And here it is...
I received the invitation for my cousin's wedding. I love weddings. I love being around familiar faces, alcohol, and music. And I don't think I can go. I have been anticipating these moments since I moved to Spain- a graduation, a family get together, even my brother's and sister's birthdays... or worst of all a funeral. All things that I may or may not be able to attend because I am 3000 miles away in Spain. It makes me feel selfish.
I am in the midst of summer, the ultimate in Mallorca madness. The beaches are dripping in blue, and endless. The weather is hot and it's easy to be happy, or feel free and in love. So why don't I feel that way? I think twice a year is too little to see my family, but I'm making a commitment. I feel like I can achieve more by being here, but nothing is ever a 20 dollar bus ride away anymore.
And here I am. My depression deeper than ever, and I wonder- am I making the right choice?
Mortgage
I was talking to my mother on the
phone this morning about the usual nonsense and anxieties in my life. I called
after a text saying I overdrew our joint bank account. Guess I couldn't make it
this month either to disprove her belief that I'm not saving any of my money.
She assured me it would be fine, and to be more careful next time, cushioning
the overdraft with $200 to avoid fees. I hate letting her down.
Then we dove into what I like to
call the "what's hectic this week in your life" section of conversation.
I went down the list of my anxieties for her: Dante three page paper in Italian
due Friday -- a passage analysis, Spanish three page reseña about the movie
Pan's labyrinth, history exam, math exam, work two double shifts and two single
shifts, babysitting Thursday night and a doctor appointment that morning at
9am, AND a friend crashing on my couch because his roommate tried to stab him
with scissors (probably a drug induced incident). You know, the usual. Well,
usual for me. I asked her, "why can't I just get my shit together?"
-"Because you have too much
on your plate, that's why." It's not really like any of those things can
get taken off my plate right now. Glutton for punishment, pun intended, and as
you can see overdrawing bank accounts is not an oddity. As far as the heavy
school load, well I see it like this: I took off four years to be crazy and
lazy, it's like can I just suck it up and do it? Also, I think because of my
anxiety I'm a little masochistic and blame myself for not going back sooner,
using heavy work load as a punishment. I'm twenty-six, it's not like I can
afford to "lighten" the load if I'd like to get to grad school before
thirty.
My mom informed me today that my
father had his father's trust dissolved and that they would be using the money
to pay off the mortgage. My mind drifted off. Mortgage was a strong trigger of
childhood memories. I remember it as a word usually shouted, and preceded by
"goddamn," or "second," or "reversed." It was a huge
part of the reason my parents fought all the time, and even after a divorce, had always been a recurring theme in their
discourse.
My father bounced between a few
different career paths during their marriage and at one point even went back to
school to be a teacher, a job I always thought he should of stuck with. Most of
the financial burden, during the marriage, with four kids in the house, and
even after the separation, was on her. She continued to pay the mortgage even
after their divorce proving a certain loyalty to at least one
remaining part of their relationship to not fail. It's strange though,
imagining a type of assassination, or disappearance, of this word I grew to
hate so much.
-"Jenny we need to pay the
'goddamn mortgage.'"
I can still hear my dad's
thunderous voice resonating through the crystal vases, or those dangling
chandelier bobbles above the sideboard, like a wind chime or a tuning fork.
"Goddamn mortgage."
It appears that paying off a
mortgage, in my jumbled thought process, is the last step to getting your shit
together, so I'm happy for them. Unfortunately I miss those roaring moments
when my dad had someone to rattle those dangly chandelier bobbles for.
The house of the soon to be paid
off mortgage, for years, has been mostly empty. Just him and the dogs, who keep
fucking dying, one by one, like he needed any more goddamn space around that
place. For the most part the list of noises in that house have gone from kids
playing, to kids fighting, to parents fighting, to hearing those 250 year old
windows creak and whine from the wind, or the occasional toilet flush.
My brother has moved back in to
the house to block out the sting from that wind a little, but it seems the cost
of the "goddamn mortgage" was much higher than anyone anticipated. I
miss that house and every time I go to visit it seems like pieces of it blow
away in the wind, like my special little memories that I never told anyone
blowing away like bubbles, out of reach.
