Why I Love Spain

There are many things that I could mentioncafé con leche, cobblestone streets, fútbol, the melodic language, the parties, the wine … but those all become trivial when I think about the one true reason I keep returning. (Hint: he is about 5’10” and super sweet.)

But yeah, LDRs suck. They suck a lot. They are difficult and messy, frustrating and stressful. They are full of ups and downs, Internet that falters, and time differences. It’s even more difficult when the two people are from different countries, countries with different languages. My boyfriend and I met in Spain. We fell in love there too. It was an October to remember, the air crisp and cool, my new city that enchanted me, a boy who would change my life forever.

Language is only a problem if you let it be. Your heart knows how it feels, cheesy and cliché as that might sound. After three days, I liked him. After a week, I knew he was the one. We spoke in Spanglish constantlywhen my brain could no longer keep up, I would blurt out the word in English and he would know. He spent hours patiently listening to me try to eke out the word, sweetly correcting me just as I had asked him to do. I first told him I loved him in a very unromantic place: a bus. We had spent the entire day together, our first experience with such an uninterrupted block of time with the other. That day, November 13, 2009, we went to his hometown to meet his family. I was incredibly nervous, but it went well. The day was darkening as we climbed onto the bus back to Salamanca. We held hands and talked, but soon grew silent, a comfortable silence that filled me with emotion. I could not contain, yet I could not say it. We neared Salamanca and I knew the moment was passing, would soon be over, the magic drained out of it. I danced around the words for a moment, afraid of what he might say or think of my boldness. But I knew that life’s regrets are strongest when one fails to act. And so I did it.

“Te quiero,” I said, looking into his warm brown eyes. My stomach churned as a split second passed. “Oh Kaley,” he murmured. “Yo también te quiero.”

We often forget the words we say. We remember images and people and smells. Yet I cannot forget the words we spoke to one another one cool fall night in November.

TQ, M.

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