The Beginning of the End: Final Weeks in Canterbury

The day after I returned from Barcelona, I knew I didn't have much time left in Canterbury, but this was a fact I had managed to deny - until I was told that I had only a few hours left to say my goodbyes to Clem.  As I gathered my things to head her way, I started to realize that this adventure really is beginning to, and will, end.  We will leave, and our lives will go on elsewhere, no matter how much we don't want to let this chapter go.  It was a cloudy, chilly, grey day, as if even the town was saddened by her departure.  I think it's safe to say Clem was the most genuinely kind person I met while here.  From the beginning, we dubbed her the "mother duck" - always making sure everyone was taken care of, constantly baking and leaving notes to "Help Yourself," hosting house parties so that all of the International students felt connected, and all of it, always, with a smile.  Needless to say, her absence is has not gone unnoticed.

I joined in her housemates - Leigh Anne, Kart, and Fi - sitting around the kitchen table, reminiscing about the year and how quickly it went by, and made vows that we'd keep in touch and visit each other in the future.  The tears built up each time we glanced at our watches, waiting for the minute she'd have to leave to catch her train.  After a round of hugs and goodbyes, she left through the kitchen door, and I nearly lost it upon hearing her suitcase wheels grow more and more quiet on the sidewalk outside.  When there was finally a complete silence, all of us sat for a few minutes, unable to look each other in the eye or say much of anything, myself with an urge to burst out of the door and yell for her to come back.

It was Fi who broke the silence and made the comment that she never views goodbyes, or leaving somewhere, as an ending, but simply a continuation.  The people we grow to know come into our lives, and leave them, and while they may or may not come into them again, they were always there at one point, and always remain a part of our story, and we should celebrate the fact that they were with us at all rather than dwell on the fact that they've gone.  Although this was quite a comfort and a thought to ponder, I have high hopes that I'll remain in touch and even see the people I've grown close to this year again, even if we do live on different continents, because I've found that, while I love my friends back home with my whole heart, the friendships one makes in this kind of situation are that of a different kind - a faster and equally deep bond in a different way, especially with other International students.  And while I cannot wait to share my stories and memories with everyone back home, it is these friends who I can be with and not have to say a single word - they've experienced so much of the same bit of life as I have.

Leigh Anne and I decided the best place to be after a heartbreak on a still dreary afternoon would be a dark theatre, and preferably one with Johnny Depp.  Luckily for us, this was the day that the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie came to the cinema, so we stocked up on candy and went to avoid our sorrows for a little while, and definitely enjoyed lots of laughs and, well, you know... good looks!

Since then, I've spent some time in town, walking the streets that I so wish I could pack up and bring home with me.  There are things I've come to see as natural here - strolling along cobblestone streets and popping into a centuries-old pub for a drink, stepping back in time through the open doors of ancient churches, grabbing local produce from an outdoor stand on my way home, and addressing people with British rather than American phrases.  I did not believe in the warnings about reverse culture shock, but now I find myself nervous for not having all of this familiarity when I return home.  All the more reason to consider coming back, right?

And coming back is something I've promised myself I will do.  Before I came here, and for the first few months, I felt the need to get everything in, in terms of travel and experiences, in this one year, because I had it in my mind that this would be my only opportunity to do so.  Although I'm fully aware that things happen and could change, I am convinced that I will be back in Europe.  Unfortunately, funds have run out, and I really want to spend as much time as possible with the people and places here before heading home, so I've had to narrow my last big travel plan down to one country, and I've chosen to visit Amsterdam.  My heart longs to see France and Germany (although I may visit the coast of France before I leave), but Amsterdam tops my list, and after talking with lots of Europeans, I think it's the right decision.  I feel so fortunate to have had the adventures and experiences that I've already had this year, and now that I truly believe I will return one day, I have no doubt that I'll get to add even more to my list.  With connections in both Germany and France now, I am even more certain!

Before Amsterdam, I'll be making one last journey to what I still consider the best place in the entire world - London!  I will be sure to write updates on both, I promise.

So, the last week has been filled with making as many memories as possible in Canterbury, and oh yeah, exams.  I took my second and final one yesterday, and what a relief it is!  Fortunately, I received a very large package in the mail filled with chocolate chip and snickerdoodle cookies from my grandma which made studying a little less painful when paired with what will live on in my mind as the best study breaks of all time!

