mis comunidades

Yesterday, I achieved one of my life goals, something to cross off the bucket list.

I have officially been to all 17 Spanish comunidades autónomas. All 50 States, and now all 17 CCAAs. Go me.

I am in Asturias right now, which is an amazingly incredible beautiful city. I have a decent job that pays me, I have the gym, Body Combat and lifting weights, I have my Catalán classes, I have a decent flat with decent roommates. I've picked myself up and dusted myself off from rock bottom last December. Go me, right?

The thing is...I'm still not content. Madrid is just not for me. I need to be by the sea. And at this point, I'm not sure teaching is for me. I know for a fact teaching primary and infantil is not for me. I still enjoy my classes with the secondary students, but the majority of my classes are with infantil and primary. The one private lesson I give, I am realising that I enjoy more of this type of teaching. It's fun, the students learn more and give me more respect and listen better.

I arrive home exhausted. I haven't had any voice for a week now. I have no energy for anything. I have no time to keep up to date with my shows or finish my current addiction, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I still go to the gym and my clases de catalán, but it's not the best I can be doing. I can be doing a lot better with everything. I just lack the energy.

I certainly do not have the time right now to do the thing that I really feel called to do. That is my writing. I just want to sit down and pour out all these words I have in me into my second and third novels.

This weekend, I have been doing a lot of soul-searching and thinking about what I want my future to look like. If I could design it, it would look something like this.

I want to live in a smaller city close to Barcelona. Madrid just...for lack of a clear word in English, Madrid me agobia. Me agota. Barcelona potentially has the same problem. Valencia was the right size for me, a big city (around 1 million), but it didn't feel it. I know Catalunya and/or Valencia are calling my name.

I want to write. I'm not sure if the master is in my future, but I would love it if my novels sell and I had money to live off that. If I teach, it's going to have to be more private lessons. How do I do this legally so I can have my visa and stuff? I know I need to travel.

I want a boyfriend/husband to share my life and my travels with. And two golden retrievers.

I don't know how to make all this happen. I have my first novel finished. I need some time to do a bit of editing and then figure out how to get it published. If that sold, and I became the next Christopher Rice...that would solve a whole lot of problems.

Dreaming...sometimes, it seems that's all I do.

mis cambios

Want to make God laugh? Tell Him your plans." -Amores perros

What a summer it has been. My laptop died, summer camp was so hectic and felt like a prison more than a camp, I didn't get the grant to study in Barcelona. But then I was offered a job in Madrid at the same time...a step up from the one I had but more or less the same.


It seems fate has decided that I have to face my demons of Madrid, and of that, there are plenty. I am having problems finding a place to live as I am worried about another situation like the one of two years ago. I am continuously haunted by that unrequieted love I thought I had long moved past. I am wanting to fall in love and meet someone, yet am tempted by the promiscuous behaviour that plagued me the last time in Madrid. I am armed with the job to keep me busy, the gym which I will join as soon as I find a flat, catalan classes and energy to work on my novel...I am planning on beating depression and low self-esteem for good. And save up money so the máster in Barcelona will become reality.

For some reason, I think destiny will have me ending up in Catalunya. I just feel...I don't know. It just seems to be calling me. It was in Barcelona where I decided I had to come to Spain to live way back in 2003. However, everyone warned me about the catalans, how evil they were. And I believed the lie until 2009 when I went to Barcelona with my friend Ashley, and I completely fell in love with the city again. I feel at one with the sea and with the catalan culture and language. M'agrada molt el català (i el valencià...és ho mateix!) I can't explain it. I just feel called to there.

However, I obviously have to work on all the unfinished issues I have in Madrid. Things will be different this time around. I already have found a group of cristianos gays that I have started going to. I'm trying to be more social and go out more. I'm trying to find this perfect flat with decent flatmates in Chamberi. I want this to be a kickass year.

Before leaving Valencia in June, I met this beautiful, amazing guy...who I shall call Andaluz Mosby. He was intelligent and a nomad like me, always travelling, wanting to see and experience new things. It was doomed from the start because we were both leaving Valencia. However, he got my hopes up and showed me that there is a possibility of having a connection with someone. I know I worry that I'm never going to meet anyone, and I am quite obsessed with the fact that I will turn 30 in December and still have never had a boyfriend...but...surely there is some guy out there, right?

