenly realized the beauty of a quote I once heard: "I'll be me; you'll be you; the rest is up to us."

This really does make me think about another quote, too, by Tom Robbins: ""When we're incomplete, we're always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we're still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on--series polygamy--until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us."

So here I am, in Spain, making myself responsible for my own fulfillment and learning how to be me, with myself, and I being the only person that can define myself - not others. There really is no better place to do it where I am completely out of my element and comfort zone. I'm also beginning to not treat myself as an enemy, or obstacle, to personal growth, now that I've learned to change from within and not solely from the influences or expectations of external sources or persons.

I still have a lot of work to do personally, but I'm really starting to understand the difference between a co-dependent relationship, and a relationship where two fully, complete people complement each other, and are able to fearlessly challenge each other to grow on more intrapersonal levels without recourse or resentment.

Affluent

I love the word affluent right now, because it can be linguistically twisted to mean different things, and dissected to explain what's going on with me right now. The dictionary definition of the word means, as a noun: to have large sums of money, and oddly, it's use in a sentence in the dictionary is "Only the affluent can afford to travel abroad".

Hmmm, Let's see. I travel abroad a lot and I don't necessarily have large sums of money - debt, but not money. Haha.

Next, you have the word 'fluent' somewhere in there. By the time I complete my studies here in Spain, I'd better be close to fluent in Spanish. And I'm sorry... I will not start lisping my Ss, Zs, and Ds. Seriously, it doesn't sound right and I've watched the mouths of Spaniards when they speak... it's almost as if they make an effort to force their tongue between their teeth in order to make that lispy sound. I don't like it. The Spanish here, however, is in fact "proper Spanish", but when I get back to the States, I don't want to sound "snooty". That is, in fact, how other Spanish speakers view Castilian Spanish, snooty. If I end up staying in Spain, I'll have to deal with it. Nothing is really endearing about hearing Spaniards talk as if their mouths are full of food or with their tongues hanging out of their mouths. With girls, it sounds very ugly, and it makes guys sound like they're gay.

Also, in the word 'affluent', you have the word 'flu'. Yup, I think I caught it the other day. I woke up yesterday with a very sore throat, but it was snowing yesterday! Very nice and calmly, too. My Italian roommate, Silvia, loves snow. She was very excited. She talked me into going to Retiro Park, and I'm glad I did... it was fun, lots of people, snow ball fights, snowmen, but Oh did I pay for it later when all I wanted to do was lay down and sleep for 3 days. I rarely get sick, and I've learned from past experiences that when I do start to get sick, I'd better take care of myself quickly and attentively. I don't need to end up in a hospital, again.

Thankfully, Silvia had some medicine. Let me tell you... the medicine here is awesome. And apparently Socialism is evil. You can get prescription strength meds at the Farmacia for very reasonable prices, and you don't have to see the doctor! I took some stuff last night equivalent to Sudafed, I think, and some 750 mg Ibprofen. I went to bed last night at 8pm in la-la land, and slept 12 hours. I woke up feeling much better, sore throat gone, my strength returned, but still a bit dizzy with a slight cough, and stuffed sinuses. I think it's all because of my body adjusting to the time change, weather, different food, etc. Thankfully even more so, I'll be better once classes start on Monday. Unfortunately, I canceled my trip to Toledo, Spain today. Oh well, I'm here for quite some time, and better weather is around the corner.

Back to bed after I get some tea. A luego!

Silence isn't all that Golden

I seriously feel like I've been in Europe for much longer than I have been. It's only been 10 days. Each day, I feel as though I don't recognize who I was the day previous. It's quite amazing, however, rather scary and enlightening at the same time.

I've had a lot of time to me, myself, and I - more time than ever. Yes, I have traveled quite a bit, but this time it's very different. I'm stuck with only me, myself, and I. When personal demons, battles or moments of personal unforgivingness arise, I'm stuck to battle with only.... yes, you guessed it - me, myself, and I.