The night before my first exam (I know, of all nights to go out), a group of us met on the lawn in front of the library and enjoyed some wine and chatting before heading into town to a pub, where we hung out and had major fits of laughter over embarrassing stories, and discussed the 1990s and American politics of all things, for quite some time.  I had to duck out early (midnight) and head back to campus since I had to be awake and on my way to an exam at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday the next morning.

For the first time in my life, I was not too concerned about my exam - usually I spend weeks studying and stressing over them, and this one, I felt I had in the bag.  That is, until I entered the exam hall.  It was held in the gymnasium in the Sports Centre, individual desks put into rows and spread very far apart.  It took me a moment to find my assigned seat, marked with my examination number.  I had my tiny purse taken away from me and taken to the back of the room as even it was not allowed, and witnessed several people being forced to peel the labels from their water bottles off and hand them over to one of the ten people patrolling the room.  An automated announcement came over, listing off the rules and regulations of exam taking, including the fact that if we needed to use the restroom, we'd be escorted, and we couldn't leave within the first or last half hour of the exam period.  Strict, strict, strict!  When the bell rang to begin the test, though, I was quite relieved to see that the essay questions were just what I'd expected them to be, and wrote... and wrote... and wrote... for an hour and a half, then handed it over, grabbed my purse, and got out of there!

I won't lie about being extremely lazy after that, napping and glancing over my notes for my next exam, and getting groceries were about the only "productive" things I did.  I was pretty much waiting for Sunday to roll around, as that meant...

Cricket!

Yes, for some reason, I ended up getting the absolute perfect advisor (at IPFW) considering my studying abroad in England, as he's got a passion for all things British.  He was able to give me lots of advice about England before I left the states (another bonus: his girlfriend studied abroad at Kent, too!), and insisted that he wanted to treat myself and a friend to a cricket game since I'm here for the start of the season!  We were both excited, and made a few British boys who have wanted to go to a game for years rather jealous when we got our tickets in the mail for the Kent Spitfires vs. Sussex Sharks game for Sunday.

We are not ashamed to admit that we Googled the basics of cricket before going, along with what to wear.  We had images of big hats and pressed white dresses, but are glad we fit in just fine going casually.  We made sure to take food and sweaters and plopped down in perfect seats under a pavilion, just beside the players' dressing room, but once we got there, found ourselves wishing we'd brought a radio (many people do, since there is no commentary during the game, but it is broadcasted) as we had no idea how the scores on the scoreboard kept getting higher!

We were constantly comparing and contrasting cricket to baseball, and couldn't believe how quiet it was.  Only the occasional chatter of children could be heard and we felt a little guilty for talking... a lot... but as the game went on, more and more voices began to join ours.  We were also surprised at having to walk on the playing ground to get to our seats, and on seeing everyone run out onto the pitch to play their own games of cricket, soak up the sun, and eat hot dogs and burgers, during the break, and watching players leave the dressing room in flip flops, sitting with the audience and eating cookies when they were off the field.  It was so laid back and a perfect way to spend our Sunday afternoon.

By the end of the game, we had a much better hold on what was going on, and began clapping and saying aloud how many points had just been earned before the scoreboard even changed.  We felt a little guilty for cheering on Sussex rather than Kent, but their players seemed to have a little more enthusiasm and were fun to watch (and in some cases, stare) and we were content when they came, all smiles, back towards the dressing room after their win.  After the game, we stuck around for some autographs (!), and walked back to the city centre to catch a bus to campus.

On Monday, the night before my second exam, Sam, Leigh Anne, and I, decided to have a girls night out (see a pattern here?)  We started by getting a bottle of tequila on campus, and should have known how the night was going to go, when, before even taking a sip, Sam accidentally threw her change at the unsuspecting cashier.  We went through the entire thing, though, waiting to feel some kind of effect, talking about everything under the sun, and when we didn't, decided it was time to take our three-person-party into the city.  

By the time we got to our stop, we realized maybe the alcohol was working after all, and popped into three pubs before deciding to stay at The Cherry Tree for awhile, sipping on drinks that I made Leigh Anne order because their names were simply too inappropriate for me to say, even to the bartender, but that did not take away from their deliciousness.

After about an hour there, we were feeling pretty good...

