Despedida

I am typing this from the sky – in a plane, winging my way from Madrid to London, back to the good ol’ British Isles that I came from. Two humungous matching suitcases, weighing precisely nineteen-point-five kilograms each, are stowed below me; I have negotiated with some young Spanish gentlemen, managing to wangle my preferred aisle seat, allowing legs to sprawl into the gangway, and a speedy getaway on arrival. Excellent. Glancing down at the keyboard, I inwardly giggle at myself, catching sight of my fingernails, painted fluorescent pink and yellow alternately, courtesy of the ten-year-old Spanish girl I have been looking after this year. I am wearing the same dress I wore exactly ten months and fourteen days ago as I travelled to Madrid for the very first time – I’m nothing if not consistent.

From August 2014...

...to July 2015.

I like aeroplanes – I like the efficiency of the whole process; I like being ungrounded, away from the world for a while; I like the inbetween-ness of being neither here nor there. There is time and space to think, to listen, to anticipate. Presently, I have plenty to be thinking about: each second brings me further away from the second place I have called home, yet closer to the first. Excitement and a hunger to move on to the next adventure swim around my head, along with sorrow at departing from people and places that I have come to treasure. Cognitive dissonance, if you will. Am I ready to be leaving? I think so. Will I miss Madrid? Abso-flipping-lutely.

Perhaps I won’t miss the temper tantrums of an angry seven-year-old, or the swelteringly sweaty, sleepless nights in an air conditioning-less bedroom. I can probably live without the sixteen minute waits for a metro, and the awkwardness of living with your employers. Actually, in many ways, I am overjoyed to be heading back to the land of tea-drinkers and unnecessary apologisers, where I don’t need to run through grammar structures in my head before I speak, where I can walk into any supermarket or corner shop and cheaply and easily pick up a bottle of Dr. Pepper, and where the people who have known and loved me for all my life are easily within my reach. But I will deeply and desperately miss: the beauty and bustle of Madrid’s many plazas; the constant excuse to run around and act like a fool with two wonderful little humans; the regular consumption of the holy trinity of Spanish tortilla, homemade gazpacho, and, of course, my one true love: green olives; belly-laughing over tinto de verano; dancing until dawn in the depths of the hideously cool ‘Malasaña’ district; churros con chocolate, and, of course, my beautiful patchwork of friends from all over the world - genuinely some of the best people I have ever met.

From waltzing outside the moonlit palace, to uncontrollable laughter in a random Spanish service station in the dead of night, to deep and hilarious conversations over cheap coffee every week, to walking home together through the Retiro as the sun sets over the Glass Palace, to happy Sunday evenings of curry eating and cracking up, and finally to dropping everything and dancing madly to Mr. Brightside on my final night in Madrid, it’s always the people that I’ll cherish, far more than any place. Those people who have made me smile, and laugh, and think… this year would have been nothing without you, and I am so grateful.

There are too many memories to write down, and too many people to thank for what has been one of the hardest, strangest, saddest, happiest, most unforgettably amazing years of my life, but now that it’s over, all I can say is that I’m SO glad I did it. I’m actually thankful that I didn’t get into university, thankful that I went on that au pair website, got on that plane, and found myself in an unknown city, living with unknown people, speaking an unknown language. I’m thankful because I turned all the unknowns into knowns, and, not only that, I had an absolute blast! Whilst this year was not a holiday – au pairing is certainly not for the faint-hearted, teaching English to a group of Spanish six-year-olds is like taming a pack of wild lion cubs every day, and I was studying for an A level retake on top of working two jobs – I really did have SO MUCH FUN, and it’s left me raring and ready for my second year of adulthood, (not that I feel particularly adult-ish, by any stretch) whatever that may look like. Ends lead to beginnings, and that really is something quite marvellously exciting.

 My ears are popping; the seatbelt sign has illuminated. So that’s it. My two hours of inbetween-ness are up - time for pastures new. Good afternoon, England.

Regalo

Earlier this week, I was wandering around a part of Madrid I hadn’t been to before, passing the time before a pre-arranged meeting at two o’ clock. I stumbled across a fresh foods market, realised I wasn’t going to get a chance to eat my lunch until four (two or three o’ clock is standard here), and thus decided to pick up a snack, in the form of a small chocolate pastry/ doughnut kind of thing. I was just pulling some cents out of my purse to pay, when the young gentlemen at the counter waved me away, telling me I could have the pastry as a ‘regalo,’ free of charge. Never one to turn down free food, I thanked him, took a bite, and went on my way, as he called after me: ‘¡Hasta luego, guapa!’ (‘See you later, gorgeous!) A similar happening had occurred just days previously, when, having paid for six churros to share with my friends, I was presented with nine by the male chef – three ‘regalos,’ he told me – again, because I was ‘bonita’ (pretty). 