It's safe to say that I'm looking
forward to my own mortgage some day, after I theoretically graduate from
college, and put on my grown up pants, and get a real job where neckties are
optional and I don't have to tell you about the daily specials- the goddamn
daily specials. Hopefully, if I play my cards right, I'll have my own kids who
make memories that they can relive over and over again of a mortgage, even if
it is the goddamned kind.
Finding my way on the Camino de Santiago
I travelled this past weekend to Santiago de Compostela, Galicia, Spain. A place of pilgrimage for many Christians or possibly just people who have lost their way, and decide to follow the one of Saint James (Santiago). I feel at times, especially in Winter when everything is miserable, that I have lost my way. Sometimes I look for a sign, or a new direction. Santiago was where I decided to search. It was also the first trip I took with my boyfriend, since we've been together.
Traveling with a boyfriend/partner is a sensitive subject for me. As much as I always dreamed of doing it with my ex it NEVER happened. I went to Italy and waited a month for him to come, and he didn't and I spent a month doing beautiful things with no one, especially the one person I wanted to do it with the most. The Italian. My current boyfriend is not much of a planner- shocker- and may need a kick in the ass at times, but once the tickets were purchased the deal was sealed. The money would come later and we'd have a blast.
Well a blast we did have. Santiago is a city, but in the old town, or Casco Antiguo, you find yourself lost in the noise of tavern glasses clinking and the smell of someone grilling up a steak, or all the chatting because Spanish people are incredibly loud. The streets are dimly lit at night, and during the day there isn't much natural light since it rains all the time. Perfect place for a romantic (but not cheesy) weekend for you to discover the twists and turns of the cobble stone, careless, streets with your best pal. The rain can be a little disconcerting, like, can I just see the sun for a minute to situate myself or know what part of the day it is? But no, you get used to the spritz on your face and no one cares how your hair looks or wears heels. PERFECT.
Our first night, we decided to discover the tapas scene. They may charge a little more for a beer or glass of wine, but at 2 euros per- compared to the typical 10 in the U.S.- I didn't mind. The tapas are great. Filling and warm and each one different. Here is a cod croquette with some toast with cheese to go with your amazing Albarino; next up a small portion of paella, followed by some jamon and olives. Now I'm full and tipsy. Excellent. After going to 2 or 3 different tapas sites, we walked by a bar with a group of guys dressed as butterflies inside. Ah yes... it was Carnaval, Spain's halloween. Of course I stopped in, and complimented their costumes and immediately made some friends. We shared a few beers and a few laughs. This group of guys (one was in a dinosaur onesie and not a butterfly costume, also hilarious) took us around the town, walking swiftly past the Alameda- a park that I didn't see in the day light, but walked across many times- and guiding us through a maze of more streets, different neighborhoods, and more dopes in costumes having a blast. We arrived at our destination- Club Havana. It was packed with people dancing to loud music dressed up as well in more hilarious costumes. We eventually ended the night meeting a restaurant owner and his girlfriend, who took us to their now, at this late hour, closed restaurant for a free beer, and drove us home. This is how I spent my 30th birthday, and I have no regrets. I will never forget it.
Friday, needless to say, We stayed in bed to cure the hangovers a bit. I called for some takeout and we enjoyed the warmth of the hotel for a good part of the day. It was raining anyway. We finally rallied for dinner, I wasn't going to eat kebab again in the land of the best food in Spain. What a waste that would've been. We wandered back tot he old town, now a little more familiar with some streets but equally unsure of where we had gone the night before since it was rainy and blurry in and outside of my head. We found a restaurant that seemed to be built inside an old mill or farmhouse. The walls were the original stone with the beams sticking out of the ceiling, and the floor and certain parts covered in plexiglass so you could look down into the original well. Amazing location. We shared three tapas an egg and shrimp thing, some typical octopus with potatoes, and the "tiger mussels" which were stuffed and breaded. Amazing again. So delicious and the portions were great. I ordered a half bottle of red wine which, on a normal day I would have finished in a short amount of time, but I didn't want to have too much to drink. I shamelessly corked the bottle back up and saved it for later. I enjoyed it in bed Saturday night.
