Three months with tourist status over in the blink of an eye. Five months waiting for a visa passing by with the pace of a snail. The best things are always over too soon, while all those irksome torments in the world never seem to end. Bureaucracy may well be a necessity but it certainly knows how to cause turmoil. That just about sums up the situation right now, with a whole lot of not much I can do about it. So back to that city of Barcelona once again, waiting.
While it is far too easy to focus on the negatives, there are lurking somewhere underneath this waiting game some positives: I have a free place to stay and something to keep me mildly occupied. I returned to the city that haunts me because I was able to stay in the hostel where I used to work in exchange for a few hours of work. Otherwise I probably would be paying for my accommodation during my few weeks in Spain. It's not so bad really. My own bed is, however, infinitely better. I think we all enjoy our home comforts, so rip them from under me and everything becomes that little bit more awkward.
Just before my return I remember my little buzz of excitement from knowing that I would be able to walk around a city again, walk to a shop and browse around the city. Yes, I stretched my legs and enjoyed take a little extra time enjoying being amidst all the little pleasures of the city. What wasn't so prepared for was being hit once again by the smoke of the infinite amount of people who for some extraordinary reason partake in this bizarre habit. It was a shock to my system and I had forgotten how deeply embedded this is into the Spanish culture. I am totally in favour of the new smoking law which has banned smoking from all bars and restaurants in Spain, but now - even though this was still essentially true before the ban - it seems that nearly all of the people on the street are smoking a cigarette. It chokes. My leisurely wander around the streets has become that little bit less enjoyable. Add to that the creepy passing comments which can be received from certain lowlifes in society and that's your stroll somewhat ruined.
On the bright side, the multitude of little cafés which reside throughout the city bring coffee joy, with an attempt to read the news in Spanish thrown on top. I can only let my eyes linger over the delicious yet sinful treats that stare at me from the patisserie windows; we are deep in the grasp of lent, and all the better for it.
The fun wears off the little walks very quickly. Of course. I'm full of that thing called life and it's bursting out of me. I feel like I am throwing great potential down the drain and this is brings me great disappointment. To feel like one has made a positive contribution to the world and to oneself each day is a source of great self satisfaction, so take away the ability to achieve this and the fire in our human spirit will slowly burn out. At least now I know what makes me tick and I have every intention of sucking it all up when it makes an appearance.
Even with an abundant amount of time flying around at the moment, it still seems like there is some mighty force holding me back from completing all those unachievable items on the never ending to do list. I'm slowly resigning myself to the fact that they will forever be in this form, and so we really should stop beating ourselves up about what we haven't done, but be content with what we have achieved. This is no easy task to achieve. Put it on the to do list.
To cut a long story short, I think it is safe to say that I'm exceedingly exhausted of Barcelona, and I am totally scraping the bottom of the barrel for the enthusiasm to keep me pushing forward. I'm just going to invent the whole light at the end of the tunnel thing, because at the moment it's hidden around some corner somewhere.