Backstreet's Back, Alright.

There are people in this world that want to see you fail. Their happiness lies in your misery and sometimes giving in to their venom seems like the easier option. Words are a powerful tool and part of the reason I study what I study. What you say to someone, whether it be a compliment or an insult, has the strength to carve itself onto the heart of the person you're speaking to. When they hear your words, their vision of self-worth can either rise or fall based on how you choose to communicate with them.

Words can empower you, make you feel like there is nothing in this world that you cannot do. They can make you laugh, make you cry, give you goosebumps, and change your life. Words are powerful in that they can either help build the foundation in which you stand on… or they can rip the groundwork right out from under you.

As a world full of similarly complex people, we have to chose our words wisely and mind our tongues. It's best not to speak on a subject you know little to nothing about, or make comments towards someone whose life has no direct effect on your own. Let your words strengthen the weak, motivate the lost, and give a smile to those that are frowning.

We've all been hurt by words and we cannot prevent what others may say… but we can choose what we say to others.

With that being said, I'm going to continue writing this blog. After a few weeks of contemplation, I've realized that there will always be a select few that don't have anything nice to say. Some say it is jealousy. They want what they don't have. They see someone doing well, someone they didn't particular like in the past, and they continue to transmit negative energy on a chapter that's long been closed. Their jealousy becomes a fuel for hatred… Even though I'm flattered that I still manage to come up in conversation even after years of being gone, it is still petty and unnecessary. Let it go.

I sure as hell did.

….

Now that that is out of the way, let's get back to the heart of my blog. These entries are my way of bringing the people I love with me to Spain, sharing my stories, and hopefully giving my hometown a reason to go beyond our county line.

This is Chapter 2. This is the second half. The go big and go home.

Everything about this experience has been unbelievable. God gets all the glory for this one. He has truly blessed me with the life that I had thought I would only be able to dream of. My dream is my real life. It is difficult for me to put into words the happiness I feel when I wake up in the morning. I can honestly say that I'm glowing. I'm alive… and not just in the sense that my heart is beating. I'm alive in a way that I can feel the little things around me… the way the wind blows, the sound of language flowing from person to person as I walk down the street, the smell of paella or the tingling taste of red wine… I notice every little detail, even the things that most of you would overlook or find trivial.

Everything about this experience is magic.

From Louisville, KY to Madrid, Spain in 14 seconds

Forever Alone on Two Different Continents

The minute my plane touched down on Spanish soil, it immediately became apparent (once again) that Spain is home to some of the most beautiful men in the world. Some could probably use Joan Rivers' fashion advice, but the majority of them are the real deal Holyfield. Most of the time I'll find myself openly staring at them. It's honestly not my fault though. God wouldn't have made something so beautiful if people weren't suppose to look at it a little longer than the standard 3 second rule.

I arrived to my last terminal two hours early and managed to buy a chicken/bacon sandwich. You may take the girl out of America, but you'll never take the America out of the girl. After airplane food, 16 hours of traveling, and slipping through security like a professional, I figured I owed it to myself to stuff my face with something that tasted like freedom.

As I'm shoving large, sloppy bites of said sandwich into my mouth without any awareness to my surroundings, a group of fine, young gentleman made their way beside me. My eyes abruptly swelled to the size of tennis balls before I realized my black pullover was covered with bread crumbs and my cheeks rivaled Alvin, Simon, and Theodore. It truly wasn't a good look for me. Not to mention I was sweaty, jet lagged, and in need of a bed. These attractive young fellows were dressed in matching jumpsuits. They were a no-name soccer team of people I didn't even begin to know, but still… they were soccer players.

But that didn't have an effect on me. A couple of guys in fancy shirts, holding their duffle bags? Who cares? Not me, right? Right.

I got up from my seat and left, marching right up to a trash can with my empty sandwich bag and my head held high…

anddddddd then I turned around.

Before I go into details, let me start by saying that I truly do not aim to find myself in these particular types of situations. Things like this just happen to me. It's my luck, I guess. I've heard that somewhere down the line my ancestors were Irish. Who knows. The thing is… my life is a series of moments where I find myself questioning how I got into certain predicaments to begin with.

I ran into Real Madrid's Second Divison Futbol Team. And by ran into them… I mean I blindly turned around and came within inches of colliding with one of them. They were on their way to the Canary Islands and in typical, Spanish tradition, they were late. As I watched a whole team of potential husbands board a plane to a destination that was in fact NOT Granada, I realized that my life could be a Romantic Comedy. I was literally surrounded by young men, my age or a little older, that could one day be on television's around the world.

Ya know, I would have enjoyed being a futbol wag.

La Residencia

Right when you think you've went as far as you can go, take another step.

The beautiful thing about this second semester is that I've learned from my mistakes and can strengthen my experience by avoiding what I didn't enjoy before. Last semester, as you know, I lived with a host family. First and foremost, I loved my host mom. She was a seemingly kind-hearted woman that helped make adjusting to this culture much easier. The great thing with host families is that your parents will teach you tricks that will prepare you for what you'll face in the streets or when meeting locals. I appreciated everything that my host mom did for me, but let face it… I'm 21. I want my independence.

I'm now living in a residencia with about 40-50 Spaniards, both boys and girls. Some of you are probably confused by what a "residencia" is, but look at the word. Looks kind of like "residence," doesn't it? How about a Residence Hall? Any American college student knows all about that life. The thing about European residencias that separates it from America is that it is a million times better. Even though the bathroom lights don't work half the time, my bedroom is smaller than it used to be, and I nearly killed myself trying to drag my suitcase up the stairs… I'm once again having the time of my life. We get our food cooked and literally catered to us by our "jefe" Antonio. Then there is Carmen our cleaning lady that does my laundry and cleans my room. I've made friends from all over the US and Spain, people that I have already helped my semester get off to the right start. I honestly made the right decision in moving from my host family to a residencia.

Super Bowl Monday

While all of you back home sat on your respective couches with mounds upon mounds of finger foods spread out on your coffee tables on Sunday, I stood in an Irish pub packed with fellow Americans at 12:30 am on Monday. We all had the same goal for the night, find a way to keep our own tradition while embracing another. After belting out the national anthem, the room fell into a pretty passionate "USA, USA, USA" chant. It was beautiful and it felt like home. Freedom rang, guys. It rang hard.

What didn't ring was Peyton Manning. And by ring, I mean get one. And by get one, I mean… win.

After biting my knuckles, hiding in the bathroom to avoid Bruno Mars, throwing visual daggers at the gentleman in the Seahawks jersey, and trying to figure out what time Peyton Manning was supposed to show up to the game… I gave up on the Broncos.

I think I'm only meant to favor one Denver team. I'm looking at you, Nuggets Nation.

Yo No Hablo En Ingles

I've officially stumbled my way into the Advanced levels of Spanish. My speaking capabilities still rivals Mr. Miyagi, but I am able to understand the majority of what my professors say. It's an incredible feeling to see yourself come so far in a subject that you have spent so much time and effort in learning. It surprised me at how incredibly easy it was to understand my professor, take notes, and write in Spanish while paying attention to their lectures. We're not allowed to speak English in class, which I'm happy for. The more I speak Spanish, the better I'll become.

I'm honestly proud of myself for coming such a long way and continuing with my dedication to becoming bilingual. Seeing my work start to pay off is a wonderful feeling and I can only imagine how much better at speaking and listening I'll be once May rolls around.

….

"Do you know the best way to make a dream come true? Do you? It's to wake up."