My roommate was the one who put it most eloquently: they served us dessert first. Because that's how the past few days have felt.
I don't know what I originally anticipated Valencia would look like, but it certainly wasn't like it was. Don't get me wrong- it's a gorgeous city full of fun times and awaiting adventure. But still, as I got off my Renfe high speed train at Joaquin Sorrolla station in the heart of Valencia, stepping into the ridiculous heat that almost immediately had my hair mopping my already sweat-covered face, I had no clue that the hardest few days I would have experienced in my life were about to commence. You know, the days that would mark that I was indeed now an adult.
Just six days earlier, I had arrived (somewhat, due to jet lag) bright-eyed and bushy tailed in Madrid, and quite frankly, I fell even more in love with the city than a kid standing on Main Street USA staring at Cinderella's castle for the first time. Madrid was everything I expected it to be: beautiful, antique, modern, fun, lucrative, and international. The time I spent there consisted of some of the purest happiness I have ever had in my life. But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and Friday, September 9, I left Atocha on a Renfe AVE not knowing when I was coming back again.
And so that brought on Valencia.
I'll admit that I am not the biggest fan of obnoxious heat and humidity that can affect the way I feel about things rather negatively. And, yep, you better believe Valencia has both heat and humidity. I'll also admit that upon learning I would be placed in Valencia I was a tad bit disappointed since I figured, like the majority of people, I would be put in Madrid. And, yep, you better believe that, despite the grandeur of the downtown location, that disappointed feeling resumed shortly after arriving in city and realizing that it was just, well, not Madrid. Ten minutes later, I was dragging 100 pounds of my life up six flights of stairs at the glorious Pension Universal, fending off more heat, bright green walls, and, at this point, increasing hunger and sweat. Clearly, my first impression of Valencia was not that I would have the best time ever, but more like, "How many months until this nightmare is over?"
But, why sulk when there is plenty to do? Moments after arriving it was yet again time to leave, this time to "be an adult" and look at some apartments. The first, a seven bedroom flat, was very disappointing and discouraging. It looked like Temple Towers before its massive renovation. Even more down in the dumps, we decided to walk to the beach where, despite the highlight of seeing and feeling the Mediterranean for the first time, I realized just how much I missed home. The realization crashed upon me: I can't do this. Trying to stifle the tears from my roommates, we stopped at a plaza for some sangria and went home to the "comfort" of our bright-walled, very loud hostel. The next day luckily went better, and on Sunday we were able to spend the day at the beach and move to a new apartment style hotel type thing which was infinitely more comfortable, not to mention right across from the gorgeous City of Arts and Sciences. But despite the moments of happiness, adjusting still was not necessarily the easiest thing, especially with the apartment hunt.
Oh, but the fun doesn't stop there. We had bank accounts to open, legalization documents to handle, rent to pay, internet to find, and a whole new language to learn. But, to make an already long story somewhat shorter, it all got done. And it all got done well. And we became more comfortable. And, quite frankly, I'm better for this.
It took me a few days, but I finally realized that it wasn't Valencia that was the problem, it was simply ME that had a problem. Americans want everything to be completely instantaneous. We are not, by definition, a patient culture. But Europeans, particularly Spaniards, are. They are nice and kind and willing to help a brother out. But that didn't mean that it was any less frustrating for us to understand every word they said or handle their legalization procedures (especially when you were never taught the Spanish vocal for "how to legally enter a country" situations"). Moreover, I still miss home and it will be hard adjusting to everything that I am not going to have for the next few months. I can imagine it will be incredibly difficult around Thanksgiving and Christmas as well. But, after that, it is a new year and soon, I won't be here anymore, so I might as well buck it up and enjoy it while it lasts.
"Quitting is not an option" were the exact words my Dad used when I skyped my parents during a moment of weakness. And he was right. I know that if I took the easy way out and went home, I would regret it for the rest of my life. Moreover, I am in a position that so many people applied for and so many people, probably unfairly, possibly wanted more than I did. But I was chosen, and if everything really does happen for a reason, this is how it was meant to be and this is what I was meant to do. I just need to be a bit more patient and everything will fall into place. I have amazing supports and even though I have no idea when I will see my family again or if I will even have friends when I get back to the US, I will have so much life experience and be so much more independent than I would ever be without this. I know that I can handle anything in the US if I can handle it here. And for that I am very grateful.
Looking back, no one ever said this was going to be easy. They only said it was going to be a really good time.
And deep down, I know it will be.
No comments:
Post a Comment