One Hundred Days

I want to tell you what it was like, but it's hard to explain. It was an almost ethereal feeling, the whole trip. It didn't even feel real until it was over. It began on the last day. The day we cried in trains, airports, and planes. But we arrived and it was so...new to me. It was exciting and odd at the same time. We arrived at dusk. The summer sun was setting, turning the sky pinks and orange. We got into the car, and we drove into a city I had never been before.

Laughter, the summer sun, trying the retsina sprite, tsipouro, and ouzo. Streets filled with people and music. Driving to Posidi, with all the windows down and singing along to everything. The sunsets, the sea. The good company.  OLA KALA. Drinking frappe everyday. Reggae, sun, and aperitivo in Italy. Mojitos on the beach. The food, the food. Smiles, adventure, the sea, the hospitality. Espresso, sunflowers, long drives and good company. Going on the scooter, the beach bars, the outdoors. Reuniting and being surprised in Spain. Friends, music, pinxtos and kalimotxos in San Sebastian. Jazz on the beach, the history, and siesta. Mini 2B at Luna's house. The heat in Madrid. Adventures and reminiscing. The bittersweet end.

So now, I've been back in the country for 100 days. It feels longer, but at the same time it feels like I just stepped off the plane. It also feels like I never left, but it also feels like nothing is the same.

It's confusing, I realize, my mind is a bit of a jumble. I've been trying to figure out how to write something like this for over a month now. It's strange, for someone who writes a lot, to be at a loss for words. I think it's not so much just the coming back and having an ~experience~. It's that I learned a lot, and now I'm thrown back into the life I was living before I learned any of it (following?). It feels sort of like I learned to run before I could even walk, for lack of a better metaphor.

I miss people so much. I miss hygge in the kitchen, talking all night, spontaneous song singing, the nose thing. I miss the adventure, sure. But I think I miss the people more. It seems so special because it's a sort of time you can't exactly recreate. We won't ever be like that again (exactly), and it sounds depressing, but let's be real. On the more optimistic side, I can't wait to go on my next adventure.

I feel like nothing I say can even do justice to what I've learned and experienced, as cliche as it sounds. I forget sometimes, about what it was like before I left.

I remember going to the airport, last January. Nervous, but outwardly too calm and collected. I had no idea what to expect. Somehow I managed to navigate in a completely new place, completely alone. I feel so much more... ready... I guess. I feel ready to take on whatever happens next. I guess that's the exciting part.


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