Thinking less, wondering less, concerned that a trip I was convinced I needed—some time away, time to think—was counterintuitive. That is, after all, what I have been doing the past four months, wandering, loitering, avoiding large groups. Over spring break, isolation was not a choice. My apprehension towards congenial hostel stays and lack of trust for those around me left me secluded with no room to dismantle the walls I had constructed around myself as a Solo Female Traveller. Ten days rooted in solitude, with that as my travels’ premise which later became a temporary psychologic condition, was possibly antithetical to that I needed.
I have been trying, waiting, to reach a state of solitude that is rooted in joy so much that I forgot its condition in the first place. I worry now, that the joy I have learned to obtain from choosing company has once again become a formidable obsession.
Coming back to this twelve hours later, I am trying to deal with the nuances or, rather, the dissonances, that come with my relationship to solitude. Today was a holiday in Salamanca; a week after Easter Monday, everyone takes the afternoon off and goes to the river to drink. It was originally meant to celebrate the return of prostitutes to the city after they temporarily banned from the premises to preserve the sanctity of university students.
I was tired today and I drank too much this weekend which made me feel bad and I hadn’t directly been invited anywhere, so I prepared for a day alone. I considered going to some artisan market where I likely wouldn’t find anything interesting, I’d read and watch a movie. I was invited, I went to the river.
I tried on many white shirts before I left, didn’t wear any, I left my room a mess. That’s happened every time going out since I’ve been back from spring break. I didn’t think much of it, I went, didn’t have a great time, there were too many people, I left.
I now have twelve days left in Spain and I worry about group organizations at home, an unthoughtful text I sent, how I will get my suitcase to Berlin. I worry about my company around other people, why I say yes when I know I am comfortable with saying no. It is easier to say yes, I suppose I have been searching for the courage to say no for a long time. I am leaving soon, so it does feel a bit foolish to spend the end of my time alone, thus I am trying to be kinder to myself. I wonder though, when anxieties and fears and desires persist, if time will always feels like it’s working against me.
I think being patient for love is all I can really do. Letting myself love things, remembering they matter to me, letting the things I enjoy make me feel important. I think I need to buy a fiction book. I am worried for who I will become when my responsibilities consume me once again.