I've been in Spain for exactly two months. Currently counting down the days until my family comes to visit for Christmas; they'll be here (well, Málaga, which is several hours away) the 19 of December. I can't wait. I've been needing a sandwich hug for as long as I can remember.
My brother is trying to punk out and not come. Um, hello, querido hermano mio, but I think you can spare a week away from your girlfriend to see your only sister who will have been away from home for 4 months by that time and who won't see you for another 5 after that. Porfa.
(Btw, "Porfa" is one of my new favorite things to say. Even those who never took Spanish will know that "por favor" means "please." Porfa's just way more fun. And the Spaniards actually say that! What a world. We also figured out that OMG translates to ADM - Ay, Dios mio! Good times.)
I'm not sure if it's a good sign that, instead of lamenting that I only have seven months left here en España, I'm counting down the months 'til I leave. My homesickness comes in waves, and sometimes hits me at the most unexpected times. I miss random things, like answering the phone in my own house (and having everyone tell me that I sound just like my mom), or coming home from work and plunking myself down in grandpa's chair and watching Law & Order: SVU marathons. Man oh man, I miss TV in English. Although I gotta say, Fresh Prince and That 70s Show in Spanish are still pretty fun.
My favorite thing about Spanish culture so far, I think, is that almost all of their social life happens outside. All day long, and late into the night, you can find tons of people still hanging out in the plazas, talking, laughing, rollerblading, everything. I love watching the conversations, especially the groups of old ladies. They're so cute, especially when they say "No me digas!"
These past couple weeks, I've finally started going out to the bars with students from our program, and it's great because I get to meet really fun people - from all over Europe, too - and learn to drink with friends who are responsible and far more knowledgeable about it than I am. Made the mistake of telling my dad what I'd tried when we went out in Salamanca; gotta be careful with how my stories go. Oops. P.S., though, absinthe tastes like black licorice and is actually delicious. And it doesn't make you crazy like in Moulin Rouge. No green fairies or anything (which was kind of a let-down). I'm still making good choices, so never fear. I'm still too self-conscious and self-aware to ever let myself get drunk. No worries there.
I miss everyone and everything from home. Not even joking. The end of May can't come soon enough.
Nos vemos en siete meses!
Love always,
molly
