Despite the abhorrent sentimentality that accompanies my goodbyes to every place, no matter the experiences I had there nor the ease at which I could return, I am left with nothing profound to say. I am learning that this is okay because even if it is not beautiful or gut wrenching or enigmatically dissociative, the things I think still deserve to be said. I have struggled a great deal with thinking. When I was in high school, I claimed myself an over thinker. Too analytical, too precise, too caught up in details, my head buzzed with intricacies that, oftentimes, meant nothing at all. I do not know if I would still call myself that, nor if that is really what was going on. It is good to think, it’s all we can really do. Now, all I long for is thinking. Real thinking, observations that provoke and digress and guide me through the day. How on earth do we stop thinking? How can someone think less?

I do not think my problem is overthinking, maybe I even reject that sentiment entirely. I want to be thoughtful, practice being considerate and even tempered, give more weight to my words, and proliferate an existence that is understood, though not inherently understandable. I want to say what I mean so that people can hear and take me as I am. If they understand or relate is a prerogative I am learning to reject, this is hard. At the same time though, I want to be present, in touch with the people around me so I remember things about them and can properly take them as they are. I try to do both, but I am not good at this yet. When I focus too hard on doing this, I lapse in and out of silence and crassness. I’m starting to think that at first, maybe I should be a little crass and see where it takes me. Yesterday, I felt it allowed me to be much more present. I am not inherently bad or rude. When I allow myself to express (subjectively) uninhibited thoughts, I let go of the fear of judgement and neglect, depending on the circumstances. I would like this to depend less on the circumstances. This semester, I was very focused on being quiet, on listening to people in an attempt to hone in on my thoughts as way of becoming more comfortable with them so that when I am alone, I take them more seriously, value them more, let them keep me company. This was helpful, and something I need to continue working on. But I find that this does not really work without letting myself shout sometimes. I am funny, not to everyone. But I think things that, to an extent, are unique to me, and I think they make me special. So sometimes I want to shout. For a while, I had a hard time shouting in a way that was kind. I’d shout over, searching for help, for someone to hear me though I was being loud enough. If there is enough kindness and authenticity in your shouts, other people can shout with you. It is not inherently abrasive to be loud, to be yourself, and this is hard for me to understand without also listening to the people around me. My shouts can become chants and a chant without thought or mutuality is a discursive headache. I feels though I may continue to lapse in and out for a bit and this is a bit unfortunate because it usually just translates to me being a little awkward. But with enough devotion to each lapse, I think they can coexist. I seek to find power in my voice (thoughts, feelings) on its own so that I can unite with the voices around me. This may take a while, but I think that is ok.

I am thankful for my time in Salamanca. I will never come back here but that is ok. The physical space here and what it has allowed me is important and it’s silly to deny that. But this thinking and being away from Kenyon, away from New York, I think can exist similarly in other spaces. Makes you think about home a lot, what a weird place to live.