As I write this blog I know that in one week exactly I’ll be leaving Ibiza for good.
My dreams of making Brazil my home are finally coming true after two years of yearning for a country I only briefly visited back in 2010.
And although I’m so excited for the opportunity to take on another country and language, I can’t help but sit here and wallow in my own guilt.
When I could be thinking about the adventure I’m about to embark on, I’m being eaten away by all the remorse that comes with picking up and leaving.
I’ll be leaving behind a tight little group of language assistant friends
Friends I haven’t even told.
I’d swear I’ve been planning on telling them for ages now, and that the opportunity never came up, but who am I to kid, I’m selfish and didn’t want our relationships to change leading up to my departure. I still wanted to get invited to outings and treated as if I’d be there friend at least until June.
I really, really swear I promised to tell them this weekend, but plans fell through and now I wonder if I should whatsapp a warning before next weekend, my last.
I mean what IS the protocol for telling new friends your friendship will go no further and could possibly (or not) end forever?
I’ll also be leaving behind coworkers that give me rides to school and take me with them on hikes.
These coworkers also don’t know of my early departure. Can’t let that kind of gossip get back to my power tripping boss who most certainly wouldn’t let me leave without holding me in his office and guilting me to tears.
One coworker who I also private tutor (double whammy) even lent me a stack of books in Spanish. She was so excited to give them to me I didn’t have the heart to tell her I couldn’t accept them. And of course I didn’t want to explain why I couldn’t. So now I have a stack of Spanish novels I have no idea how to return to the sweetest biology teacher in the world that will be waiting for our conversation class the first Thursday of January.
And that’s not to speak of my other 175 students at the high school and 7 private tutoring students.
I think the highschoolers will get over it. Most only see me a few hours a week and are mostly uninterested in me due to what my coteacher told me was a lack of “yankee obsession”
Fair enough, these kids see so many foreigners come through their hometown (possibly nearly destroy it) every summer that I can’t expect them to get excited about meeting an average American girl that looks more or less just like them.
My heart does however begin to split when I think of my private class students.
I think of Noel, who tricked me in our first communication saying he wanted conversation classes. Turns out he wanted to be able to converse. His level was near zero! Now he understands most of what I say and we can have small conversations. How amazing it is to really see a student make progress!
I think of Emilio who really did want conversation classes. If I ever even try to show him some material that boy can take one look and jabber for an hour. We alwaaaaays go over time.
I think of my “little girls” and playing with their motherf-ing Barbies and how Angela would get so angry when I’d forget a doll’s name. Or the look on Laura’s face (11 yr old) when Angela (7 yr old) had beat us both at Go Fish six times in a row.
Lastly I think of my boys and the family I’d like to marry into (hehe) or be adopted by. Alvaro the 13 year old and his awesome sense of humor. On many occasions I’ve come to near tears and once actually did laugh so hard I cried when his voice broke upon entering the room and saying “Hi!”
Alvaro’s brother, Victor, my dreamboat 21-year-old student, that surprised me with his presence one day replacing his sister. He made me so nervous I laughed at all his mistakes. All our flirting is finaaaally going somewhere, but there won’t be any happy ending.
Lo que no sabe es que ese viaje no terminará. Yo también te echaré de menos. Os echaré de menos, a todos vosotros.
I can’t defend keeping my big move a secret. My reasoning is nearly 99% selfishness. Of course I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I choose not to tell them because I’m scared to see them hurt. I know they’ll hurt if I see them or not. This is what makes me a douche.
What makes me a dream seeker (and my only defense) is that I know moving to Brazil is the right decision for me. I find myself listening to Brazilian music, studying Portuguese on duolingo and already planning trips around Brazil to get to better know that gorgeous country.
My heart never really was in Spain. Ibiza was a discarded plan B or C that I was seduced into with pictures of pristine beaches and encouragement from friends and family. After three months in Ibiza I can honestly say that I see no future for myself here. And what’s worse? I don’t see much growth or challenge. It’s time for me to go. I don’t hope for forgiveness, but I do hope for understanding.
One life, one chance.