The camp this year...while there was fun had, it was just too much. 200 kids, a month long in a place that felt like prison, not really able to leave the site because of stupid Castilla La Mancha laws...I became a vegetarian for two weeks, and they sort of forgot to include protien in the vegetarian meals. No, not like it's important or anything. So on top of all the stress, I was extra tired from no protein.

I think if I keep in mind who I am and what I want, I can make this year into the best yet and totally forget about the badness and toxicity of 2009-2010. Or at least, that's what I hope.

Maybe this time I'll even find the bar where all the vampires are hiding? :)

el meu any passat

Another year has come to a close, and I cannot believe how quickly time is passing by. On Ally McBeal, the Biscuit's Mother said that if at the end of the year, you don't break down crying, either from pain or happiness, then it has been a wasted year.

I can honestly say that I can break down crying for both reasons. And by coincidence, "Searchin' My Soul", the Ally McBeal theme song, just came on.

It has been a difficult year. Financial issues (being paid late, not being paid enough to live, cancelling trips) were the least of my concerns when my mom suffered a heart attack in the middle of les Falles. (She's doing much better now, for the record). Loneliness, depression and anxiety continued to be major themes of my life. Not to mention the visa issues the Comunitat Valencia has given me.

When I arrived in Valencia on 1 August, within the first five minutes I lost my mobile phone. Was it in the taxi or metro, I'll never know. I never found it. That set the tone. By the end of the week, I had caught sunstroke (insolación). It just set a run of bad luck that has continued throughout the end.

However, despite all that, Valencia has had some amazing stuff. I worked at the best school I have worked at. I felt, for the first time, integrated into the school. The students were typical Spanish students, but I enjoyed working with them, and I had the best colleagues.

I also discovered the gym, which has been my saving grace. What would I have done without Body Combat? What did I do before the gym?

I also discovered How I Met Your Mother.

Looking back at Madrid, I had nothing going for me. Unrequieted crush, horrible living situation, horrible work situation...looking back in Linares...I didn't know what I had. The school was definitely better than Madrid, but not quite as good as La Vall. All the memories of Linares have turned to fond memories, whereas the memories of Madrid are a sordid blur of disappointment, hurt and angst. I think Valencia will become like Linares...the good overweighing the bad when I look back on my time here.

And the time has gone by.

What does the future look like? Any number of things can happen.

1. This is what I am hoping for. To receive funding to study at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona and finally get my master in Spanish.

2. If that falls through and I cannot get student loans, I may throw my hat into the auxiliar ring again, aiming for a place in the north (Catalunya, País Vasco, Navarra, etc.)

3. Go back to the States, work substitute teaching and at Starbucks to save money.

4. Find a job in the States teaching Spanish.

I would like at least one more year in Spain. The more I stay in this country, the more I fall in love with it. There are so many undiscovered places I still have yet to see. I would be incredibly stoked if God blessed me with another year here. But I think long-term sees me teaching Spanish in the States...unsure whether it´ll be at high school or university level. Time will tell.

I can say that while I'll miss certain things about Valencia...the best is yet to come. I have a feeling in my heart it's going to be Barcelona. I better use that valenciano I've learned this year to learn how to stay "Visca Catalunya", eh?

And who knows...maybe El Principe Azul is awaiting my arrival in Barcelona...who knows what is in store.

mi dilemma

I need to write. I have so many things on my mind I'm not even going to try to watch Fisica o quimica. That's how distressed I am. I can download it or catch the repeat Saturday afternoon, eh?

My visa conveniently expires 31 May. I find this out yesterday because of how long they have taken to process. After waiting two hours to get the ID card renewed, they told me they weren't going to bother because of how late it was, but that if I got papers in to be renewed that as long as they were in the system I was legal unless it came back as a no. Now these papers are supposed to be in between 15 days before the expiration. I did not find out until this date had already passed. I have emailed the people at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona to ask I can do. I will probably have to go up there next week, give them what I have, and figure out what to do for the summer. I need the money that comes from working at the camp, but I honestly don't know how I am going to make it on what little money I have as I won't see the money from the camp until the second week of August.