...and thought, since it was a Monday and we seemed to be the only people out, that we'd be content with our night ending after a stop at Subway.  However, Sam tends to get these urges that result in spurts of sprinting when she drinks, and this led to my sprinting with her and some synchronized zig-zagging down a street towards a few more pubs, Leigh Anne declaring her love for us from somewhere in the shadows behind, and we eventually ended up at a place where we met these guys:

Two Brits and a German, (Jason, Ben, and Rudy) who are stonemasons working on a part of the Canterbury Cathedral.  We enjoyed a few drinks with them at a pub called The Canterbury Tales before all of us decided to call it a night.

Us girls skipped on over to Subway, and devoured our sandwiches while walking towards home, until Leigh Anne's sandwich took over and gave her an energy that caused her to decide to lead us towards our new friends' (pictured above) flat instead of home.  On our way, we met a drama student named Andy who invited us to a party after talking to us for some time (I have no idea when or where he said it was.)  We finally made it to the flat, which is almost connected to the gate of the Canterbury Cathedral, and after climbing about 100 flights of stairs, made it through the door.  We spent some time failing miserably at Super Mario and admiring the paintings that Ben had done and hung up all over the flat, as well as their goldfish, Dink.

We were about to call a cab when Jason offered to drive us home early in the morning (I insisted I had to be home by ten to study for my exam) and well, sometimes you're just an American out with your American friends in ye olde Canterbury in the wee hours of the morning and you end up falling asleep to the voice of Ron Burgundy in a flat with cool artwork and a goldfish, and wake up on the floor, shivering under what your hosts call a blanket but is really a large burlap sack, and not really caring much about it because it takes a lot less effort and money than going back to campus, and bonus points when you wake up to an amazing view of the cathedral from their kitchen window.

Sam and I couldn't stand the cold much longer after being woken by the passing of early morning trucks (the living room window could not shut, hence the almost-frostbite) and dragged Leigh Anne out with us just before eight in the morning.  We really wanted breakfast and our own beds!  We stopped at Starbucks to warm ourselves up, and then got on a bus to Parkwood.  Amazingly, I was feeling very well aside from a bit of tiredness, cured easily with a Coke and Snickers, and studied for a few hours before taking my final exam.  Again, it was a bit intimidating walking into it, but I was able to write two short essays with more detail than I thought I possibly could, and returned to my own flat, thoroughly exhausted, and happily went to sleep before the sun had fully set!

So, school is officially over... I have a trip to London, a visit to Amsterdam, and a few more days to spend in Canterbury.  My worlds are beginning to mesh now, as I'm still living life here, but beginning to  look for jobs and make plans in Indiana.  I cannot describe to you how much I've found out about myself, and how much I feel that I've grown through this experience, but it definitely leaves me with so many more open doors and opportunities than I had before I came here, and I don't think I've ever felt so strange about returning home, because it signals a new chapter entirely - one that I have no outline for, no inkling of what I want it to contain, how I want it to begin or end.  Whereas I would have been a nervous wreck before, I'm okay with that now.  I'd say nature's done a pretty decent job at writing my story so far.

Until next time,

Aly

Gaudi and Tapas and Flamenco, Oh My!

Readers, can you believe I am nearing post number thirty, and it's very likely one of my last?  Because I certainly can't.  I took a few minutes before beginning to write this to skim through my entries and reflect on the last year of my life.  I'll save that discussion for another post, but in summary:  Whoa.  It truly is unreal, the things that can happen to one in the span of ten months.  Things that will change you, move you, shape you, and stay with you for the rest of your life - if you let them.


I must stick to the point, though.  I never would have thought that an entry about a trip to Spain would make it into this blog, and yet, here it is!  If I had to sum it up in two words?  

¡Viva España!

On Wednesday morning, after taking two and a half days to rest up from my adventure in Italy, I threw a few pieces of clean, summery clothing into my backpack and boarded a coach to the airport.  Fortunately, the trip to my flight this time around went much more smoothly than before.  After checking in and a bit of waiting, I was on my (delayed) flight to Barcelona!  The culture shock began almost immediately, on the plane, as the voices surrounding me were mostly speaking in Spanish.  Fortunately, I am semi-fluent in the language and did not feel quite as out of place as I did in Rome's airport after we landed.  I arrived around 9:00 p.m., and after passing through security and taking a bus into the city centre, was relieved to see how easy the metro was to navigate (I have to admit, it's almost as good as London's underground.)  I arrived at my hostel, nearly thirty minutes by metro from the center of Barcelona in a suburb called Badalona, around 11 p.m.  The hostel was a little hard to find, as it is not well marked and it was dark, but after asking a few people and checking in, I made my way straight to bed!


