Missing Marbella

It just hit me. I miss Spain. Terribly. I miss my city and my school, miss my walks down the beach, miss my favorite ice cream shop. I miss the ocean, miss the taste of salt in the air and always telling directions based on the beach. I miss the brightly colored buildings, the flowers and the tourist shops, the old Spanish streets and the taste of Spanish food. I miss catching the bus to wherever, miss having the feeling that I could go anywhere or do anything. I miss school, miss my seat along the long yellow wall in recreo, miss helping my friends in Latin and Greek, miss casual conversations with my classmates and having to learn cartwheels in gym. I miss Wednesdays with my best friend, miss calling her up and meeting her in town. I miss our long talks about anything and everything as we sat on the rocks and the sand. I miss her advice, her humor, her stories. I miss my exchange student friends, miss our adventures and our misadventures. Miss having someone to give my ice cream to when I couldn't finish it. I miss being pushed in the pool, miss my princess bed, miss washing the car in my bikini under the warm Spanish sun. I miss endless walks along the paseo, stargazing under blankets late at night. I miss the hugs that I dreamed about every day, curling up on buses and feeling safe in dangerous places. I miss smiling like my cheeks were going to burst, strawberries and cream that I wasn't allowed to touch. I miss spur of the moment taxi rides and melancholy, see-you-soon goodbyes. I miss falling up stairs and getting picked up when I'd fallen. I miss long summer days that never seemed to end. It all went so fast, but not a day goes by that my mind doesn't slip back to Marbella and the people I knew there.  It was a wonderful adventure, and I'm deeply, truly sad that it's over. And to be honest, I'm a bit terrified of what this next year will bring. Life really is one awfully big adventure.

Love from here, there and everywhere,

Shonabell 

A New Goodbye

Tick-tock goes the clock, tomorrow is the day.

The minutes go by and I watch as Sunday turns to Monday: Christian, Cj and I are waiting up at Nina's house. I'm tired from a day of packing, on and off tears, and nervousness for my flight tomorrow; but I can't go to sleep. The taxi is coming at 4am to take the three of us to the airport, where we'll meet up with Christine and Vanessa. Christine, Cj, and I have a 6:50am flight to Paris. I'll be back in California at 8pm.

It's funny, during this year I always made the mistake of calling the Malaga train station an airport. And now, when I went to type airport, I first wrote train station. Guess my mind is still finding it hard to believe that I'm going back. Don't know if I've really processed it at all yet. I did the same thing coming to Spain, put off the hard thoughts for as long as I could, then burst into tears walking through security. It's going to be hard to say goodbye this time. Already gave my farewells to my host families and Spanish friends. But now its time for the hard stuff. For the hugs that you don't think you can let go of. For the tears you think will never stop coming. For the see-you-soons that might never come true.

Don't get me wrong, I'm excited to go back. But in a sad way, a melancholy way: my life here seems so real, so true and so NOW. I don't want to forget, don't want to wake up Wednesday morning and feel like it was all a dream. Don't want to come to terms with the idea of "the past is the past, let it go." I'm nervous. So, so very nervous. I don't know what next year will be like. But I know I have people in my life I can always, always count on to be there for me. I have people who love me, who will stand by my side through thick and thin, and who will be in my life forever. Whether they live halfway across the world or in the neighborhood across the street, I know they'll be there for me. And I'll always be there for them. Forever.

Now wish me luck: I have 6 more hours till I'm catching my flight... gotta stay AWAKE!

Love from Marbella,
Shonabell

Last Days

Well, it's the end. Or, as Vanessa (who is currently sitting on this cramped bus beside me) says, its the beginning of the end. We're seniors: I had my last day of junior year last Friday, said goodbye to my teachers and friends. Christine and I said our Rotary-farwells this past Wednesday, giving out final besitos and saying our thank-yous. I spent my last night at my host parents house last night, made my bed for the final time this morning and cleared out my room of everything except a small pile of clothes that I couldn't fit into my trip suitcase. I gave my host parents a farewell gift yesterday, a painting with my handprint and quotes from the Jim Henson's "Saying Goodbye" song covering the smeared paint. I woke up this morning, packed and ready for our viaje-por-España-y-Portugal, and had a bit of a panic attack. This is it, those final moments I've been looking forward to all year. These are the days of goodbye, of see you soon, of I'll miss you and Tequiero. It's hard to wrap my mind around going back, of leaving behind this life I've built here and going back to the one I've had for fifteen years. I'm turning seventeen in five days. Five. I'm putting off my birthday for as long as I possible can, almost hoping it'll be forgotten in the craziness of travel and sightseeing that we're going to experience this trip. Seventeens always been the age I looked towards, dreamed of. It's the year I'd planned to have so many things done by: SATs, AP classes, first boyfriend, first kiss, best friends, college visits, drivers license, Prom… so many expectations, some of which have come true and others which haven't. And yet, as seventeen comes closer and closer, I realize how many things I've done that I'd never have expected: I've seen and traveled through Spain, been to England, have plans and dreams to travel for the rest of my life, I'm confused for what I want from the rest of my life, but I'm happy to live in the moment, I've fallen in love, I've made friends and family in places I never thought to call home, I've begun to feel comfortable and beautiful in my own skin, I know how to work public transportation systems (mostly), I've learnt another language and have the goal to learn many, many more, I've grown up and yet I'm still confused, I'm still me. Thank you to everyone for this amazing year, I hope that seventeen is an even better one. The future might be terrifying, but I think I'm ready for it.