If I somehow got money to go to the States for the summer, there is little chance of of me getting a job. I am too educated for any job where my mom lives, and I can't ask a friend to crash even with offering to do all household chores and a little bit of rent just for the summer, which I would do both.

All day today, I have been thinking if I really want to stay in Spain, if everything I'm giving up is worth it. I miss my car and miss driving. I miss my puppy. I am sick and tired of being broke. And I wonder if it would be easier for me to find what I want most in life, the elusive boyfriend, would be easier to find in the States. And I know I would be a damn good Spanish teacher if I could deal with all the rules and regulations of teaching in the States that aren't so present in Spain. (I can leave school property if I'm not on a class, wear jeans and a polo, etc.) And I am not used to American teacher/students dynamics. I am also worried about my mom and something happening to her again, something worse.

I have reached the point where if something doesn't change in the year it takes to obtain my master, that if Barcelona isn't for me, I would cut my losses and return to the States with my master to teach Spanish or look for a Ph.D.

Faced with losing Spain and the master once again? My heart says I totally want the master, want the year in Barcelona. I still am concentrating on putting all my positive energies on obtaining funding and this becoming reality.

However, I am also...losing the will. Losing my will to fight. Nothing in life that's worth it comes without fighting. But I have been fighting so long.

I honestly don't know what to do. I can't get ahead financially. I know I cannot survive Kentucky. I'm barely surviving Spain.

I'm tired. I'm lost. I'm lonely. I'm scared. I'm broke. I need a hug.

mi gimnasio

I joined the gym.

Growing up, I was always the kid who detested gym (physical education, P.E., whatever class). I sucked at situps, pushups, running, basketball, baseball, volleyball, whatever. I was afraid to change in the locker rooms. I missed every foul shot, served the ball out of bounds if it even went over the net, whatever. I never tried out for any sport, staying a band nerd and a newspaper/yearbook geek.

I joined the gym.

My sophomore year of college, I joined Gold's Gym for $35 a month. I went maybe three times in six months. During college, I also balloned up to 265 pounds at one point due to depression over being gay and other things going on. My mom had to call and tell them, in the immortal words of Chandler Bing, "I quit the gym."

I joined the gym.

I lost 115 pounds (52.3 kg) in a little over a year with walking every day and cutting out carbonated beverages (pop soda refrescos fizzy drinks). For the most part, I've kept it off, averaging betwen 150 pounds (68.2 kg) and 170/77.3 between 2007 and now. At my lowest, I was down to 63.6 kg/140 pounds in June 2009 after a bad case of strep (amigdalitis) that March. In December, I was back up to 76 kg after a particularly bad autumn.

I joined the gym.

I was always jealous of all the gym boys. Being gay, not only do I have the complex of seeing guys and envying their bodies and wanting to look like them, I also have the complex of wanting to be with the hot bodies. But I've always had the excuse of money and doubting that I would ever go. Even after I was told by a psychologist that I should join the gym to work out anxiety, depression and self-esteem issues, the fear of that big matriculation fee in Spain kept me away.

I joined the gym.

In December, after reading every book by Federico Moccia that I could get from the library and then seeing Mario Casas and his abs in A tres metros sobre cielo, I had to do it. Like Step in the book version, when I finally got paid in January, I made good on the New Year's resolution to join the gym. I went to the gym, and like Step, I paid them the money (discount. With the matriculation, the first month was free.)

I joined the gym.

The gym has become my addiction. After being told to try out several classes, I fell in love with Body Combat. (I still will give Body Balance another shot and may try the new Body Pump choreography). While some of the classes made me feel exactly like the awkward teenager (the aformentioned Body Pump), Body Combat is wicked fun. Who knew that fake fighting choreography would be my salvation? I have also taken up running and the ellpitical hard core. It took me a month to get over my fear of lifting, and I had so much "vergüenza" to ask the hottie trainer guy for help. Now I lift twice a week.

I joined the gym.

