I'm Dreaming About Catalonia

The second you need me, I’m there.  You call me at 4AM?  I’ll answer. You need me to get on a train at 6 in the fucking morning to loan you 20 euros?  I’ll do it.  You call me from a bus stop because you’re drunk and you don’t speak Spanish?  I’m on the next bus there.  You want to go on crazy adventures?  I’m your girl.  You want to cry and watch netflix?  I’ll bring wine.  You need someone to go places with you for moral support? Done.  We haven’t spoken in years but you need a favour?  You know I’ll do it.

I never lied to you.  I told you from the beginning that I was crazy and fucked up and broken and that this would end with you hating me.  You kept saying “you’re not crazy” “I’ll never hate you” “everyone’s got demons, that doesn’t mean you’re broken.”  

Every time people talk about suicide, someone inevitably says the line I dread.  “Suicide is selfish.”  You know what I think is selfish?  That thought, that sentence is incredibly selfish.  Because you know who you’re thinking about when you say that?  Yourself.  You’re thinking about how YOU would feel, how YOU would miss that person, how it would affect YOU.  You’re not thinking about them.  You’re not thinking about the amount of pain that person is in.  How they hurt so much that they can’t keep going.  

Then someone will say “suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”  But when the problem has always been there, sometimes worse than others, and every day feels like an eternity of torture, it doesn’t feel like a temporary problem.  It feels like one more day will last a thousand years, and maybe they only have 365 days left of this torture, but those days stretch ahead for 365000 years and they can’t see the end and they’re trapped in their own heads and nothing is wrong and they’re dying then dead.  

Sometimes I am inexplicably not okay. 

Sometimes things are great.  I get up in the morning excited about my days, every one of them.  I dance rather than walk, I laugh and smile and genuinely feel completely happy.  Delighted with life.  I jog in the mornings and sing in the shower.  

And then, like the flip of a switch, suddenly I’m not okay.  There’s no trigger.  Nothing bad happens.  I’ll be doing things I love with people I enjoy spending time with, making plans for the future, enjoying my life until one day when I’m not.  

I don’t want to get out of bed in the mornings, though I’ve been awake for hours before my alarm.  I talk too much or I don’t at all.  I don’t want to see anyone or do anything.  I imagine running away.  Sometimes I even pack my bags.  I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach, like someone has reached their hand in there, grabbed my insides and is twisting them further and further.  I feel sick.  I feel like everything I do is an inconvenience to others.  Even though they assure me I’m not bothering them, my brain tells me they’re lying, that of course they don’t want to spend time with me.  Of course I’m dragging them down.  

Logically I know it can’t be true.  If people truly saw me the way I see me, they wouldn’t stick around.  Then I imagine that maybe they would.  Maybe they stay because I’m so fucked up they’re worried I might do something about it, and nobody wants to feel responsible for suicide.  They wouldn’t be.  I know that everything I think and do and feel is on me.  I don’t blame my emotions on anyone but myself, but sometimes I wonder if people stay because they feel bad for me.  I don’t like me, so it’s hard to imagine that other people might.  

 I want to make this clear from the start that this is not intended as a hate-post of any kind.  Lots of people are happy belonging to the LDS church.  I’m happy they’re happy.  Others are happy not being a part of it.  I’m also happy for them.  This is solely about me, and how I feel right at this moment.  

It’s no secret that I grew up in the LDS Church, and since becoming an adult, my lifestyle has changed a lot.  I recently received a message from a person I used to know, telling me how concerned they were for me, and about how God loves me and will always welcome me back no matter what mistakes I’ve made in life.  It was well intentioned, but I also think it’s worth addressing, because I strongly disagree with the content of the message.  

You don’t need to be concerned for me.  I’m not a lost sheep, hurting and making mistakes while I wander away from the path of goodness and righteousness.  I know that the choices I make in my life are not the same as many of my friends and family.  I am not hurting.  I am the happiest I have ever been in my life, and I want you to know that while you might feel that in the LDS church you are happier than you would be without it, know that it is not the case for me.  Since choosing my own path, my happiness and self esteem have improved drastically.  Feel free to disagree with my life, but please don’t feel sorry for my life.  I have never felt better.  