Growing Up

I'm sitting next to my little host cousin, Nacho, as he writes a book report on the story of Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up. He's got the storybook beside him, making out the words one by one and struggling to decide what to write. "I'm bored, I don't like the story of Peter Pan," he complains, and my host uncle tries to convince him of the wonders of the story. "Así volaron y volaron, como cometas al viento," the words ring in my head as he reads them aloud, the beauty of such simple spanish phrases, from a children's book to say the least, catching my mind and my thoughts until I can think of nothing else. I don't want to grow up. Or do I, I can't decide.

They say the story of Peter Pan is a children's story, a fairytale to enjoy when you're young. I've always liked the story, though as a child I disagreed heartily with Peter and his refusal to grow up. It seemed silly to me, for I'd always wanted to be older and more mature, that anyone would want to be a kid forever. The adults always seemed to have more fun, they went out without parents, had freedom and the ability to choose whatever they wanted to do. The world was an open door to them, and I enjoyed peering from inside the fun, safe house in which I passed my time. How I wanted to be older; oh, the joys of being seventeen, eighteen, twenty, thirty. But now that I'm less than a month away from seventeen, Peter Pan's ideas of running away to Never-Never Land grow more and more appeasing.
To go off and start a new life of without responsibility, worry, stress (except those pirates of course haha), and only the thought of the adventures we might have on my mind. All those responsibilities I rarely considered when I thought of growing up are now crashing into my reality. Its a terrifying and exhilarating thought, to grow up. Because unlike Peter Pan, I do have to grow up. I'm going back in a month and six days: this is the end of my adventure here, this wonderful year that has taught me so much. And though I know I'm going back, leaving my Never Never Land, a part of me refuses to grow up. A part of me still smiles when I play a board game with my 5 year old primo, a part of me still fantasizes about being a princess every time I see a castle, a part of me still dreams of being whisked away by Peter Pan in the middle of the night.

And yet, though I might not have met Peter Pan, swum with mermaids, or been chases through the sky by pirates, I've had plenty of my own adventures here. The people I've met and learned to love, the places I've seen and the things I've done, each a memory I will hold onto for the rest of my life. So, though I may have to grow up, I will always remember what it is to be a kid, to have that hope and love for life that so many people seem to lose. I will always be a little kid on the inside, a princess and fairy-loving girl with romantic hopes and dreams. I can grow up all I want, but that will never, ever change.

Love from Marbella,
Shonabell

Home

With just two months left in my exchange and a month's worth of "viajando" behind me, my thoughts on life ar as steady as the Marbella weather: one day sun, one day rain, and the constantly changing winds. As I'm sitting on the beach, chatting with my friend Claudia, the thought of going back to California, leaving these sunny beaches, lack of homework, and other things that I find so much joy in here, fills my stomach with dread. Then, after spending a week with him in Marbella and Barcelona, all I wanted was to follow my dad onto the plane as I stood there, pretending not to cry, and said goodbye. Most of all, I think back to everyone I've met this year; the Spanish, English, Australian, French, Canadian, *United States of* American, South American, Belgian, and even Danish people I've met and become friends with during these past eight months. Because, though I may have met them here, on my exchange, they will not end up disappearing quite as quickly as these last few days of my life here seem to be. Instead, I will carry their friendship with me wherever I go. Their love, words, and voices will be with me throughout the rest of my life. Whether it's my first host parents' calm silence, which taught me to enjoy the quiet routines that so often make up parts of life, or Eugenia's advice to be careful, for the boys here attack blondes, or Vanessa's constant ability to smile even in the toughest situations, or Christian's words of hope and the future when all I can see is the hard path in front of me, or my family's love for me, or Nina's stories of travel and long-lasting friendships, or Rotary's always-giving spirit, everything I've learned this year has made me, and will continue to make me, who I am. They make this world, this big, giant world, seem so much smaller than it once was. I can now look at a map and see, rather than mysterious blobs on a piece of paper, all the people whom I know and care for. And, just as I'm about to leave this home I have here in Spain to another I have in California, I'm beginning to realize that my definition of home is beginning to change. No longer is it just the old ranch house settled in a little corner of Pleasanton, nor the white and blue tiled house on the beach across from the coca-cola can, nor the four-story, flower surrounded house in Nagueles. Instead, I find that my home is this world; that no matter where I am, it is the people I am with that will make me feel safe, loved, and, quite simply, at home.

***just a quick side note, I want to apologize for taking so long to write this blog. The thoughts have been running around my head for so long, I just couldn't find the way to put them into sentences that would make sense to all of you reading. So, thank you for your patience; I'm having a fantastic time here. I should be posting a few more blogs about my last month, accompanied by photos of course :).

