At times, I have questioned this crazy decision to be the only student who isn't a Spanish major or minor to study abroad in Spain. The phrase "You might have some trouble transferring credits" may have turned a few people away from this, that is, if there has ever been anyone but me crazy enough to study somewhere I haven't been taking language classes for. But here's the thing: it's different for me.
I was born there. I was a little maña from Zaragoza whose first language was Spanish, and whose parents had spent 10 years of missions in a nation, unbeknownst to many, that was, and is, unreached. Yes, I left when I was young, but I can assure you starting school there at age 3, experiencing the cabezudos and gigantes in the seemingly never-ending fiestas, and riding around Parque Grande as the locals all affectionately called it, made for a childhood difficult to forget.
What also made Spain so special was that it was just the four of us: my parents, Emilee and I. We always joked that it was that time there, without anybody else, that made us so close as a family. Sure, nobody could stop our eager wonderful grandparents from visiting, or from mom and dad taking us back to visit family on furlough, but otherwise, besides our church family and surrounding friends, it was simply us. And English was what tied us together, speaking it inside the home, Spanish outside.
And yes, perhaps I have lost my talent and ability from what I had or could have had, had we continued to speak in the home when moving to Los Estados Unidos. However, that transition was a difficult one, and I don't see how it would have gone any differently, seeing as Emilee and I needed to focus on our English. Yet, I still have my accent, and I still have my love for Spain.
I know this because in 2008 I had the privilege of accompanying my mom and her students to Spain. It was there that I had the strangest mix of emotions I had ever had. This place, where I had not been in for so long, felt like home to me, felt familiar to me, reminded me of my younger, innocent days, of how Emilee and I played imaginary games because the shows on TV were not appropriate, how we lived and breathed Disney movies, two of which I saw in Spanish theaters ("Tarzan" and "Toy Story").
It was like a whole world was rushing back to me, a world that felt to right, so much like home, and I was welcoming it all with open arms. I remember crying on the plane when I was coming back to the U.S. I found this so odd, I, me and my family, had made a life for ourselves here in Pennsylvania: how was it I had missed Spain so much and never known it?
I cannot tell you what feelings I will experience returning this time, but I can tell you I am 100% excited while also feeling like my stomach is in a knot, like, "Why Lindsey are you doing this? You definitely don't know Spanish like you think you do!" But somehow, I have been surprised by how it has come back to me, slowly and surely. How, watching a few tv episodes have turned my dreams into Spanish. And here's the thing: sometimes those things that scare us the most, are the exact things we need to do.
So in a few months, I am going to be hopping on a plane to go back to a place that was once home for me. A place that has brought up such unexpected emotion, I could have never guessed. A place, that now, holds even more meaning to me, because the last thing my sister did when she left Grove City that first and only year she would spend there, is grab an application for a Spanish Studies Abroad trip. And I would later find these papers in her backpack.
I am totally and completely scared out of my mind, but I could not be more sure that this is where I need to be. And if, while I am there, I feel overwhelmed, like I'm drowning in a language I'm still trying to grasp and understand, I am going to think back on Emilee. How she promised me I could visit her when she went, and how we would be together back home, in Spain.