Sitting on the metro. I hope I’m on the right one. I didn’t want to carry my journal and regretting it because now I have to use my iphone as a notetaker. This would be a perfect time to write.
Tonight is my second night in Madrid and first night alone in Spain. I’m not nervous. My Spanish is better than I thought it was; it’s just the different accent and rapid speaking that makes me second guess all of my responses. That will get easier.
I need to keep my mind here instead of 5000 miles away. (ETC). At the very least, I’m aware of it.
I’m in Madrid. I prefer it to Sao Paulo where everything was all smog and noise; and I definitely prefer it to Rome where no one cares to help anyone and people were always in a hurry. I like the language on my ears. It feels comforting to me, even when I don’t understand it. It reminds me of my grandpa and I feel safe in my misunderstandings. Madrid feels familiar to me but I don’t know why. Maybe it is because the city looks like Boston, or maybe because of the books I’ve read. Regardless, I’m happy to be here.