I love you all, and wish you all of the happiness in the world, however it is you achieve that for yourself.  

My Perfect Afternoon began at 3 PM on Friday the 23rd of October 2015.  

I boarded a bus in Barcelona, and rode it for about an hour out to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere.  I climbed off of the bus and walked about a block and a half over toward the local primary school.  I hadn’t even arrived at my destination when a window popped open and a familiar smiling face leaned out to wave to me.  

I made my way to the entrance of the school and was enthusiastically greeted by everyone I saw from that point forward.  I had so many hugs and kisses and friendly conversations.  The feeling of love and belonging that resided in that place was incredible.  I’ve never felt in my whole life like I was a part of a community that cared about me until that moment.  

I have to admit a little bit of pride at being able to communicate with all of the people fairly effectively, something that I was not capable of this time last year.  This time last year, if they didn’t speak English, I didn’t understand them.  Now, I can understand just about everything in Catalan, and even stumble through speaking (albeit with horrible grammar!).  

After the school day ended, I took a short walk over to a little restaurant/bar/coffee stop where I saw so many people that I knew and loved.  As the perfect after-school-snack, I had a coffee and coca!  I don’t even know how to describe how much I missed coca.  After that it was drinks, dinner, concert and bed.  

My heart belongs to two countries, and it so happens that September 11th is a significant day for the freedom of both, I wanted to address it briefly.  

I am a citizen of the United States of America, and extremely proud to be so.  So I’ll start with them.  On the eleventh of September 2001, I was a small second grader, but I remember the events as clearly as if they were yesterday.  I remember my parents explaining to me what terrorism was, and in particular I remember them telling me “we have to continue to live as fully as we have been, because if we stop living out of fear, they have won.”  That has stuck with me.  Terrorism is only effective if we allow ourselves to be terrorized.  

The most amazing thing to me about the events surrounding September 11, 2001 is the way Americans pulled together.  People from all walks of life, political views, states, occupations, and national backgrounds pulled together as Americans to support one another.  Firefighters worked bravely to save as many as possible, and many died in the attempt.  Through it all, Americans didn’t point the finger at each other, they didn’t split apart claiming that one political party or action was at fault, they didn’t say hurtful things.  They stood strong as brothers and sisters and took care of the people who were affected most deeply.  

Today we live in a nation divided by many different ideas and problems.  It has become so commonplace in our society to say “I don’t want to live in a country where ____ also lives.”  To claim that people “other” than the people most like you are what is wrong with this country.  People so often see a situation as “us” and “them.”  I hope that, without an act of terrorism, someday we can find our way back to that feeling that every American is “us.”  

On the eleventh of September 301 years ago, another event took place, an ocean away from the United States.  Barcelona, under siege, after resisting with all of their power, finally surrendered to the crown of Castile and lost their independence.  

Since then they have faced a long and difficult road.  They have been mocked, looked down upon, and at point even faced attempts to eradicate their language and culture.  During the reign of Franco, Catalan was a banned language.  It wasn’t taught at school, it wasn’t used in public institutions, and people were even forced to change their Catalan names into something more Spanish.  

When Franco died, Catalan was re-instituted as a national language of Spain, but the reality was never quite as pretty as it seems in the constitution.  Though school is held in Catalan, there is a huge push from the Spanish government for it to be in Spanish.  They claim that Catalan children do not know Spanish as well as they should, even though they outperform children from mono-lingual parts of Spain on exams.

Though Catalonia is the wealthiest region in Spain, they rarely see any financial benefits.  Their tax money goes toward improvements in the rest of the country, rather than toward repairing their own roads and improving education at home. 

More than this, and the worst sin of all, when Catalans said “we want to vote on Independence” Spain emphatically said “you cannot vote.  It is unconstitutional.”  They have blocked all attempts at a peaceful split, leaving the Catalans to vote in illegal polls and to protest in the streets in an attempt to be heard.  

This 27th of September Catalonia will vote for their political leaders. Which political parties have the majority will determine whether or not Catalonia moves toward Independence in the next year.  It doesn’t matter to me whether they want independence from Spain, or they want to remain a part of it.  What matters to me is that it is their decision.  They deserve the right to decide for themselves.  It is the way the government in Spain is refusing to let them even try to make such a decision leads me to believe that independence from Spain is the only way for them to be free.  

