putting on the same clothes as yesterday

May 19th, 2024

Today I came home from Madrid. I spent the whole morning and afternoon sleeping because I was so hungover. I told my roommates in Zaragoza this, and they taught me the Spanish word for hangover: resaca. They liked that they could be my teacher - I tried to offer them a few English words as a form of trade, but I’m not sure they stuck. We made plans tomorrow to hang out. They’re both nurses, and whether it has been intentional or not, the past few tenants have also been nurses. They were surprised to hear I was working at the public University in environmental outreach. They seemed more confused than impressed.

They’re from Huesca originally, but they know their way around the city well. They both said there wasn’t much for us to do in town. I’ve been here five days and that’s not the first time I’ve heard this. 

I know I’m going to have a great summer. I already have so much planned and I’ve already met so many people. Tomorrow I’ll do my work at a cafe. 

I’m talking to my friend Nico a lot. We’ve been texting and we seem to have a lot in common. Hopefully I’ll see him in August. We haven’t seen each other since high school, and we ran in different groups, so I didn’t ever know him very well. We started talking and it's like we’ve been friends forever. 

I miss Matthew, but in a less defined way than I used to. I don’t necessarily think back on specific memories anymore. I had this moment where I believed that I suffered more than he did, then vice versa, and now I don’t think it's worth measuring at all.

I want to only invest time in talking to people who I can learn from. Maybe that means everybody. This summer and onwards, I would like to think less about boys, but then again, I am twenty two, and I am not perfect. This will be the start of my Summer journal. 

May 24th

I'm on my way to Malaga right now. I’m sitting a few cars down from my boss on the train, and the seat next to me is empty. I’m covered in crumbs from the sandwich I brought with me, which I didn’t realize until I took this out and started writing. I’m passing many little towns, and it reminds me of the scenery in California. I would imagine that a train ride to Santa Rosa would look like this, or maybe if it ever exists, a train up to Humboldt. Actually, I think the scenery that far up would be much more beautiful than what I’m seeing now. Sorry - even with how lonely and daunting Arcada was, nothing could compare to the redwoods nearing Eureka. I am looking at the scenery and I am reminded of that meme about Italy looking like San Bernardino.

Being in Zaragoza these past two weeks has shown me that I prefer Spain over the United States at the moment. The Spanish economic structure is not entirely idyllic and it needs improvement, but it is not as overwhelming as the neoliberalism back home. Here, I notice there is a lower emphasis on work as a whole. Family and relationships take precedent, and travel is incredibly valuable. I think that in my twenties, this will be the best way to live. 

The main reason I feel favorably towards Spanish politics is because of the country’s stance on Palestine. I can’t express how it feels to leave a place like Ann Arbor, Michigan, where my old sorority would counter protest encampments, to then arrive in a place where people comfortably denounce Israel in conversation. People are very open when speaking about foreign affairs. Being in Spain is similar to Argentina, in that sense. People are always angry about the world, and they love fighting with each other.

I’ve been paying more attention to the E.U. elections, because it seems everybody is following them. I know I am selecting from a specific sample, but in my circle, it is all the rage. I heard from someone that Keir Starmer of the Labor Party will replace Rishi Sunak in the U.K., but that he is not far left enough to realistically stop arms to Israel or to address any of the issues that the Labor Party has historically represented. I read about Jeremy Corbyn, and how he was exiled from the Labor Party and began his own Independent campaign because of his stance on Palestine. It seems that there is a left wave happening across Europe. Even in France, people are coming together against Macron’s centrism as much as they are against LePenne’s extremism. This might be my own bias, but it seems that people in England and France are actually organizing for the future. They have a more collective society. I wouldn’t have the faith to describe my culture the same way. 

I haven't bonded with my roommates, which is my fault. I should be more talkative, but I’m so shy around them. Maybe it's because I think they wouldn’t like me, but I don’t have a reason to believe this. 

Lea and I had gotten drinks the second night I was in Zaragoza. I ordered a tea, actually, while she had a tinto de verano. After the week I had during graduation, I was completely sick of alcohol. I explained this to her, and of course, I brought up Matthew. I felt anxious talking to her because I hadn’t seen her since we were ten years old, and she wasn’t very curious, so I had to guide the conversation all on my own. The most natural thing for me to talk about was my heartbreak. She seemed to get a kick out of that, but the rest of what I told her didn’t phase her much. I told her about my mother, my grandmother, my sister, because she asked. But she responded mainly with nods, and little else to propel discussion. 