Before you think I'm downright crazy and eccentric, (too late) you may notice that I keep repeating 'me, myself, and I'. The other day, I arose to an extremely deep, complex, and life-altering epiphany. Me, myself, and I are three completely different persons or state of beings. Let me try to explain:

Me: Typically used as a direct object or indirect object in our language. Linguistically, it's an object (directly) receiving or being affected (indirectly) by an action. This 'person', from my point of view, is how the world views me.

Myself: A reflexive pronoun used to emphasize an action performed on one's self. This 'person' is how one perceives himself.

I: A subject pronoun. A person performing the action through the eyes of the person performing the action. This 'person' is the real deal.

Then it occurred to me: these really *are* in fact three different people flowing within my own ego that have been intermingling with each other all my life. Now that I know the difference between them, how they affect the world, how they affect me, and how they affect myself, I can move forward in this world as a more self-aware person that can NO LONGER blame "subconscious" actions and reactions therein.

I've just gotten right below the surface of this epiphany and I have lots more discovering to do. I never would have gotten to this point had I not come to Europe and embark on a silent period. Yes, Spain may be a first world country and is safe, if not safer, than America, but truly being out of my element and culture has led to many wonderful, albeit painful, realizations about me, myself, and I.

Silence is in fact NOT golden. It's a diamond in the rough.

Stereo-hypes

I've always wondered the linguistic origin of the word 'stereotype'. I would guess it's a French word since most -type words are. I don't think the French listen to stereos, because had they early 20th century, they would have heard the Germans invading them a lot quicker. Okay, that was mean. I don't care. =)

Last week was my second trip to Paris. This trip was very different because 1) it was fucking COLD there, 2) it was without Brian, which was very hard considering we had a wonderful time there Summer 2007, and 3) I gained a whole new perspective on the French, Parisians namely, altogether.

Parisians have a reputation for being rude, particularly to Americans. First of all, we elected the most embarrassing president ever, twice, and second, Americans tend to act like assholes when abroad. The more I travel, the more I see it and believe it. Okay, perhaps it could be this way anywhere in the world, but what makes Paris so different?

I think I've figured it out, or at least I may be onto something: the French, Parisians in particular, tend to be idealized and fantasized as being romantic and fairytale-like when that is indeed not the case. Yes, the language is absolutely beautiful through its several nasalized vowels and strategic liaisons, the Louvre holds some of the world's best arts, and the architecture of the buildings is like no other. Everything about Paris is absolutely breath-taking.

The Parisians don't take this shit for granted. They are proud of all the aforementioned. Also, they are human beings just like the rest of us. They are still practical folk that have jobs, friends, dreams, worries, and fears. They are ethnically, but not necessarily as culturally, diverse. Of course there are Asian, Latin, Arab, and African influences, but only that, the colors of their skin, really set them apart.

This awareness brings me to my next observation: I am by no means racist, but it just seemed very weird and different to me to see a black family on the street speaking French, just as it was odd seeing two Arab women wearing burkhas speaking French. Typically, black people speak English or 'Ebonics', while Arab women are usually heard speaking English with their thick Arab/Farsi accent or simply speaking some dialect of Arabic all together. Everything seemed intricately unified, and seemingly without struggle. How dare they do this better than America, the *true* melting pot?

Well, I kicked myself out of that box by realizing I wasn't in fucking Kansas anymore. It was lame and ignorant for me to have these thoughts, and it further validated that I've truly been guarded in a culture of White Privilege. Yes, I capitalize those letters to emphasize such a social phenomenon, especially of which happens all the time in America, unfortunately.

Fortunately though, because of this shift in perspective, my humility will forever be impacted, and I can most certainly understand why the French would typically be standoffish to American tourists and make it difficult for them to navigate without knowing the language. I could write a whole book as to why I strongly believe the French do this on purpose! And, I think the French are passive-aggressively showing Americans what a true melting-pot is and how to truly appreciate culture and history. Again, I could write a book on this as well.

In closing, and kind of going on a tangent, Fuck You george w. bush (I can't even give you the respect to capitalize your name, besides, you failed cursive). You have done so much damage to this country that I'm afraid it won't be fixed in my lifetime. You thrived on the ignorance of the American people, twice, and I really hope the door doesn't rip your entire ass off on the way out in TWO WEEKS. Please read this blog and dare call me anti-American or unpatriotic. My new President, Barack Obama, will burst that bubble you created around America, and will make Americans citizens of Earth - the ONLY bubble human should be in, is that of Earth.