Before I left I knew I was going to miss Catalonia a lot, but I assumed that with all of the things that I missed from the good ‘ol US of A, and the prospect of returning in a few short months, I would be fine.  I’m not fine.  

A ten year old asked me yesterday “are you homesick for Catalonia?”  The answer is completely yes.  

So a short update on me, I traveled with my family to Northern California to see where my mother grew up, and the redwood forest.  We spent Independence Day in some random town I’d never heard of, which turned out to have a spectacular fireworks show, so that was nice.  Then I was off to NYC!  I spent a weekend with my best friend, and it was so good to see her.  Then I got a summer job at the cinema.  Anyway, nothing terribly exciting.  

Without further ado, the promised “things I miss about Catalunya” list.  

1. People.  I met so many great people while I was over there, and while they’re all off on wonderful adventures right now, I just miss seeing them on a regular basis and talking and going out for coffee, which brings me to my next point.  

2. Coffee.  Okay, as much as Americans claim that they have coffee, and as much as hipsters talk about the small non-mainstream cafes and things, any coffee made in America is watery and gross.  It doesn’t matter if I say ‘I just want plain coffee with a little bit of milk,’ because even what we consider ‘black coffee’ is not.  It just is not the same, and I know which one I prefer.  1st item on my to-do list is buying a coffee maker so I can make my own damn coffee.  

3. Catalan.  I never thought I would tire of hearing English all around me all the time, but I have hit a point where I just really wish I had someone to speak to in Catalan.  When I try to talk about something it always loses a bit in translation. For example “tinc ganes” does not translate into English.  You can say “I have hunger” but it’s not the same.  You cannot say “I have hunger to travel” or “I have hunger to watch a sunset” the closest thing we have is “I want” but it doesn’t carry the same sentiment. Little things like this have me wishing I could find a way in my native language to express a concept that is not common in my culture.  

4. Eating Culture.  I have felt so gross since returning to the US, just because of the difference in the way the cultures treat their bodies about food.  In Catalonia they sit down and eat three solid meals a day, slowly and in courses.  In the US, I maybe snack a little throughout the day, don’t sit down for a single meal, and most likely consume more calories this way, and more unhealthy things.  I miss the culture where people take their time with their food, it’s not an inconvenience, but a planned part of the day.  

In less than a month I’m going back to the United States and I’m not super psyched about it, to be honest. I keep telling myself things like “I’m not going home, I’m visiting for a month and then coming back here.”  

So in order to get excited about the good ol’ US of A, I’m writing a list of the things that I have missed and am excited to see again.  

1. Family and friends.  This is a biggie.  It’s been eight whole months without seeing anybody from home.  My sister is getting married in a month, and basically I’m excited to see everyone.  

2. MEXICAN FOOD!  Catalonia doesn't believe in Mexican food.  As far as I can tell, there are exactly two Mexican restaurants in the entire country, and neither of them are good Mexican food.  Basically I can’t wait to return to the land of the taco bus and the spicy food.  

3. Shopping whenever I want.  This sounds strange, but you have to understand that in Catalonia the shops are always closed.  They open at about ten AM, which is normal for clothes shops, but the grocery store?  Not so much.  Then at one they all close and don’t open again until five.  They;re open from five until eight Mondays through Fridays.  Saturdays they don’t open in the afternoons, and Sundays they are closed all day.  When in the hell am I supposed to get any shopping done?  in the US, I can go to the grocery store at two AM and it will be there for me.  I miss that. 

4. My shoes!  My bajillions of shoes were all boxed up or lent to my sisters before I left and I am so excited to have them all back!!  

5. People understanding my humor.  Humor is cultural.  Always,  For example, if you reference ‘a relaxing cup of cafe con leche in Plaza Mayor’ people here laugh.  Americans might nod and agree ‘yeah that sounds nice.’  Having been raised in a different culture than the one here, my dark and twisted humor doesn’t always make sense.  My favourite joke leaves people looking at me like I’m insane.  In the US, people might not identify with my humor, but they will understand it.  

The thing about traveling is leaving.

Most people don’t understand.  