Saturday we decided to go to the coast. The port of Vigo, which according to the taxi driver is the most important fishing port in all of Spain. We arrived late for the fishermen's auction, done with fresh fish they caught that morning, in front of their boats. Oh well, there was still much to see. We found our way to a street with the oyster catchers sell their catch fresh from the morning along the street in front of the restaurants, catcalling you to come try the "big ones." I did they were magical. My boyfriend doesn't eat raw fish so he missed out. Sorry not sorry. We went on the find a restaurant where they had a seafood platter for 2. We stumbled across a beautiful place called Casa Vella. They had the dish at a whopping 48 euro. Boohoo that's so cheap compared to the 80 you pay in Mallorca. We ordered that and "zamburinas" which are small scallops. They were covered in a garlic butter sauce and were like eating velvet. So spectacular.
Afterwards we finished our bottle of Albarino and shared a chocolate tart. I didn't have cake for my birthday Thursday so this took its place. Also amazing. A 10 for everything. We then caught the train back to Santiago. It was our last night so we had to get in one last meal. But when I say meal I mean one last feast. What better the a grilled meat platter for two! We dressed up and went back to old town and found a cute place to eat in. I ordered a wine called Mencia that I am now having withdraw from not drinking. It was the best red wine I have ever had. It cost 2.50 for a huge glass. It was like a mix of earthy and buttery flavor with a vanilla finish. Kill me now. Amazing. We wrapped up dinner and headed to a bar close to the hotel to watch the end of the soccer game and head to bed. In the last bar there was a man dressed as a typical Galician guitar player from the 1700s who ordered a beer and then asked around the bar for money to pay for it, as he lit a cigarette inside (which is illegal). The bartender cut his guitar strings while he wasn't looking and I just kept thinking "only in Spain."
On Sunday we had to leave Santiago at 10:30 to go to the airport on time. I still hadn't seen the cathedral and I mean, come on. You can't go to a world famous pilgrimage site and not see the destination. My boyfriend decided to sleep so I woke up at the crack of dawn, got dressed and headed back to the rainy streets. The sun still wasn't up and the city was eerily quiet. There were still a few stragglers in the street ending their late Carnaval celebrations at 7 am. It's very odd being one of the only people awake in a foreign city wandering the streets. It was a little scary and calming all at once. I spoke before about being unsure and looking for signs. Well this morning, Sunday February 11th, 2018, I think I found one. As I made my way to the enormous cathedral I smelled this really good fresh smell. I thought to myself just a few hours ago people were drinking in the streets and perhaps a few vomiting. This is not the Sunday morning smell I am familiar with. If you have ever had to open a bar after a busy night, you know the smell I am talking about. The smell of the wood having absorbed cigarettes and liquor and possibly sweat and spit the night before. The smell you can never get out of the bar.
The streets of Santiago de Compostela, at 7:30 am smelled like fresh flowers. But intensely like it was fake. I kept stopping to look for a flower vender or something. Nothing and no one was around. I was the only person walking, like a dope, to the cathedral so early but I kept following the smell hoping to find the source. It was real and indescribable and beautiful. It was a little euphoric. As I approached the steps to the cathedral I found out the the smell was coming from a teeny tiny cleaning truck going around and mopping up the filth and bad behavior from the night before. This is not so uncommon, but the smell was so intense, I thought "who is in charge of selecting the soap they used on the shitty streets and where can I get some?". I just kept thinking this is something I would have totally missed if I hadn't gotten my ass out of bed to make it to visit Saint James' tomb. It was really an outstanding revelation, like little signs appear at the oddest times, and soon Spring will come and you will make it out of your Winter depression and remember why you love life and living in such a magical and rewarding place. I made it to the Cathedral and of course they were doing construction on the front portal, which is the most famous side and the entrance and I couldn't take a picture. I thought I should wait until the sun came up and maybe I could get a better shot. I walked inside the church and it was very beautiful and large. Just like most cathedrals. They ended up beginning a mass as I walked in so I attended and asked the Lord to wash my sins away, with the rain of Galicia. Lent would be starting the following Wednesday, and a little God never hurts. Good for the soul.