The next morning I woke early, but as it is Spain and time, if it exists there at all, runs much later than the rest of the world's, the free breakfast did not start until 8:00 a.m.  So, I took some time to wander about the town I was in, which again, seemed a little sketchy in comparison to the rest of Barcelona.  I discovered that the beach, which was supposed to be less than a ten minute walk from the hostel, had turned into a nearly forty minute trek because of construction.  Still, I felt fortunate to have a more private beach, in a less busy town, at my disposal.

 

I was also happy to come across many little supermarkets and fresh fruit and vegetable stands meant for locals and not tourists so that a bottle of water and whatever else I needed was affordable and only a few minutes from where I was staying!


After breakfast, I hopped the metro to a "sister hostel" to my own, which was the meeting point for a free walking tour of Barcelona.  Unfortunately, on making my way to this particular hostel, I was still not convinced that Barcelona was a place I wanted to be - it was a rather run down street, with bars on windows and graffiti on the walls.  However, the walking tour got underway, and we all breathed a sigh of relief once we emerged onto Las Ramblas, one of the busiest and most well-known areas of the city.

Funnily, our tour guide was from Switzerland, but he's been in Barcelona for quite some time and knew loads about its history.  We remained mainly in the Gothic Quarter, where he took us past the city's oldest restaurant, through the former Jewish Ghetto, with its dark and looming alleyways, and to several churches.  My personal favorite was this one, which was built entirely by sailors and volunteers after they had finished their day jobs for no pay whatsoever, was finished more quickly than churches built by contractors, and which suffered the wrath of fires that swept the city and burned for 11 days straight, escaping with only a few burn marks on its walls and ceilings (still visible today):

 

We also made our way past several government buildings, tiny plazas, and various monuments, listening to age-old stories about Saints (including St. George and St. Eulalia), artists (including Gaudi and Picasso) and other popular figures including Christopher Columbus and even George Orwell!

The art school Picasso attended.

The site of Gaudi's first work - two lampposts.

George Orwell Plaza.

Barcelona's patron saint, St. George, slaying the dragon.

Christopher Columbus monument.

After the tour ended, I took some time to wander about Barcelona by myself, since I finally felt comfortable and had a basic lay of the land.  I returned to Las Ramblas and literally rambled along, slowly and happily, passing by one outdoor restaurant after another, most of which had giant signs reading, "World's Best Sangria Sold Here" and "Best Tapas in Barcelona."  There were several artists working on their next masterpiece as onlookers stood in awe, and even more human statues, painted silver and gold, moving only every now and then to get a good jump out of the unexpecting tourist next to them.

 

 

Again, it is worth noting that it's true about the unimportance of time in Southern Europe - stores do close for a few hours in the afternoon, posting "Be Back Later" signs, people do leave work to take siestas, and even the dogs know how to take it easy!

Perhaps my favorite part of Las Ramblas was the most popular market there, Mercat de Sant Josep - La Boqueria.  Full of fresh fruits and fruit juice, vegetables, cheeses, breads, hanging meats, and overrun with tourists like me snapping photos of it all.  I couldn't help but decide that dinner my first night would be a fresh fruit salad and coconut juice!

I spent a little more time on Las Ramblas, and leisurely made my way back to the metro and returned to my hostel.  I met up with a few of my new roommates (the room had 16 beds in all) from Canada, and we hung out on the hostel's patio, discussing travels and the total lack of desire to return to North America!

On Friday, I spent the morning and early afternoon on the beach and in the city of Badalona, as well as a little while talking with two girls I met at the hostel, one from Germany and one from South Korea (who is studying in England as well.)  We boarded the metro and all left at different stops, mine being one near the end of Las Ramblas, towards the port, where I walked to the end and found myself at an outdoor market, full of books and antiques that I spent entirely too much time looking at.  From there, I went to an artsy district (I forget the name!) and stumbled into many independent shops, where I found an 18th century tile for my mom's tile collection and a quirky handmade ring for myself.

