Strange Lights

In the week we returned from San Sebastian, my life has become far less solitary - I've made an astounding number of new friends and acquaintances, seemingly spent not a single night alone - but as things are wont to, this has made my life seem far more complicated. That is to say, life has gotten better and more exciting, but ever more busy and difficult to manage - hence, my continuing negligence of this blog. For instance, my new roommate, Andrea, has seemingly transformed my house from a sometimes empty and antisocial place to one far more united. Since he arrived, him, myself, Magalee, Ruth, and Pablo have all spent the nights together until very late talking, smoking, and generally acting like good friends. It's not that this camaraderie didn't exist before, but somehow Andrea's gregarious, teasing nature has brought us all together in a way we never were before.



They told me about the people who have stayed in the house before, how Israeli guy who stayed in my current room and seemed schizophrenic tried to awkwardly seduce Magalee. She told me they were far happier since I took his place, and for the first time I felt like I completely belong here. To twist an analogy from Woody Allen's latest zesty picture "Vicky Christina Barcelona" (go see it and be even more jealous of me), it's almost as if he's the missing element that makes all the others fall into place perfectly. I've known him for a short time, but already I feel like we're good friends, and he also shares much of my (as my friend Andrew would put it) esoteric music taste. He also has me (and the rest of the house, apparently) addicted to his delicious Italian coffee, which is now practically the only way I can get myself out the door to class on time.



Then there's the matter of Minnesotan Alex who happens to be the Spanish Lit class I have with my good friend Californian Alex. Minnesotan Alex has Spanish relatives, speaks the language impeccably, and often tries to pass himself off as a native - if not of Spain than of Europe in general - when meeting actual locals. Hanging out with him is refreshing because he prefers to practice his Spanish even when he's with Americans, which is something I've been trying to do more and more but just doesn't fly with some of my American compatriots. He invited me to my first Spanish house party last week, a birthday celebration for his roommate - and it was quite the language trial by fire, but also a heap of fun. The Spanish girls there were vociferous, bold and self-assured, and made fun of even Alex's stellar Spanish skills. But teasing seems to be the best sign of affection in Spain, and they quickly took to him and I as we strained ourselves mingle with the 20 or so of them who maintained a cacophony of chatter throughout the night and morning. By the end I had at least two who wanted to practice their English with me (none of them are very good) and at three in the morning, four of us went out in search of a bar to avoid having to go to sleep. We never found it, but just making it that far after a party made me feel like I'd passed my first real Barcelona initiation.



But as my number of Spanish friends quadrupled, the situation with my American friends has suddenly become painfully complicated. Ashley is apparently falling for either Evan, Zander, or me (I'm pretty skeptical at the latter, but I'm clueless with these things), which explains her reclusive, testy behavior as of late. What's more, Peruvian Sophia, who I was about to ask out on a date, confessed to me that she fancies Californian Alex and spontaneously started necking with him two days ago at a metro stop. They haven't spoken of it since, and she's not sure she should make a move because she thinks he might have feelings for Argentine Sophia. If this makes your head hurt, imagine how I feel. Needless to say, I was more than a little bummed, but as I've learned from my vast experience in romantic disappointment, such things are usually obvious to us before we're confronted with them head on. At the very least, I'm glad I found out the truth without having to be directly rejected from Sophia, who I'd still like to be friends with. Whereas in the past I would have reacted to an event like this as though it were a car accident, this time I merely treated it like a speed bump. Instead of going home and moping, I met up with Zander and Ashley (thankfully not moody anymore) in gorgeous Plaza del Sol and forgot about it with a few drinks and some savory schwarma. As I rode my bicycle home and felt the air blow through my ever-longer hair, I sensed a new kind of freedom that Barcelona has imbued in me: it's a freedom that comes from realizing you're not trapped inside your life, but rather that you have the ability to choose how you react to what it presents you with.



To add a completely unrelated footnote, I usually keep this page dedicated to my personal experiences, but I felt compelled to post this music video because it's my favorite that I've seen in quite some time, featuring my favorite song by my favorite still-functioning band, Deerhunter. I posted onceonce about the blog of their frontman, Bradford Cox, but this video is the best introduction I can think of to the actual music of this unique and inspiring band. As for the song, "Spring Hall Convert" is the first one I ever heard by them, and it remains my favorite because of the way it seamlessly builds from brooding tranquility to climax after climax without ever losing steam, until it seems to envelope itself in a cleansing wash of echoed noise and disembodied phantoms of Cox's voice. The video captures this gradual drift towards sensory overload with beautifully-shot colored silhouettes of the group performing live, layering them with shots of wild animals until it's impossible to distinguish any of the images from the gorgeous smatterings of shade and color.