My trip to Galicia ended and I arrived back to sunny Mallorca. Monday morning, I walked to school to start my 8am class and I approached the school, with the beautiful mountains in the background and kelly green potato fields that continue, never ending, into the distance, and a warm breeze came across my face, and I felt myself smiling. Spring is coming. It's breaking through the frosted, hard, ground, and melting the snow on the Serra Tramuntana, and soon there will be a rush to the head of the scent of fresh flowers and the birth of baby animals, and it all felt right again. Here's to 30, which just like the rain at times, will not be so bad, and might even introduce you to new friends, flavors, and smells.
Traveling with a boyfriend/partner is a sensitive subject for me. As much as I always dreamed of doing it with my ex it NEVER happened. I went to Italy and waited a month for him to come, and he didn't and I spent a month doing beautiful things with no one, especially the one person I wanted to do it with the most. The Italian. My current boyfriend is not much of a planner- shocker- and may need a kick in the ass at times, but once the tickets were purchased the deal was sealed. The money would come later and we'd have a blast.
Well a blast we did have. Santiago is a city, but in the old town, or Casco Antiguo, you find yourself lost in the noise of tavern glasses clinking and the smell of someone grilling up a steak, or all the chatting because Spanish people are incredibly loud. The streets are dimly lit at night, and during the day there isn't much natural light since it rains all the time. Perfect place for a romantic (but not cheesy) weekend for you to discover the twists and turns of the cobble stone, careless, streets with your best pal. The rain can be a little disconcerting, like, can I just see the sun for a minute to situate myself or know what part of the day it is? But no, you get used to the spritz on your face and no one cares how your hair looks or wears heels. PERFECT.
Our first night, we decided to discover the tapas scene. They may charge a little more for a beer or glass of wine, but at 2 euros per- compared to the typical 10 in the U.S.- I didn't mind. The tapas are great. Filling and warm and each one different. Here is a cod croquette with some toast with cheese to go with your amazing Albarino; next up a small portion of paella, followed by some jamon and olives. Now I'm full and tipsy. Excellent. After going to 2 or 3 different tapas sites, we walked by a bar with a group of guys dressed as butterflies inside. Ah yes... it was Carnaval, Spain's halloween. Of course I stopped in, and complimented their costumes and immediately made some friends. We shared a few beers and a few laughs. This group of guys (one was in a dinosaur onesie and not a butterfly costume, also hilarious) took us around the town, walking swiftly past the Alameda- a park that I didn't see in the day light, but walked across many times- and guiding us through a maze of more streets, different neighborhoods, and more dopes in costumes having a blast. We arrived at our destination- Club Havana. It was packed with people dancing to loud music dressed up as well in more hilarious costumes. We eventually ended the night meeting a restaurant owner and his girlfriend, who took us to their now, at this late hour, closed restaurant for a free beer, and drove us home. This is how I spent my 30th birthday, and I have no regrets. I will never forget it.
Friday, needless to say, We stayed in bed to cure the hangovers a bit. I called for some takeout and we enjoyed the warmth of the hotel for a good part of the day. It was raining anyway. We finally rallied for dinner, I wasn't going to eat kebab again in the land of the best food in Spain. What a waste that would've been. We wandered back tot he old town, now a little more familiar with some streets but equally unsure of where we had gone the night before since it was rainy and blurry in and outside of my head. We found a restaurant that seemed to be built inside an old mill or farmhouse. The walls were the original stone with the beams sticking out of the ceiling, and the floor and certain parts covered in plexiglass so you could look down into the original well. Amazing location. We shared three tapas an egg and shrimp thing, some typical octopus with potatoes, and the "tiger mussels" which were stuffed and breaded. Amazing again. So delicious and the portions were great. I ordered a half bottle of red wine which, on a normal day I would have finished in a short amount of time, but I didn't want to have too much to drink. I shamelessly corked the bottle back up and saved it for later. I enjoyed it in bed Saturday night.
Saturday we decided to go to the coast. The port of Vigo, which according to the taxi driver is the most important fishing port in all of Spain. We arrived late for the fishermen's auction, done with fresh fish they caught that morning, in front of their boats. Oh well, there was still much to see. We found our way to a street with the oyster catchers sell their catch fresh from the morning along the street in front of the restaurants, catcalling you to come try the "big ones." I did they were magical. My boyfriend doesn't eat raw fish so he missed out. Sorry not sorry. We went on the find a restaurant where they had a seafood platter for 2. We stumbled across a beautiful place called Casa Vella. They had the dish at a whopping 48 euro. Boohoo that's so cheap compared to the 80 you pay in Mallorca. We ordered that and "zamburinas" which are small scallops. They were covered in a garlic butter sauce and were like eating velvet. So spectacular.
