Long-Distance Friendships

I know how the saying goes; it's better to have loved than lost than to have never loved at all. But that doesn't make dealing with the loss part any easier.

I've been home from Spain for two months now, and it hasn't really set in that that chapter of my life is over. The people from my Madrid life are now all over the world, back to their daily routines just like I am. Yes, today's technology means it's not terribly difficult to keep in touch. But that still doesn't change the fact that things will never be the same as they were just a few short months ago.

Granted, nothing is ever the same as it was just a few months ago, and the only reason why I'm making this a bigger deal is because it's a more obvious difference. But sophomore year was still different than freshman year, and people will always float in and out of our lives like dandelion seeds in the wind. On the flip side, putting an ocean between friends doesn't mean the friendship has to stop, which is another thing I'm realizing.

Sure, a long-distance friendship takes more work to maintain, but as one Facebook bumper sticker I've seen says, "True friendship isn't being inseparable; it's being separated and nothing changes." That's why my dad can go to India after twenty-something years and still joke around with his buddies as if they were still in high school. He once told me that the during one night we spent with his friends and their families last summer, he felt as if no time had passed since their bachelor days; that his years here in the U.S. were just a blink, a minor hiatus from their carefree youths.

I want that. I want to be able to get together, ten years down the road, with the friends I have now and be able to chat, laugh and reminisce over our times together, without feeling guilty for not keeping in touch after graduation. Sure, ideally I'd love to stay in touch with everyone. But no one has the time and energy for that, and everyone knows it. That's why I'm able to bump into a high school friend on the Metro to work and chat for the entire 40-minute commute, without the question of "why haven't you called me," coming up. That guilt is the one thing I have to get over. I'm not miffed that people haven't kept in touch with me, consequently I shouldn't feel guilty for not necessarily keeping in touch with them.

I'm going to see Jenna tomorrow for the last time before she goes back to school. After that, I don't know when I'll see her next. But right now, I don't want to think about that. I'm just taking comfort in the fact that I have many fond memories of our times in Madrid to look back upon, and that if I ever venture out to Memphis or Indianapolis, I'll have a friend to pass some time with.

Silence

Silence has a way of sneaking up on you, and when you finally realize it's there, it stops you cold.

Ever since I woke up about 45 minutes ago (I don't have class on Tuesdays), I've been researching the history of the online magazine Salon for a paper I have to write. About a minute ago, I looked up from the computer screen and realized there was absolutely nothing going on around me.

No one is here in the apartment, the fan is off, there's no construction outside, no chatter of students milling about campus. The old light fixtures in the hallway are off, so they aren't buzzing annoyingly. For a second the wind picked up and was making noise outside, but it's gone now.

It's nice to have this brief break, nice to be reminded that no matter how crazy the world gets, it can all actually stop for a few glorious minutes.

Quiero

Quiero hablar un otra lengua. Quiero vivir en una otra cultura. Quiero escapar de mi vida loca. Todo que hago, escribir ensayos, articulos, leer los libros, todo es aburrido.Esto es todo lo que sé. Quiero una otra vida, una vida europeana. No sé porque la vida europeana me parece más romantica, más cosmopolitana, mas sofisticada. Hay un mundo enorme y estoy pasando todo mis días en este pueblo. Yo hago las mismas cosas, llevo la misma ropa, habla con las mismas personas. No es que no lo me gusta, pero quiero algo diferente. Quiero andar por las calles por horas, sin dirección, sin un plan. Quiero tomar café en una café y mirar a la gente que me pasa. Queiro tener una conversación con un desconocido. Quiero enamorarme con un hombre que veo en un parque. Quiero tener una vida lenta, quiero ver a la vida. Quiero apreciar la vida, quiero tener un día en que no necesitas más de veinteuatro horas para hacer todo. Quiero algo diferente.

The Sun Rise

Finally, I can truly say that I've seen the sun rise. Not the sunrise. The sun rise.

This morning, I decided to do things a little differently. Usually the only time I can tolerate silence is while I'm studying. The radio is always (and only ever) on while I'm getting dressed, and I'll usually take my breakfast in my room with the TV on, so as to avoid waking the roomies with the living room TV.

But this morning I took my sweet maple-syrup-drenched whole wheat waffle and my steaming cup of tea and sat down at the table. And that's when I realized that silence isn't so bad after all. Here I was, munching my waffle, sipping my tea and looking out the window in front of me at my beautiful campus. When was the last time anyone in our culture actually took a second to appreciate the meaning of silence. No jarring music, no annoying commercials. Just me, my food and my thoughts.

And then it happened. It started as a spot of light popping up over the building in front of me. Before I realized what was happening I found myself transfixed at the sight of it. Disregarding the classic childhood rule, I stared directly at the gleaming spot. I felt as if I was the only thing, the only being the sun was shining upon. And then I saw it. Right before my eyes, the sun began to rise. The spot began to creep above the building, getting bigger and brighter. Only until the intensity became too much and everything around me turned to spots did I peel my eyes away from it. Once I did, I realized something momentous. I had just seen the passage of time.

We all know that the progression of day to night, of summer to winter, is indicative of the Earth's passage through space. But the connection between the two is very difficult to grasp. Yesterday the fire alarms went off around dusk and we had to evacuate the building. (Everything ended up being okay). As we filed back into the building the sky was that peachy-blue evening color. By the time I got back to my room and sat down at my computer, I glanced outside and noticed, with a start, that it was completely dark outside. Just like that. Not more than five minutes ago was I standing out there in the light, and now it was nothing but night.

But now I snap out of my philosophical meditations and return to the mundane monotony of daily life and dash off to journalism class.