I talked and I talked and I talked and I talked. And I got home, and I couldn’t remember anything about her.

I met Lea’s friends last night. We had made plans to get sushi together and I didn’t realize that she invited them as well, so I wasn’t prepared to socialize. It was fairly awkward at first, especially because they had asked me all of the relevant questions at the beginning of the dinner, and I felt like I had nothing else to talk about once food arrived. I kept eating even after I was full, so that I could do something with my hands, and my mouth. I felt insecure about my Spanish. I can’t seem to fully translate my personality. 

Lea’s friends are very Venezuelan, in their working class backgrounds, their orientation to consumption, and their nostalgia for their country. It is bleak to hear them miss where they are from. They talk about the bars they used to frequent, the clubs they had memberships at, their friends who were once their neighbors. One of them pushed a sushi roll away while he reminisced on the fresh fish they served at a restaurant next to his mother’s old house. Then they’re all buzzing, animated while recalling how long the line was, how close the walk was to his backyard. 

I have the privilege to choose where I want to go, and the privilege to not long for my life in California, because I know it will always be there for me. They aren’t afforded that. On top of that, their oil infrastructure could use some work, and the United States has known this for a long time. 

The Venezuelan election is at the end of the Summer. Passport holders in the United States are not allowed to participate, and I think there are restrictions on other countries as well. I have an inkling for how it will go, but that is a pessimism that I have learnt from my mother.

It’s strange. I identify as a Latina, but a huge part of that authentic identity is instability - being from the U.S. partly removes me from that trauma, even if I am related to the diaspora. When I hear others talk about it, like my mother, or my father, or Lea, or anyone else I have encountered in Spain who has immigrated from a Latin American country, I feel guilty. Like I should know what it is like, but they should have never gone through it. Like it's my fault, but taking any responsibility is egocentric, like I should help, but that would be me exerting pity. I find it all unfair, but then why do I think that my feelings matter? 

I have to share a bed with my boss, which I do not want to do. I’m hoping that it's not a big deal, or that I can find my way out of it. I’m looking forward to Coin, but part of me is feeling how I did in April, at Lake Huron in Michigan. Things are obviously different here. I’m not a plus one to a man I hardly know, and who is incredibly difficult to know. I am with adults at an organized conference on Spain’s water infrastructure. I think it will take years before that American side of me, the one that cringes at kisses and prefers my seat empty, will go away. 

I’m excited to take videos and I’m thrilled to see Malaga! I’m also looking forward to Monday off. I’ll be going to the gym, to the Basilica, and to see Dune 2. 

May 25th

Good morning. I’ve arrived in Coin, a small village near Malaga. I was in a weird mood yesterday when we arrived, but I’m in better spirits now. 

I’ve realized that I have had a very American mentality towards small towns. I used to want more “modern” or trendy coffee shops, or I wanted access to things in remote locations (like particular brands at rural grocery stores, or particular produce when it is not in season). Now I am understanding the implication of that access. To have all that I want at my disposal is to exploit the means which provide this access. It is also an exploitation of the self, because it removes the ability for a person to know the true value of that access, the true cost of receiving a commodity. Or whatever I read last week. I have been trying to read Capital by Karl Marx with Nico, in Spanish, and I can’t understand a word it’s fucking saying. I know for a while it was talking about linen, then about coats. Something about the relation between the two. Then there was a little bit of math involved, and some words in Latin. From what I can piece together, I am beginning to learn about labor costs, about surplus value, and about Adam Smith. I have been taking notes and participating in the BDS Boycott. I no longer drink Coke Zero. I have to buy a copy in English.

I have to go get breakfast with everyone. It's a little overwhelming being around so many adults, honestly. But some of them like me and that's enough. I didn't have to share a bed, thank god. This was all culminating to make me anxious, but as it turns out, I had nothing to fear. 

I might stay here for a while. I’ll check the schedule and see how late I can go meet everyone. 