They look and say “I travel. I’ve traveled to Cancun and Hawaii and Paris, and I don’t feel sad about leaving.”

Rather, they feel relieved when their vacation comes to a close because they’ve been away from their cozy home for a week or two.  

 But those people aren’t traveling.  

They’re touring. Visiting.  Stopping in to see the sights.

Real travel means leaving.  

It means that you soak in a place.  You see the bones and feel the stories.  

You meet the people and learn about the culture,

And when the time comes, you have to leave.  

Because if you don’t leave, we call it “moving.”  

 I’ve fallen in love with people and places across several continents and many different countries.

The thing about it is, you can’t close your heart to avoid the pain that always comes with leaving.

Because the richness of the experience wouldn’t mean so much if it didn’t hurt to say goodbye.  

 So it hurts.  A lot.  You cry more on airplanes than you cry anywhere else,

But the next opportunity, you do it all over again.  

Because while the thing about traveling is leaving,

I have a secret language.  It’s not exactly secret. Thirteen million people know how to speak this language, but if English is spoken by 1.2 billion people, thirteen million seems a pretty small number.  

When I was a kid, I used to wish I had a secret language that not many people knew how to speak.  I imagined speaking this language with my siblings or a friend, and enjoying the confused looks of passers-by.  Unfortunately, I only knew English. 

When I got to the age where I could take a language elective in school I chose Spanish initially because my father spoke Spanish, and I would have someone to speak with in my secret language.  I quickly realized that Spanish was not secret.  Everybody speaks Spanish.  So I switched to French.  I enjoy French, and thanks to a great teacher, I speak enough French to comfortably travel in France.Still, I didn’t have my secret language. 

Recently I moved to the small country of Catalonia where they speak Catalan.  Contrary to popular belief, Catalan is not a variation of Spanish.  It is a Latin-based language in its own right, with it’s own grammar rules and sentence structures. 

I have struggled since November to understand this language and learn to respond when people speak to me,  Until recently, my abilities were limited to “hello,” “good morning,” “coffee with milk,” and “listen to me.” 

Two weeks ago I decided to start speaking.  Badly or not, I knew I wouldn’t ever learn if I didn’t try. Since beginning to speak at every opportunity, I have improved so much!  I can communicate my thoughts and ideas and I feel like I can once again speak with people in a normal way.  

Wherever you go, there are things that people will tell you, that they wholeheartedly believe, that are not necessarily true.  My mother used to tell me that going to sleep with wet hair would make me sick.  I don't know if it's true, but in a house that was always precisely 71 degrees fahrenheit, I'm fairly certain I wasn't going to die.  

Since moving to Catalonia, I've received some weird pieces of advice, the least strange of which was "if you don't wear a scarf, you'll lose your voice."  While I'm certain it's not true (I didn't wear a scarf for the majority of my life, and spent most of it with a voice) it's easy to wrap up, so I do it.  No big deal.  

Others are even stranger.  For instance, when I had the flu a few weeks ago I was told by several different people that I should cut an onion in half and put it under my bed while I slept, and I would feel better. I don't know about you, but I seriously hate the smell of onions.  If I were to do that, I would smell like onion, my clothes would smell like onion, my room would smell like onion, and I would be completely grossed out, and still have the flu.  

I've also been told (and this is the piece of advice I'm least likely to take) that I shouldn't eat cookies straight out of the oven, because eating hot cookies is bad for your digestive system.  Strangely, the same is not true for hot soup, or french fries.  My suspicion is that years ago some parent told this to their kid because they were saving the cookies for after dinner and didn't want them to be eaten beforehand, and the myth has been perpetuated.  There is nothing better than hot cookies in milk.  

As a side note, I made chocolate chip cookies yesterday, and they're kind of a novelty around here.  My host used to work in a bakery, and he tried to make shapes out of the cookie dough, not knowing that chocolate chip cookies always spread.   As a result, I have some strangely shaped cookies.  Also, I live in a teeny little town with a grocery store that has four miniature aisles, and while they sell 27 different kinds of cheese and every form of almond you can imagine, they do not sell vanilla, and nobody knew what I meant by "chocolate chips". (They didn't know what I meant when I said "vanilla" either, but when I ran it through google translate, it's basically the same word in Catalan.)