As always,
Love from Marbella,
Shonabell

Thanks, Mom

People are always asking me what food I've missed the most while being on exchange. Many of them seem to expect a "typical American meal" such as hamburgers, ribs, steak, fast-food, or turkey&mashed potatoes to be my answer. I've never been able to think of one food I missed in particular until this morning. I stood around the kitchen, hungry but without appetite. As I spotted a pile of bananas on the table, I went to grab bread, peanut butter (which I've kept in good stock over my exchange, thank goodness) and honey from the pantry cupboard. Slicing the bananas, then lathering on the peanut butter and drizzling on the honey, I felt a surge of homesickness. Not for this incredibly simple food: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich, but for my mom. I stood there, eating, remembering all the mornings during my childhood (and teen-hood haha) where she'd made me a sandwich because she knew I was running late. From soccer games to early morning karate workshops, to sleepovers and birthday parties, even SAT and ACT practice tests; my mom was always there, looking out for me. She'd hand me the sandwich, wrapped in a napkin, and I'd barely say thank you as I grabbed it and ran out the door. So as an answer to everyone's question, the food I miss the most is anything my mom made for me, anything that she did just because she loved me and wanted me to be able to go out and do anything. Basically what I'm trying to say is: thank you mom, for everything; especially the sandwiches. I love you, and miss you <3 xoxo Shonabell

Backtrack to Granada

The rain pounded down on the roof of the car, stopping every so often to reveal a gorgeous blue sky. With Mamen "conduciendo" and chatting Lucia in the back seat, the car ride to Granada was rather calm. I enjoyed the Spanish country-side, which at moments threw me back to our biannual car journey from California to New Mexico back home in the States. We had music playing from my iphone, an odd mix of old and new songs; "You Found Me" by the Fray, "Who You Are" by Jesse J, even "Man! I Feel Like a Woman" by Shania Twain, some made me think of home, and others of being here in Spain. We ate our atun&tomate bocadillos on the road, attempting to pour water into cups without spilling it all over the seats. 

Our three hour drive ended as we arrived in Granada, getting lost in the backstreets of a neighborhood and calling a friend to come and show us the way to her house (where we were staying). That afternoon, we took tea and coffee, then dressed warmly in our coats and scarfs and headed back out the door. Our first stop was an old monastery, with two flights of steps up to it's door and magnificent stone designs around the building. I'd been in Granada for only a few hours and was already in awe of it's history and beauty. Lucia, Mamen, Mamen's friend, and I hopped back into the car and drove into the center of town. We walked our way through the crowded streets; I kept stopping to take photos of whatever caught my fancy: interesting store decorations, dressed up university students, and old building, the list goes on and on.

 

Quite frankly, I was surprised by how dirty Granada is; graffiti and trash line the streets and buildings, causing some ancient structures to be shut down for destruction or repair. Eventually, we stopped for a drink in a tea shop, and I had my first typical Moroccan mint-tea. Mamen's friend's family caught up with us there -- her daughter is 17 years old and was super friendly and easy to talk to, her son is 15 and was nice and up for anything, and her husband, who immediately took an interest in my camera (he used to be a photographer). We walked through the streets of Granada, stopping for tapa after tapa (which are free, with drinks, in Granada). Eventually, it was deemed time to escape the rain and get a move on towards home. Upon our second arrival at Mamen's friends house, we were greeted by tea, milk, coffee, and homemade cakes (yum!). The daughter, Madga, and I went upstairs to bed and ended up talking for hours about typical girl things (boys, flirting, clothes, drama, etc.) ALL in Spanish, which was really fun for me. It was the first time I had ever met someone new here in Spain who hadn't known me while my Spanish was still in need of help; instead we got on like two girls who had no differences between them!

The next morning, I got up and enjoyed hot coffee and more homemade cakes. From there, we made our way into Granada again, this time driving up to one of the most over-looked (and in my opinion the most beautiful) viewpoints of "la Alhambra." We continued our way into town, stopping every so often to grab a photo of the beautiful "vista." We passed through "el sacromonte," a neighborhood in the hills of Granada that consists of houses built into caves. While walking through the winding streets that weave through the homes, Mamen, Lucia, Mamen's friend, and I paused to get a drink and send some post cards (one to California and one to England), from a cute, cave-based cafe.

All too soon, we said our goodbyes to the city and drove back to the friend's house. After a traditional meal of chorizo, potatoes, and fried eggs; Lucia, Mamen, and I found ourselves in the car driving towards Marbella. 

I realized, for the first time, on that drive just how much I'm going to miss the sea when I go back home to California. Yes, I'll only be an hour or so away, but I love being able to look out across the Mediterranean everyday.

Our second trimester of school is coming to a close, I'll get a print out of my grades on Thursday (so far looks like they'll be pretty good!). Semana Santa is coming up, so look forward to a blog full of fun, late night stories and some neat pictures!!

Love from Marbella,

Shonabell McCarthy

**7 days and counting**