Storytime on a Spanish Island

Everyone I know says I exaggerate about everything, and it’s completely true. My reactions to everything are melodramatic. So here’s a picture of me, sitting on a deserted beach in Mallorca, Spain, in 2012. The summer beforehand I was studying in Barcelona, and when I say studying, I mean everything but actually opening a real book. In the midst of an awkwardly bad breakup (if you can call it a relationship), walking hungover and alone in a small Greek village in the blistering summer heat in order to find a train back to civilization (long story) – I realized that going back to Canada wasn’t the right thing for me, anymore. So I packed my bags and moved to Spain, which sounds ridiculously impulsive, and it was (especially because back then I didn’t speak the language).  Fast forward to this picture in April 2012, looking back on all the incredible experiences I’ve had – like visiting over 40 different cities, learning to speak Spanish, eventually perfecting Spanish, learning to speak Italian, falling in love, moving to Italy, seeing a ton of football matches, and thinking – yeah, this is definitely the best decision I’ve ever made.

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One thought on “Storytime on a Spanish Island

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