A Lesson About Pea-ple

Continuing with my newfound domesticity, I just finished shelling a bagful of peas that my mom was extremely excited about finding at our local grocery store. (Usually we only come across the frozen variety.) While enjoying the rare moment of solitude the peapods brought, I realized that the old adage about not judging a book by its cover applied to peas as well. While most of the long, thick pods I opened contained healthy, robust peas, there was the occasional giant pod that surprised me with the smallest and dantiest of peas. Conversely, some of the smaller pods, from which I wasn't really expecting much, yielded firm, fat peas. I guess even vegetables can be full of surprises.

Pensamientos

Nota: Lo siento si hay errores gramaticales aqui; por favor, me dice si hay algos.

No es una buena cosa - no estar satisfecho con algo en la vida. Estoy leyendo un libro sobre la historia de la sal. Yo sé, ¿como hay un libro totalmente dedicada a un condimento? Pero lo hay y todavía lo leo. Anyways, cuando leo sobre algunos lugares en Europa donde la sal era producido, tengo un deseo a visitarlos. Si, es verdad que he visitado muchos paises como Inglaterra y Francía, pero no siento que yo realmente vé estes paises. Sólamente pasé dos o tres dias en las ciudades mejores: Londres y París. No creyo que sentí las culturas de estas lugares; no es posible cuando pase algunos dias en la lugar. Cada vez que vio los programas de viajar en la tele, quiero ir a estos lugares. En medio hora o una hora, el presentador descubre toda la cultura de el lugar. Yo tambíen quiero comer la comida auténtica, hablar con las ciudadanos en su lengua, aprender todo de la historia de la gente y el lugar, su gobierno, sus guerras, en unas palabras, quiero sentir la cultura.

Temo que este concepto de viajar es un imágen, un imágen romántica. Temo que es una experiencia muy profounda en mi mente, pero no en la vida actual. Muchos de los lugares del mundo no son muy diferentes de mi propio lugar. Todavía hay la gente, personas que hacen las mismas actividades como yo, ellos van al supermercado, cocinan, estudian, trabajan, disfrutan.

Cuando manejamos con mi tío y tía en el norte de Luxemburgo, o con mi tía en Alemania, o cuando fui al trén a París, la paisaje afuera de mi ventana parecía más o menos la misma de la paisaje americana. Traté mucho observer una diferencía, y si, los árboles son más delgados de los aqui, y la hierba un poco mas verde, pero la tierra es la tierra, si en los EEUU o en Europa. Pienso que quiero que mi vida es como una película, llena de emoción. Temo que yo siempre creyo algo cuando todavía no hay nada.

Yo no sé cuando voy a pedir este idealismo. En mi mente, quiero hacer todo, saber todo, sentir todo, aprender todo. Quiero saber la historia de todos paises, de Europa, de Asia, de Sudamerica. Quiero hablar todas lenguas, catalán, italiano, árabe, chino, sueco. Cuando me dare cuenta que esto no es posible. Ahora no soy una niña, yo se que el mundo es muy, muy, grande, diferente y diverso, mucho mas grande de yo o mi cerebro. O, posiblemente este idealismo es una característica, un parte central de mi personalidad. Es lo que me distingue de la gente. Nunca estaré satisfecha, y nunca pararé a soñar.

Trips on the metro

I had a couple errands to run over at school today and on the way back, there was this family, presumably from out of town. The father was staring at the metro map trying to figure out at what stop their hotel was at - not an unusual sight for this time of year in my neck of the woods. The mother was sitting, staring off blankly, and the two young girls were twirling around the poles enjoying themselves. I was trying to imagine what the mom was thinking. Whenever I'm in another city, I always find myself looking at the people around me and wondering where they're going, what their lives are like in this place that is so new and different to me.

Some people I see are obviously going home. Their droopy eyes and weary faces make them appear as if in some sort of exhausted trance, all their energy spent at work, with barely enough fuel to get them home and into their beds, only to face the same drudgery the next day. It's so weird to me that this is something these people do daily, ride this bus or train around this strange city every day, so often it has become their second nature, while to me, everything around is so new and exciting and different.

But it's the people I see in the evening who I'm jealous of. Those are the ones heading out for a night on the town. You can tell they've gotten all dressed up, brought out the nice perfume and metallic eyeshadow. Some are with a group of their friends, and they're all telling stories and laughing like they haven't a care in the world. Sometimes they're with a date, doing nothing but whisper and hold hands. And sometimes, like the woman sitting next to me today, they are alone, off to meet up with everyone or that special someone.

There's something enchanting about being young and living in the city, something I've never experienced, but dearly wish to. I'm not even sure if I'm that type of person anymore, the type I thought I was. I thought I could be that urban chic, cosmopolitan woman, confidently striding about the city, knowing all the hotspots and always meeting up for lunch dates, bar nights and dance parties. I still have that romantic vision of what my life will be like in the next two or three years, but slowly its starting to hit me that things just may not work out that way. I've got a sinking feeling I'm going to reach the city, get ready to embark on my dream life, and realize that's not actually what I want. Cities are tough. Surrounded by 8 million people, you can feel like the loneliest soul on the planet.

But sitting on the metro this afternoon, I realized (yet again) that it's all really about image. That mom could have looked at me and thought the same thing, that I was on my way out to meet friends or I was just coming from some excursion through the city. But no, I was going back home after spending a day in meetings and interviews at school.

It's a sad feeling, realizing that so much of life is image and not substance. As long as I look like I'm living that urban chic lifestyle, strangers on the train or tourists walking the street don't actually have to know the truth - that I"m just simple old me.