I ended up at the statue of Columbus, where I thought I was supposed to be in order to go on a tapas and flamenco tour hosted by the hostel.  However, after about twenty minutes of not seeing any familiar faces when I should have, I called my own hostel and was told that the meeting place had changed and that they'd be doing the tour again on Sunday.  So, I watched the sunset over the city, and left for Badalona.

Saturday morning, I decided to do a second free walking tour, specific to the works of Gaudi.  The tour group was huge, and I'm so glad because I was able to meet so many people!  We started out with Gaudi's first work - two lampposts in the center of a plaza, and then hopped on and off the metro to see his other famous houses and his breathtaking work, still in progress, Sagrada Familia, which is expected to be finished in 2026, the 100 year anniversary of his death.

 

The tour ended, and after hearing our tour guide mention Gaudi's Park Guell a million times, I was determined to see it.  So, I took the metro to the proper stop, and after exiting, felt like I was in the middle of nowhere.  Although I knew I was far from Texas, I was waiting for a tumbleweed to roll by at any second, across the dry, cracked ground, on which set a few old, crumbling Spanish buildings.  I followed the signs though, and grew more excited as there seemed to me more and more life as I went along, but then my heart sank a little.  The final sign pointed towards the steepest hill I have ever seen in my life.  I took a deep breath, and began the climb.  About five sets of staircases, three escalators, and four long stretches of uphill climbing later, I reached the top.

And it was so worth the climb!

 

 

The views of Barcelona were stunning.  It was dreamlike, really, to see all of the places I had visited one by one while on their level, all at once from such a high place.  The area was made even more surreal with Gaudi's crazy, yet beautiful works set against the green and rocky landscape.

 

The luck I have had while in Europe remained with me in Spain, as I discovered that later that night, Barcelona would be taking part in "Night of the Museums" - a night in which several countries in Europe take part in opening their doors late at night for free.  I was a little concerned when, as I was heading back into the city, the sky darkened and the sound of thunder rumbled behind the songs of street musicians, beeping car horns, and chatter of a thousand voices, but as the rain began to fall, I couldn't help but notice how no one seemed to be bothered in the slightest.  Around 9:00 p.m., I stood, in the rain, at the end of very long line at the Picasso Museum and watched as people just began making their way to dinner, many continuing to gather and stand outside of restaurant doors, laughing, throwing back one sangria after another.  In witnessing that, I decided that I want that kind of attitude, no matter where I am, no matter what nature decides to do.  I'll admit though, that I was a little relieved to be under a dry roof and on my way to seeing one of my favorite artists' works.

Photographs weren't allowed, but I spent nearly two hours gazing at almost every piece, taking note of just how much his style changed from one decade to the next, and, as always, was quite moved that I was seeing the actual canvas and the actual paint rather than a digital image through a computer screen.

From there, I went across the street to a small modern art museum, of which I'm not much of a fan.  However, I try to appreciate what I can, and enjoyed getting to meet some of the artists as they worked, and spent a little extra time in a room inspired by environmentally friendly artwork.

And lastly, I found myself at none other than... the Chocolate Museum!  Yes, a museum dedicated to that sweet and savory goodness we all know and love and crave.  I could have gone to a history museum, or a culture museum, but I found that this decision was appropriate considering chocolate first came to be in Barcelona, thus, it directly relates to both, right?  And, of course, because my "ticket" was a free chocolate bar!  Really, though, it was much more interesting than I thought it would be.  I learned not only about the history of chocolate, but lots of interesting statistics and several creations made out of the stuff!

It was about two in the morning when I arrived back at the hostel, and I slept in a little on Sunday.  But when I finally got around, I decided to go to the side of the city I had not yet been to and spend some time there before meeting up for the tapas and flamenco tour.  I walked past several stores and couldn't resist getting a gelato that, dare I say it, was probably better than any I had gotten in Italy!

I continued walking along, following the signs to the Arc de Triomphe, when it happened.  I found my favorite park in the entire world.  May I introduce to you, Parc de la Ciutadella.

I think the reason I loved this park so much was because it was right in the middle of the city, and yet it felt worlds away.  There were little ponds everywhere, fountains and flowers galore, and people scattered all over enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon.  If there was any real activity going on at all, it was either someone strumming a Bob Marley tune on guitar or a soccer ball being kicked around.  I truly did as the Spanish do and lost all track of time here.

