Barcelona, España

In Barcelona, I spent the two weeks before I went home feeling like I belonged again. I felt a weird connection to this place. I felt like it was my real "motherland". Identity crisis at it's finest!
I am American because I was born in America. Don't get me wrong, I'm very proud to be an American and know that I truly have the resources to live the dream and that this truly is the land of opportunity. But I'm also very proud to have Salvadorean roots. I'm proud of my parents and I'm proud to be bilingual. But I speak Spanish, maybe not the same version with that intriguing lisp, but the language of the land that ultimately conquered and influenced where I came from.
I felt at home. I could speak fluently and I looked like everyone there. I could read the street signs, effortlessly ask for directions, and order confidently at restaurants.
AND, it was beautiful.
If anything, I embraced the fact that I as a person am eclectic in my culture.

I volunteered at the hostel where I stayed by helping the cleaning lady clean. We grew to be friends during the two weeks I was there, and I was appalled at the low rates she was being paid. But like anywhere in the world, people who can't do it legally will do it for cheap. Although the work I did doesn't count as volunteer towards my scholarship, I learned a lot from this cleaning lady in Barcelona. I learned so much about her struggles, and her goals. I mostly listened to her, which I found I had to do a lot of while traveling. I knew some very intimate aspects of her life but we never exchanged our names. It's like that was the least of the things we could share with each other to feel like we were sharing.
Cleaning went quickly listening to her stories of expired visas, grandchildren she's never met, and saving up to visit her family.
What I have found worldwide is that no matter who it is, where, or when, everyone needs someone to talk to, someone to listen, and make them feel like their struggle means something in the great scheme of things.
Sight seeing was the best. One day while we were trying to go on a walking tour, Laura and I ended up on the back of these two army guys' bikes riding around town. Painful and fast, it was the best way to get around town. I even ripped my pants, so you know
It was fun.
Barcelona was the best way to end the first part of my gap year before going home for my sister's wedding. Honestly, I couldn't wait to be home. I really needed to be with my family again.