Now, free food isn’t exactly a phenomenon here in Madrid – complimentary crisps/ olives with a beer is common practice. However, the two instances about which I have written directly correlate the free items with the way that I look. As it happens, the day I was given the free pastry was one of the rare occasions when my hair had been freshly washed and I had bothered to put some mascara on. Which made me wonder: would I have still been given my snack as a gift, had my hair been in its usual unkempt state, and my eyes un-made-up, blurry with sleep and framed by bags? I think not. And I am almost certain that I would not have got such treatment had I been male, unless, perhaps, I happened to be in Madrid’s ‘rainbow neighbourhood’ of Chueca. 

External beauty in Granada!

Do not fear – this is not going to be some sort of attack on the patriarchy’s evil attempts to fatten me up; I am not angry about these happenings – on both occasions I accepted graciously, obviously! And I’m certainly not going to accuse these men of being sexist pigs, for I do not believe that either of them were. Perhaps they were ever-so-slightly objectifying me, but not intentionally so, and not to any great extent – as feminists, we have far bigger issues to deal with first! They did not expect to get anything from me in exchange for their generosity; they did not make me feel uncomfortable: they were merely obeying the rules of a sexualised culture that tells us that being beautiful on the outside is worthy of a reward. 

Particularly for women, a ridiculous amount of importance is placed on outward appearance. Without naming names, I can easily think of four or five female artists who have had incredibly successful careers, despite their abysmal singing ability, merely because they are beautiful. Then you have people like Kim Kardashian, who has basically created a brand out of the way that she looks, with rumours going round that she wants to put a copyright on her bottom! If you fit in with society’s ideal of beauty, it would seem that it is often easier to be successful. There are perks to being pretty – people are nicer to you. It is utterly unfair, but apparently becoming increasingly true. Oh, but be prepared to be whipped out of the public eye as soon as you start to show signs of aging - after all, nobody wants to see an ugly bird sat on the news sofa – that’s why we have ‘news’ programmes, right? To see Susanna Reid’s great legs? Keeping up with current affairs, I mean, that’s an added bonus…  

I jest, I jest, obviously, but I do think it’s important to draw attention to exactly how much of our time, effort, money and thoughts we devote to appearance. I worry that it is becoming acceptable to view ‘looking good’ as the most important thing to aspire to. It is far more common for a young woman to sigh, ‘I wish I had her hair/ her figure/ her fashion sense!’ than, ‘I wish I had her brains/ her patience/ her generosity/ her diligence!’ And that is messed up. What is the point of having a generation of woman who are great for looking at, and for having sex with, but hopeless at just about everything else? Of course, that’s a vulgar extremity, but those are the things that girls are under the most pressure from the media, from men, and even from each other, to be good at. 

Clearly, I do not expect a complete neglect of outward appearance. As a friend once said to me when I was debating whether or not I could be bothered to apply eye-shadow for a party, ‘Only do it if you want to. I enjoy putting it on and I like the way it looks, that’s why I’m doing it. But you definitely don’t have to.’ My friends are wonderful, non-judgemental, accepting and fun-loving people; I chose wisely! The same girl went out on another occasion with minimal make-up, black jeans and a shirt, because she’d been sailing all day and wasn’t in the mood for dolling herself up. For her, dressing up was not so entangled in trying to impress others as it is for many of us. Incidentally, she looked great on both occasions – probably because she was content in herself and wasn’t trying to look a certain way to gain admiration or lust. Confidence is attractive. So is smiling and being happy. You can’t fake these things, you can’t buy them, and you can’t slip them on like a new dress from Topshop. They come from within. And whilst we’re busy cultivating our hair, our skin, our figures and our wardrobes, we’re spending less and less time cultivating what’s within: our minds, our souls and our attitudes.

Nourish the mind, the soul... and the stomach.

Time, energy and money are finite resources, and as such, require a certain degree of consideration as to how to make use of them. I, for one, do not want to be spending more time making sure my hair’s just so, and worrying about the size of my thighs, than I do putting a smile on someone’s face, or learning a new skill. Additionally, as much as keeping your body fit is important, not just for beauty but for health, it is also beneficial to give your mind a work-out. And just as your body needs time to rest, you could also gain a lot from taking time out to collect your thoughts and explore your soul. Being beautiful on the inside is not particularly lusted after by society, and it probably won’t earn you a free doughnut. But what it will do is enrich your life, your relationships and your self-esteem.

I want to take external beauty down off its pedestal. Yes, I’m still going to dress up for parties, still going to shave my legs and paint my toenails, still going to enjoy a charming little shoe, or bag, or coat – but I want to limit how much of my finite resources I devote to that. I want to ensure that my desire to look good is only a small proportion of my life, overshadowed by a desire to love, learn, imagine, dream, think, analyse, help, appreciate, and give. For what could be more beautiful (in its fullest sense) than that?

'Living for the Week-end'

 

Today is Monday – Monday 20^th October, to be precise, which means that I am just a week away from having been living in Spain for two whole months, something both scarily unbelievable, yet also perfectly sensical* to me. If you want to know more about my life in Madrid, you are most cordially invited to follow me on twitter and instagram – both are regularly updated with snippets of my adventures – or, naturally, email/ message/ Skype/ FaceTime me personally, and I will be more than happy to bore you with a rant about ‘how I’m getting on.’ Right now, though, I would rather like to get back to Mondays.

