Dual Devotion

I look at my calendar and notice that I'll be home in less than three weeks. I'm not sure if I'm more surprised that it is so close or so far away.

I'm drowning in stress as I desperately try to contact my advisor who doesn't seem to think my emails are worth responding to. Who ever thought that trying to find an apartment, filing taxes, and securing a summer internship would be virtually impossible from an ocean away?

I'm lucky. I have many things waiting for me back at home. Home. A place where people speak my first language. A place where I don't hear "Rubia! Rubia!" every time I leave my house. A place where I can cuddle with my bloodhound and have dance parties with my little brother. A place with Taco Bell. A place with they serve biscuits and gravy. A place with where they play country music (Thank God for Spotify).

As excited as I am to go home, I'm partially terrified. I have changed, more than I ever could have imagined. It doesn't take more than a quick scroll through Instagram shows that I'm not the only one who is different.

I've missed so many birthdays and inside jokes. I've missed all-nighters in the library and laughable experiences at the fraternity houses. Former crushes of mine are now in relationships. My sorority has added sisters I've never met before. My childhood best friend is engaged and having a baby. My nephew is about to turn two and is officially a "kid" now. My younger brother has discovered social media. My parents are moving.

I look through the pictures I've taken during the past few weeks: flamenco dancers in the streets, sunbathing next to the Mediterranean, white handkerchiefs in the air at a bullfight. I see the faces of dozens of people I may never see again. I think of the crazy nights and the days lounging in the park. I think of the tears cried and the jokes that don't really make sense looking back. As excited as I am to move onto the next chapter of my life, it will not be easy closing this one.

I swore I wouldn't fall in love this semester. I had built what I believed were impermeable walls. However, with every late night confession, afternoon hike, and view of La Alhambra, I felt those walls crumbling. Granada has been written on my heart in permanent ink.

I didn't want to love it here. I couldn't deal with the uphill walks to school every morning. I couldn't deal with sharing a microscopic bedroom with another person. I was not a fan of bacon-less breakfasts. There was no doubt in my mind th I could leave here attachment less.

As always, things did not work out as planned. That girl sharing the tiny bedroom with me? She's learned things about me that I should only share with my doctor. Those long walks into the city? A stroll through the park is the perfect opportunity to let off steam after a long day. All the food I did not care for before were merely acquired tastes. The lack of English speakers and Starbucks was actually quite refreshing. I had been wrong about Granada.

 The unfortunate thing about falling in love is that you have no control over it. You are living your life perfectly fine and then one day, you realize you have been irrevocably changed. I get goosebumps when I think about flamenco shows or sitting in on Mass in the Cathedral. I want to tell everyone the way I feel after climbing the Sierra Nevadas or walking through a 1,000 year old building. However, not all loves are meant to last.

In just a few weeks, I'll be leaving Andalusia and re-entering the Southeast. I'll trade in tapas bars for barbecue. I'll  trade the love I have for this place for the chance to be back in the Heart of Dixie. The truth is, you can take the girl out of the Honky Tonk, but you can't take the Honky Tonk out of the girl.