And it revolutionized my life. I am back down to 69 kg (152 lbs). My nicer clothes are fitting again, and all my pants are wayyyy loose. (Hopefully I'll win the lottery so I can buy some new 28 waist jeans?) I need the gym like Mariah needs splashes of champagne at awards shows. It is my new addiction. I just hope I have time and money to continue with it in the future. Who knew that I had it in me to be a gym rat?

I joined the gym.

mis fallas

So, wait...they burn them four days after putting them up?

Welcome to Fallas, one of the most bizarre festivals in the world....however, it is only second in bizareness in the Comunitat Valenciana, remember, as every August Bunyol has a festival where people throw tomatoes at each other.

All year, the "artistas falleras" work on creating five story Falla monuments criticizing popular culture and governmental figures. It takes about a week every March to construct them. They have to be constructed by midnight on 15th March. And on the 19th March, the city is on fire as all of these Fallas are burnt to the ground. This is accompanied by the Mascletà, an annoying production of smoke and noise every day for three weeks at 2 pm in the Plaça d'ajuntament. And if that's not enough, every night, during the week of Fallas, at midnight, or at 1, or at 1.30 a.m., there are colossal firework displays, ending with the Nit de Foc (Noche de fuego, o Night of Fire, in valencian Catalan.

My favourite part had to be "Les ilumnaciones", when two streets in the Barrio Ruzafa are illuminated with the brightest, most beautiful lights you can imagine.

Another tradition is the eating of "buñuelos", something like a churro made of pumpkin and deep fried.

All week, I was on edge from not only all the people, which always tend to "agobiar" me, but also from the news that my mom was in the hospital. She nearly died. However, the prognosis is good, she´s at home and recovering from a heart attack. It set a somber tone on what should've been a festive event. I did the best I could to forget.

Some of the Fallas were awesome. My favourites included the most evil governor since George. W. Bush governed Texas Francisco Camps as La Bella and (not)ambigulously lesbian mayor Rita Barbarà as La Bestia, Obama as "Baraknieves", a pun on Blancanieves (Spanish for Snow White) and La princesa del reino Letizia and princesa del barrio Belén Esteban.

I have to say, this was a once in a life time experience. I'm glad to have finally experienced a major Spanish festival, but at the same time, I don't think I´ll be doing Semana Santa in Andalucía, Fería de abril (this year in May!) in Sevilla or los San Fermines de Pamplona any time soon.

mi hollister

Hollister, my favourite former employer, has recently opened three stores in Spain, including one here in Valencia. And out of morbid curiosity, I took a visit today to see what it was like.

It was exactly the same, except the Dude's and Betty's side were flipped, and those two oh-so-never-used words were missing. Instead of a live feed from Hunnington Beach, where it would currently be pitch black, they had a taped feed loop from it with waves crashing almost audible over the bland pop punk music that was stale in 2004. And they were more or less the exact same clothes I spent eight months folding every night from 9 p.m. until 2 a.m. more or less. Nothing ever changes.

Somehow they managed to find the three Spaniards over six feet tall to work there, and the models, what Hollister refers to their sales associates, had the same vapid looks as they do in the States. They greeted me at the door in Spanish, where I had heard that they are supposed to greet in English, so I COULD call corporate on them. However, I ended up buying a hoodie, and the girl who rang me up said in the worst accent and not at all from a script "Hey what's up dude?" She thankfully changed back to Spanish after I blankly said.....¿Cómo?. Ohhh, hola qué tal?. (What's up is technically ¿qué pasa? and dude would be tio, chaval, chico, hombre, whatever.

The clothes were ridiculously expensive. Whereas in the States Hollister is actually somewhat reasonably priced as Abercrombie's little sister, in Spain, a t-shirt was 22 Euro, which is easily over $30 even on days where the dollar is somewhat strong. I won't even repeat the price of a hoodie as it's almost as shocking as Beyonce having a career despite her lack of talent. The hoodie I found was on clearance for 15,90. A definite "ganga" as it's usually over 60.

I worked at Hollister for 8 months, making it the longest I've been employed. And I grew a lot at that job. It's the job that motivated me to go back to school which lead me to Spain. I complained a LOT those 8 months, October 2006-May 2007, but looking back, it was a good experience and beat being unemployed.

Still, some of the Hollister policies are out there.

Especially English greetings in Spain.