To The "Gal Pals"

    This is a personal essay-like piece of prose that I wrote about some very special people I met in Barcelona. They are: Chelsea, brave and impulsive; Josh, quick-witted and dry; Sofie, caring and fun; and Jess, logical and ("lovingly") insulting (so, in other words, "sarcastic"). This is not a perfect picture of them; for that, I would need pages ... and a lot more time. They aren't perfect, and they don't try to be. I loved my time with them here, and I know we will have to see each other again. They can't get rid of me that easily!

To The "Gal Pals":

Sharing More than Stories

We sit at a café, a pitcher of burgundy sangria split evenly between the glasses resting casually in the hands not yet marked by age or resting on the round table we sit around. It is an event that we are now accustomed to but was strangely un-routine only three months before. Conversation runs, happily tugging us along, us not even feeling the pull but simply enjoying the ride.

*   *   *

Three Months Earlier

We start by disclosing basic information: hometowns, universities, names. Then we share our interests: music, sports, hobbies. All small talk. Slowly, we move on to entrust stories of our families and friends “back home.”

Invitations are exchanged; drinks and meals are spent together; something starts to grow between us and catches us unexpectedly: we don't know until it is unmistakably present. Conversation starts to be made not just to fill the space between Now and Next.

First transparent, then thin and shimmering, beams weave between, connecting us.
There are crazy nights and inside jokes. And laughing, much laughing: our mouths gape, releasing any burdens we might have had in our rambunctious noise, and our eyes squint, seeing nothing but that Moment.

The Future is discussed: for some, it is planned; for others, uncertainty looms. Goals and dreams are both stated with confidence and whispered with hope. The beams gain girth as we ramble on, confiding more stories: embarrassing moments, reckless actions, the imperfect Us. And with it, more laughter, seeing the characters behind the tales through our ever-squinting eyes. Our cheeks hurt from repeatedly grinning together. The beams grow thicker, stronger, more strands are woven. We begin to create our own stories together one day at a time. We collect them in our pockets, bringing them out again to show others. When we go home, we will empty our suitcases of them and lay them out to enjoy again with our friends and families – those we missed so much Here.

This and More is what we have shared.

We have shared what will be an important part of my life: getting to know a different culture, learning an overwhelming amount at once, making Our way through a foreign land together. I see us hold onto each other for strength and companionship. We help each other not feel so alone. 

While studying abroad, I have met incredible people, but they are not the ones who brag about their exotic experiences. The ones who don't know what they have done, They are who I have noticed the most. You are Them. We will never be Here again – in this place,at this time in our lives, and I only spend three months with you, but I would love to spend more time. I am only in three months of your whole lives – a seemingly insignificant amount of sand which slips through each of your hourglasses. I know I am lucky to have spent this much with you.

You are Those who do not know your significance to me; You are my stories, my memories, my time abroad; You will forever be entwined with this adventure; each time I dust off a story to let it see light again, I will think of You and once again feel the sentiment of belonging that you all have given me in such a foreign place. And I will smile. I will smile, I will laugh, and I will miss You.

I will miss the feeling of All of Us.

And I don't think You know How Much.

10-12-15 
1:05 PM

Morocco, Africa