May 26

I’m at the train station. I didn't check my ticket, so when I got here at 8:10 in the morning, I noticed it was for around 2 O’clock. Much later! I went to change it with my new friend, a woman who got her M.A. in environmental studies at Michigan. My boss introduced me to her at the dinner the Foundation was hosting last night, because she could see how bored I was. Her name was Maura, not Laura, because I called her that at one point and she corrected me. I stuttered through some mispronunciations of words, accidentally flowing through what I was saying quickly and creating new sounds that Maura could not comprehend. She asked me to repeat myself. Then I asked her to repeat herself.

It was easy to talk to her, because she caught every detail I told her without making eye contact, because she’d either be looking at the cigarette she was smoking, or the bag of tobacco she’d use to hand roll the next cigarette she’d smoke in ten minutes. She was Argentinian, and had moved to Spain in her twenties. She was a lawyer, and she knew Catalan. She respected my opinions on the environment, on language and on immigration.

I asked her to roll me a cigarette after I had drunk three glasses of beer. At the farm we were at, or the huerta as I have now discovered they are called, they served beer in bulbous wine glasses. I had already asked the youngest woman at the party to roll me two earlier in the evening and I felt bad asking her for a third. Maura was around my mother’s age, so smoking with her felt unnatural at first, but there is no shame in that here.

People took off their shoes and walked through the grass to have conversation. It all felt very new age - the beer was brewed at the huerta, vegetables were harvested there, and we ate and drank next to mules and chickens. Someone was still playing the guitar at one in the morning, and when I asked my boss if she’d be walking home with me, she told me that some friends would arrive soon and so the party had hardly begun. Maura expressed that she was tired, and walked me back to the rental unit with three other women. They discussed Maura’s lungs, her recent doctor’s appointment, and her general fatigue. I looked at her skin, her nails, her hair, and I didn’t feel so worried about my health, because even though she complained about a cough she was still standing, after all of the cigarettes she chain smoked since she was my age.

The front desk people just told me it would be almost two hundred euros out of pocket to take the next train. I had no interest in investing in a new ticket, given that my boss had purchased my original ones. My new friend Maura said it would be nice for me to check out the beach, so she gave me directions to the shore as I hugged her goodbye. I’m at a cafe at the bus station next door right now, drinking an americano even though I just had one, because I needed to break the change I got from the ATM to pay for a locker in coins. I am going to drop off my things before I run around Malaga. 

I felt so prepared at the ATM - one card didn’t work, so I tried my other, which had money in it. Thank God! It's making me realize that having money is essential… I should always know this. It seems I discover this much too often. 

Solo traveling around Europe is amazing. I’ve noticed I’m more introverted than I previously thought, but that’s because I am always speaking in Spanish, and so I feel less confident in my words. People are very welcoming anyways, and they find my attempts endearing. Sometimes I assure them that I don’t speak it very well, but most people insist that I communicate effectively. I think they’re used to the amount of dialects coming in from all the other Latin American immigrants. Maybe they’re just flattering me, I speak like shit. 

I’m so happy Ignacio gave me this journal, especially since it came with a pen. I’m going to write a lot!

Little update - I’m on the beach. I didn't bring a swimsuit so I’m in my underwear. It’s empty enough that I don’t feel self conscious. It doesn’t really matter. No one who walks the shore in front of me can really tell that I am in cotton, and with topless women around me, it seems I am the least of anybody’s worries. Anyways, this way I’ll get better tan lines. 

I almost cried on my walk over. I’m so happy. Last night really was beautiful, and the Foundation I work for is truly amazing. They’re so supportive of one another, they are such good friends, and they care deeply for the planet and its resources. I had a moment in the auditorium where I realized: 1. How many people were there, and 2. How old they were. In a way, they are leaving me their planet. They want it to be better for everyone, even when they’re gone. They’re dedicating the last part of their life to making that happen. 

Last night me and Nico texted about politics, about all the things I told you already about France, England, and Spain, and he told me that he was glad we started talking. I feel the same. It’s nice to chat with someone in the same time zone while I’m traveling on my own, since he’s finishing up his final semester abroad in London. Not for long, though. Unfortunately, he’ll be on a flight to New York in the beginning of June. If he was around longer, I would’ve made an effort to visit him. I’d like to think that is something I could have done. 

It's also sweet to talk to someone from home, who knows Marin the way I do. I miss California, but I miss it the way I do Matthew, like it was meant for me at a certain time, and I can’t figure out if it still is anymore.