When I finally decided to get up and move again, I left the park and walked towards the Arc de Triomphe.

I spent a few moments admiring it, and the activity going on around it - couples on rollerblades, kids playing soccer and eating ice cream, families strolling by - before getting on the metro for a night out.

I had been a little upset that I'd missed the tapas and flamenco night on Friday, but the universe works in wonderful ways sometimes, because if I had gone then, I wouldn't have met the people I did on Sunday. Oh, did I mention they were from Ball State?!  A small group of us turned up, and all but two of us were from the Midwest!  Two from Ohio, two from Indiana, one from Canada, and one from Brazil.  I believe our tour guide was from Poland, and a second one that showed up later was a local guy.

I was a little overly excited that they brought out an entire plate full of vegetarian-friendly tapas, and we proceeded to stuff ourselves full of delicious Spanish cuisine and sangria!  From there, our guide led us to the flamenco show, which had us all in a complete trance - the dancing was so fast paced and the music authentic that we couldn't believe it was over so quickly.

The sangria was already starting to kick in, and we were a little unsure of whether or not we wanted to stick around and take part in the pub crawl that the hostel hosted after the show, but we decided to go to the first pub and see.  Long story short, we stayed, we followed, we drank, we had lots of fun, and somehow, we managed to take a night bus back to our hostel at 3:30 in the morning!  This means we (probably, I am judging by my bus ticket) got back to our hostel around 4:30 in the morning and when I woke up on Monday at noon, I was in total shock.  I cannot remember the last time I slept in past ten, and immediately felt as if my day was wasted.  Yet, at the same time, knew that the fun night had been worth the lost hours of the morning, and remembered Spain is an hour ahead of England, and that the whole time thing didn't really apply anyway.  I sucked it up, drank a liter of water, and ran off to the train station to spend the rest of my day in Sitges, a seaside town about forty minutes south of Barcelona.  I did manage to take a train that passed through Sitges, but to my surprise, didn't actually stop in Sitges.  So, I got off at the next station it did stop at, and found myself in a very non-touristy, very non-English speaking, very real part of Spain.  It was here that my Spanish-speaking skills had to come into play so that I could figure out how to get where I was going.  Now, I am glad it happened.  Getting lost allowed me to see a little more of Spain and prove to myself that I really am capable of finding my own way around.

When I did make it to the beach in Sitges, I plopped down and stayed in place for quite a long time, listening to the waves and wishing it wasn't my last full day in Spain.

 I did manage to get up and see the town, though, sticking mainly to the waterfront.  Part of me wishes I had spent a couple of days in Sitges as it was small, quiet, historic, and absolutely gorgeous - much different than Barcelona.

 

 

On the train ride back, I became a little envious of how beautiful the train rides in Europe are (although, I've never taken a train in the states, so I shouldn't judge just yet.)  But to have the mountains full of colorful houses speeding by on one side and the glittering blue Mediterranean on the other was one of my favorite things during my time in Spain.


My final day in Barcelona, I spent in the area of Montjuic ("Hill of the Jews"), a large hill where there are several museums, attractions, gardens, the Olympic Park (the 1992 Olympics were held in Barcelona) and the Montjuic Castle, all overlooking the city of Barcelona.  Again, it was tough getting to the top - especially since the main escalators and stairs were closed off due to a car show in the center of the park - but the climb was easily forgotten once I stood at the top.

 

 

The day passed by rather quickly, after I had seen the main attractions and spent some time in the breezy gardens at the top of the hill, I had to return to my hostel to gather my things and start for the airport.

Amazingly, I was at the airport half of an hour early enough to board a flight for London two hours before I was supposed to - for no extra charge!  I happily accepted the offer, because it meant that I wouldn't have to master the art of sleeping in the airport after all.  I was able to get a train back to Canterbury the same night rather than the next day as I had planned, and was in my own room by midnight.  The ending was such a rush, I found it hard to believe I had been in Spain just hours before I crawled into my bed in England.  That's the wonderful thing about Europe - you can be in one country, enjoying its culture, its sights, and its beauty during the afternoon, and later that evening, be in another, one that seems worlds and worlds away, but in my case, is the place I'll always want to return to.

I sit here now, in a state of total disbelief that I only have three weeks left in this place I've come to know as home.

What comes next?

Hasta Luego,
Aly