Everyone: Get a Passport, See the World. It's a beautiful place. Remove your stereotypes of cultures and others that are different than you, and please don't call them Freedom Fries ever again. The French call them Pommes Frites (fried potatoes) and the concept was originated in Belgium.

Finally, when I arrived in Spain, it was absolutely okay to witness people of all colors speaking Spanish. The first Asian person I saw speaking Spanish, I giggled to myself wondering if she has an Asian accent to the native Spaniards. If she does or doesn't, who cares?

The great thing about Europe is the notion of: "I am because we are."

A Walk in the Park

Today was absolutely incredible. I'm finally over my jet lag, which means no longer waking up at 3am local time and fighting to stay awake during the day. I was still up at 6am local time today, but I think I can force myself to stay up until about midnight, and finally be all caught up.

Anyway, today started off VERY cold, but it called for sun later in the day. On Sundays, the museums are free so I decided to check those out. I went to the Queen Sofia museum and saw piles of pieces of arts from Picasso to Dalí. I challenged myself and got an audio guide in Spanish! I understood most of it, and in the end, it was a very good decision for me to do that. Each painting had it's own code, and each recording guided you through each painting very precisely. With my growing vocab, I was able to follow it and learn some new words as well! It was an exhilirating feeling to naturally pick up new words and phrases. I'm allllllmost fluent!

Later, I went to the Botanical Gardens. Oh my... it was HUGE. First thing though, I was near the entrance looking at the map and I heard a group behind me speaking English... American English! It was nice to find some people from home. It eased my homesickness significantly.

Then, once again, I parted from them and I was stuck all by myself lonesome self. For a few brief moments, I began to accept my solitude. I was just walking around, absorbing the scenary, and sitting down, here and there, to enjoy the crisp, fresh breeze. It was about 54F at this point, and turned out to be a very nice day.

Each moment I'd stop to "smell the flowers", I'd close my eyes and think to myself - why do I have to be alone at this moment, wouldn't it be better to share it with someone, some others? My non acceptance of being alone at those moments were very intense and physiologically unbearing. I'd feel my blood pressure fluctuate and my stomach acids churn. My jaw would clench, my fists too. Each time I closed my eyes, I wanted to open them, and be somewhere else... anywhere else. Anywhere else but there. I'd painfully open my eyes and reality would sink in. After doing this a few times, I realized things are what they are, and I simply have to deal with it.

While I literally stopped to smell the flowers, I've yet to learn how to do it figuratively. Life throws us curveballs all the time. It's what happens when we're busy making other plans. Then suddenly, it connected... life is simply that: a shitload of curve balls.

These curve balls don't determine what happens to you. It's your own choice to let them determine what you become. Reaction trumps any action any day. The moment I accepted this is the same moment I enjoyed that Walk in the Park.

Did I really leave my Heart In San Francisco?

I certainly hope not because Spain will become very jealous very quickly....

I know that I'm usually quick to jumping the gun, but seriously... Spain, Madrid especially, has been just awesome. Now, don't get me wrong, I've had several cultural clashes with the Madrileños.

First thing I noticed, is that if you catch people's eyes in public, they don't naturally smile back at you at all. At first, I was a little ruffled by this thinking that people just aren't friendly. Then I began to give it the benefit of the doubt. Suddenly, today, I realized it has to be a cultural thing. This is how I figured it out:

Usually, in America, if I'm having trouble with something in public, the first person I'd catch eyes with I'd approach for help. Since I'm usually stubborn and like to figure things out on my own, I've slowly come to realize I can't do that in a place I don't know at ALL. How am I to overcome this in a way I'm not used to? How do I reach out for help?

Simply go up to anyone and ask. Yes, it's that simple. You don't have to catch their eye here. They are they types that won't give help unless you speak up. They are very friendly and warm once you engage them, and they love to help foreigners as long as you don't appear to be a jackass. Also, don't be overly polite.

