It doesn't take much to knock me

I've been living a sheltered life.

It's the song that's streaming out of my big, "the real world isn't good enough for me today" headphones. It's the song that "made me" blog, I guess. I was walking by Parc de la Ciutadella and it was so sunny and gorgeous that I got lost in the soundtrack provided by my iPod--at that moment, the dulcet, electronic tones of Erlend Øye. The song's beginning sounds like a complete throwback to the 80s, and not in a good way. I hesitate to put it on any mix I make for a friend, and yet it's one of my favorite songs of all time. That day outside the park was really the first time that I'd listened to it, and, like a lot of music that I treasure, it expressed a sentiment that was all too in sync with what I was feeling. Easy and loose / I'm sure confused / It doesn't take much to knock me / I've been living a sheltered life. I should start a blog, I thought at that moment, if only to use this song as its title.

It's just that I let even the smallest things get to me here, as I often do at home, but here the tendency seems more acute. I have an awkward exchange with a cashier and my day is ruined. I hear laughter and conversation in Catalan and assume that it must be some sort of joke about me that I don't understand. I suppose that there's a certain narcissism behind it, as if people care that much about me to really dwell on my struggles to use the subjunctive. It's a bit ridiculous, I would say. 

But I think that I'm getting better. I had a training last week to volunteer at a public elementary school, and I began to feel that I was being integrated into the real world, where people live and work and have friends and families. It's a shame that I didn't decide to do this sooner, that I spent five months being incredibly homesick and wavering between the poles of "T'estimo Catalunya" and missing Chicago to the point of developing chest pains. I can't regret it too much, though. I'm only human.

I feared that this blog would become more of an excuse for indulgent self-reflection than a source of information about Barcelona. I guess we all process these experiences differently. So I'll tell you that I went to the Fundació Miró the other day and that I loved it. The museum adventures will continue now that I have an articket. 

I miss everyone at home so intensely, and yet I don't know if I'll be ready to come home in four months. Being here has changed me in ways that I'll only begin to realize once I step off the plane on June 6th (tentative).