I have never had a problem with Mondays, myself. In fact, back when I was doing my A-levels, I was that irritating specimen who, come Monday, would bound into my History classroom at nine o’ clock sharpish with a cheery ‘good morning!’ on my lips, much to my classmates’ dismay/ wry amusement. Mondays seem to have acquired something of a bad reputation over the years of human existence. It has been the muse for such songs as ‘Manic Monday’ and ‘Blue Monday,’ both of which essentially define this day of the week by its gloominess. So why – why is it a truth universally acknowledged that one should hate Mondays? Yes – I am aware that Monday is the furthest day away from Friday. And, yes - I am aware that Monday signifies the commencement of the working week for many. But these things imply that we are pinning all hopes of happiness on just the tiny fragment of the week that we know to be the week-end. And I am not okay with that. This ‘Living for the Week-end’ philosophy that is so rampant within Western culture de-values the remaining days of the week and promotes principles of instant gratification and short-lived highs, as opposed to healthy, stable contentment, in which loving, committed relationships thrive, and where joy is found in the mundane. 

Photograph accredited to Miss Mayme Wilson

Especially for my peers in what I shall refer to as ‘the younger generation,’ the whole concept of ‘stable contentment’ may perhaps seem terribly dull. But please, hear me out, for I am certainly not saying that one should not enjoy the week-end – on the contrary: I myself, aside from one of my closest friends here in Madrid having departed, have just emerged from a wonderful week-end which – shock! horror! – included wine, and beer, and dancing, and laughing, and so on and so forth. These things per se are not what I am criticising – by any stretch of the imagination. It is what stems from these things that I dislike – an attitude of excess. Throwing your money, your time and your body into one night of pleasure, before trudging through the days until your next blow-out. To me, that just seems entirely unsatisfactory. 

Both photographs accredited to Miss Vicki Alfieri

We are fearfully and wonderfully made, for goodness’ sake! Human beings have the capacity, through our hands, our feet, our minds, to change the world. CHANGE THE WORLD! How exciting is that?! And no - I’m not entirely naïve: I understand that not everyone is going to be Gandhi, or Mother Teresa, or Martin Luther King. I’m not necessarily talking in the macro sense. I’m talking about the kind of changing the world that can be achieved through smiling at a stranger, taking pride in your work, and listening – really listening, and really caring – when somebody pours their heart out to you. The kind of changing the world that relies on integrity, and passion, and deep, meaningful, loving and sincere relationships. The kind of changing the world that cannot grow from an eyes-on-the-clock, grumpy Monday, feeding off last Friday’s feel-good rush mind-set. That may fulfil you - fleetingly – giving you enough of a boost to make it through to the following Saturday night, but if you think contentment will be found in the bright lights and the bars, then think again: it will not. 

I suppose what I’m really trying to say boils down to one of my go-to quotes:

 ‘Until further notice: celebrate everything!’ (I have no idea who came up with it, for which I apologise.) 

Don’t restrict your hours of joyfulness! Yes – go out and have fun on the week-end: there is absolutely nothing wrong with what, since arriving in Spain, I have dubbed as ‘fiesta-culture’. If you enjoy showing off your complete lack of dance talent and singing along at the top of your voice with your friends when your favourite song comes on as much as I do – then by all means: carry on! But try not to let that become the only aspect of your week that you celebrate. Celebrate on Sunday as you turn in early with a cup of tea. Then celebrate again on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday as you slip back into routine. Celebrate by accessorising with a smile, by savouring every last mouthful of a delicious meal, by laughing out loud at something you see on twitter, by doing a really good job of a task that you’ve been set, by taking time out to recuperate and reconnect, by saying ‘¡Hola!’ to the bus driver (maybe that one’s just me?), by keeping your body and mind fit and healthy, by assuming the best of people, and by throwing yourself, joyfully and wholeheartedly, into the adventure that we call life. 

                                  

In what perhaps may sound like a paradox, but I assure you, is perfectly compatible with all I have just written: it is okay to be sad. And it is okay to let other people see that you are sad, or irritable, or hurt. What is not okay is when you let those emotions consume you. Or when you try to drown those feelings in a ‘Living for the Week-end’ attitude. Living – truly living – for every day of the week requires strength, and endurance – for it involves facing up to fears, problems, emotions, and working through them. It involves overriding the confusion, the anger, the sorrow, and coming through the other side. It involves hard graft; it involves mistakes. But I would dare to say that it will be worth it.

I invite you, then, to drink Life to the lees with me – every minute of every hour of every day. I invite you to search for the kind of fulfilment that will last; I invite you to embark on the sort of relationships that are worth investing in.

Here’s to Mondays.

*It IS a word, I Oxford English Dictionaried it to check. (Dictionaried, however, is not.)