Volleyball team my senior year
If my high school English teacher taught me anything, it’s that nostalgic writing is inane – sappy, full of clichés, and not worth my time. It’s hard, though, because I’m a nostalgic person.
I miss things a lot.
Certain things can bring me back to a specific time period – Edy’s frozen yogurt makes me think of my senior year of high school, the smell of cheap beer reminds me of the time I turned 21 (my first time in a bar, mind you), Christmas lights bring to mind decades of Christmas past…you know what I mean. All it takes is one bite, one smell, one glimpse…and I’m off thinking, reminiscing, even pining for that time in my life. I forget the hard parts: the nights I spent homesick, how I didn’t feel “good” enough, the people who weren’t so nice to me. I focus instead on the happy memory, the one that stayed with me.
So, right now, pardon me, but I miss Spain.
I don’t necessarily miss the country itself – the bureaucracy, the flat lands of Castille, the way every trip to another city involves visiting one of three things (a church, a castle, or a bridge), but I do miss it. Just like I missed here when I was there. I wonder sometimes if, because I’ve chosen a somewhat international life, I will always be missing someone or something. I think the answer is a resounding yes. My life will be full of the words “I miss you” or, alternately, “Te echo de menos.”
After all, every email I write to Mario when he’s away contains those words. Every phone call is peppered with little moments of oh, how I wish she/he were here instead of there. I will go out with friends and spend my time thinking about whether he would or would not like this drink/this food/this place/these people. Not that I’ll ever really know, but I think about it anyway.
When I was in Spain, I could only remember the good things about home – the convenience of driving, the friends and family, understanding everything that was said, not feeling like a foreigner. I forgot the fact that driving everywhere makes me chubby, that speaking and improving in Spanish leaves me with a feeling of accomplishment, that feeling like a foreigner can sometimes be fun.
No, I don’t want to go out and see the bull. Thanks.
So, forgive me if you will. I’m a bit nostalgic these days. And always.
You can come back now.
Or I can go there. Either one.
