crying in the airport
Jul. 2nd, 2024 03:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nowiammyselfI cried in on a toilet in a stall in the Madrid bathroom and I tried to contain my sobs. I left the bathroom and found a seat in the relative darkness against a wall with nobody immediately nearby and I cried some more as I thought about my disappointing year.
My entire life I've dreamed about leaving the United States and finding a life somewhere else, and I finally packed my bags and did it and all I found was a place that didn't want me. I guess that's common, extremely common, and when I was a nineteen year old dreaming about being a missionary in a country that outlawed christianity, the thought of living somewhere that didn't want me excited me.
(I have always been a child unwanted. My mom didn't want me, my dad didn't want me, the world doesn't want me, so I stayed in my room. Cordoba didn't want me, so I stayed in my room. Why does the universe draw me towards people and places that don't want me?)
In my last few weeks I found places that felt more welcoming, places where I could envision a life, and regret overwhelmed me because I made a choice and I choose wrong and I was miserable for it.
I feel like my 8 months in Cordoba can be characterized by "choosing wrong". I chose the wrong city. I chose the wrong apartment twice in a row. I chose the wrong company (and I betrayed myself by download dating apps and going on dates with men who only wanted to fuck). I chose to kiss the wrong people. I chose to open up to the wrong people.
It's hard to feel like I didn't waste a year. It's hard to look back and regret it while knowing that there's no point in looking back and I can only look forward.
I'm in the United States again, surrounded by buckling asphalt streets, enormous parking lots, drunk drivers, angry drivers, and the illusion of choice. A thousand flavors of Doritos and Lays, BOGO, astronomically high prices for everything; you can choose whatever flavor you want, but you can't choose a better life.
I'm already thinking about going back, because isn't that what I always do? Think about leaving, about being anywhere except for where I am.
My entire life I've dreamed about leaving the United States and finding a life somewhere else, and I finally packed my bags and did it and all I found was a place that didn't want me. I guess that's common, extremely common, and when I was a nineteen year old dreaming about being a missionary in a country that outlawed christianity, the thought of living somewhere that didn't want me excited me.
(I have always been a child unwanted. My mom didn't want me, my dad didn't want me, the world doesn't want me, so I stayed in my room. Cordoba didn't want me, so I stayed in my room. Why does the universe draw me towards people and places that don't want me?)
In my last few weeks I found places that felt more welcoming, places where I could envision a life, and regret overwhelmed me because I made a choice and I choose wrong and I was miserable for it.
I feel like my 8 months in Cordoba can be characterized by "choosing wrong". I chose the wrong city. I chose the wrong apartment twice in a row. I chose the wrong company (and I betrayed myself by download dating apps and going on dates with men who only wanted to fuck). I chose to kiss the wrong people. I chose to open up to the wrong people.
It's hard to feel like I didn't waste a year. It's hard to look back and regret it while knowing that there's no point in looking back and I can only look forward.
I'm in the United States again, surrounded by buckling asphalt streets, enormous parking lots, drunk drivers, angry drivers, and the illusion of choice. A thousand flavors of Doritos and Lays, BOGO, astronomically high prices for everything; you can choose whatever flavor you want, but you can't choose a better life.
I'm already thinking about going back, because isn't that what I always do? Think about leaving, about being anywhere except for where I am.