For instance "No Use Usted!!" is what I kept hearing. The use of "usted" has it's place like "sir" or "ma'am" in the States. It's purpose isn't to be overused either. I've come to learn that the initial address should be "usted", and then after that, it's typically okay to not use it anymore.

It's kind of like... politeness gets their attention, but once you break that ice, you kind of have a friend forever, or actually, for the duration of time you need their help. I got the feeling that being overly polite is almost insulting to Spaniards, if not seeming downright contemptuous. For instance, think of when you were pissed at your parent(s) and you called them by their first name when you were younger... yeah, that didn't fly very well. Fortunately, and unfortunately, Spaniards speak their mind, but in a rather non-condescending fashion. They are a "Take it or leave it" kind of folk. I love it.

What did I learn with this? Well, in fact, it helped me break down on huge barrier I have: the projection of shame in times of ignorance and need of help. I've always had an irrational fear of being ridiculed or laughed at when I don't know something or have to "speak up" for help. It has a lot to do with how I was brought up and the environments I was in. I don't directly blame any one person or situation, but in many cases, growing up, whether at home or in the class room, I've been looked to for information and had always been utilized for my ridiculously precise photographic memory with things like birthdays, recipes, or my pristine, intuitive ability to just "figure things out". I've always been proud of that, and have gone to great lengths to preserve that quality within me. But, after just two days of being in Spain, I've come to terms with the fact that, IT'S OKAY TO NOT KNOW THE 'ANSWER' OR NOT KNOW HOW TO FIGURE SHIT OUT. Everyone needs help sometimes, including me.

This day forward, I won't be such a stubborn fuck anymore that pretends to have an answer/solution to everything, and that if you don't speak up, people really won't know that you need help, and their lives will go on. You on the other hand, will miss out.

Arrived in Spain

After months of talking about it, I'm finally here!! It still feels surreal to me even though it's been emotionally taxing on me.

This morning, I arrived in Madrid via train. I took an overnight train from Paris to Madrid. I slept very, very well. As I walked through the Chamartín station to find my way to the Metro, a sudden stream of emotions flared through me. I stopped, looked around, and realized that Madrid is home for at least the next three months. I was overwhelmed and stopped myself from bursting into tears of enjoyment, or would it have been tears of homesickness? Either way, I was at a point of no return. Right here, right now, Madrid is where I belong.

My apartment is awesome! I have my own room, and at some point, I will have up to 3 other roommates. One is here already, her name is Sylvia, and she's Italian. She speaks great Spanish, German, and English. I've asked her not to speak to me in English unless she needs help with it. She said No Problem! She's here to work on her Spanish, too. It's just the two of us for now. I'm in a great "barrio" that is very centrally located. It would be like Logan Circle to DC and Hayes Valley to San Francisco.

Here are a couple pictures:

Here is my room, all decked out and furnished:



Here's my view - Yes, I get a balcony!!!!



This city, the way it looks and the way the people dress, reminds me a lot of Buenos Aires. Of course, there are several differences, but the spoken language especially sounds similar, unless I haven't heard enough of it yet. Looks wise, everyone is very fashionable, and very WHITE. You really don't think you're in a Latin country. Best of all, the weather here is MUCH better than in Paris. It's about 12 degrees Celcius here (about 50F). It's damp and wet, but I didn't need a scarf today when I was running around.

There was a point I became really frustrated though. I began to second guess why I'm doing what I'm doing. I got angry at myself for actually thinking, again, that I wanted to just go home and say Fuck It! I was waiting for a crosswalk sign to turn while I just stood there in frustration and sadness. A lady approached me and asked in English "are you lost??! do you need help?!"

No, I said in a delayed response. What makes you think I'm not from here?

"You're in your 'silent period'- it shows, and besides, you answered me in perfect English", she said with a 'gotcha' grin.

She walked away into the crowd as I smiled, giggled lightly, and looked up. Here's what I saw:



This is more than a "No Left Turn" signal. At this very moment, it was the universe's way of telling me to not turn back. I stared at this sign for about 30 seconds, and then grabbed my camera to capture the significance of it forever.

In the end, it's not about following through with what you put your mind to. It's about feeling pride in how far you've come, and having confidence in where you are going.