Afterwards we finished our bottle of Albarino and shared a chocolate tart. I didn't have cake for my birthday Thursday so this took its place. Also amazing. A 10 for everything. We then caught the train back to Santiago. It was our last night so we had to get in one last meal. But when I say meal I mean one last feast. What better the a grilled meat platter for two! We dressed up and went back to old town and found a cute place to eat in. I ordered a wine called Mencia that I am now having withdraw from not drinking. It was the best red wine I have ever had. It cost 2.50 for a huge glass. It was like a mix of earthy and buttery flavor with a vanilla finish. Kill me now. Amazing. We wrapped up dinner and headed to a bar close to the hotel to watch the end of the soccer game and head to bed. In the last bar there was a man dressed as a typical Galician guitar player from the 1700s who ordered a beer and then asked around the bar for money to pay for it, as he lit a cigarette inside (which is illegal). The bartender cut his guitar strings while he wasn't looking and I just kept thinking "only in Spain."
On Sunday we had to leave Santiago at 10:30 to go to the airport on time. I still hadn't seen the cathedral and I mean, come on. You can't go to a world famous pilgrimage site and not see the destination. My boyfriend decided to sleep so I woke up at the crack of dawn, got dressed and headed back to the rainy streets. The sun still wasn't up and the city was eerily quiet. There were still a few stragglers in the street ending their late Carnaval celebrations at 7 am. It's very odd being one of the only people awake in a foreign city wandering the streets. It was a little scary and calming all at once. I spoke before about being unsure and looking for signs. Well this morning, Sunday February 11th, 2018, I think I found one. As I made my way to the enormous cathedral I smelled this really good fresh smell. I thought to myself just a few hours ago people were drinking in the streets and perhaps a few vomiting. This is not the Sunday morning smell I am familiar with. If you have ever had to open a bar after a busy night, you know the smell I am talking about. The smell of the wood having absorbed cigarettes and liquor and possibly sweat and spit the night before. The smell you can never get out of the bar.
The streets of Santiago de Compostela, at 7:30 am smelled like fresh flowers. But intensely like it was fake. I kept stopping to look for a flower vender or something. Nothing and no one was around. I was the only person walking, like a dope, to the cathedral so early but I kept following the smell hoping to find the source. It was real and indescribable and beautiful. It was a little euphoric. As I approached the steps to the cathedral I found out the the smell was coming from a teeny tiny cleaning truck going around and mopping up the filth and bad behavior from the night before. This is not so uncommon, but the smell was so intense, I thought "who is in charge of selecting the soap they used on the shitty streets and where can I get some?". I just kept thinking this is something I would have totally missed if I hadn't gotten my ass out of bed to make it to visit Saint James' tomb. It was really an outstanding revelation, like little signs appear at the oddest times, and soon Spring will come and you will make it out of your Winter depression and remember why you love life and living in such a magical and rewarding place. I made it to the Cathedral and of course they were doing construction on the front portal, which is the most famous side and the entrance and I couldn't take a picture. I thought I should wait until the sun came up and maybe I could get a better shot. I walked inside the church and it was very beautiful and large. Just like most cathedrals. They ended up beginning a mass as I walked in so I attended and asked the Lord to wash my sins away, with the rain of Galicia. Lent would be starting the following Wednesday, and a little God never hurts. Good for the soul.
My trip to Galicia ended and I arrived back to sunny Mallorca. Monday morning, I walked to school to start my 8am class and I approached the school, with the beautiful mountains in the background and kelly green potato fields that continue, never ending, into the distance, and a warm breeze came across my face, and I felt myself smiling. Spring is coming. It's breaking through the frosted, hard, ground, and melting the snow on the Serra Tramuntana, and soon there will be a rush to the head of the scent of fresh flowers and the birth of baby animals, and it all felt right again. Here's to 30, which just like the rain at times, will not be so bad, and might even introduce you to new friends, flavors, and smells.
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