Thanksgiving Blues

Sometimes, words aren’t enough. Which is odd for me to say, considering that I call myself a writer. But it’s true: sometimes words aren’t enough.

It’s hard to form sentences in Spanish in the morning. My family and former roommates know that I’m a charming ray of sunshine (sarcasmsarcasmsarcasm) before breakfast. In Barcelona, I feel lucky if I can get out more than “Buenos días” right when I wake up.

Then of course, there are the awkward pauses when you search for the word you want to say, one that has the right feeling. This especially applies to swear words, which never quite have the zing you want them to. It’s a foreign taste of the tip of your tongue, a second instinct so to speak. And it doesn’t feel quite right.

It is also hard to put into words the feelings of homesickness. It’s hard to see Facebook statuses about heading home for Thanksgiving while in a country where Thanksgiving doesn’t exist. It’s hard to describe what I call the Thanksgiving Blues, but God knows we all feel it. And it’s not even about the turkey or the pumpkin pie, it’s about watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with my sisters, bothering my mother in the kitchen, and sitting quietly with my father in the family room while everyone proceeds to panic. It’s about inside jokes relating to the Great Pie Massacre; it’s about seeing how long it takes for someone in the family to bring up the ever-occurring topic of “shit”; it’s about 30 minute long goodbyes; it’s about the dog pile of cousins on the couch; it’s about nosey relatives and suggestive winks.

These are going to be the things I will miss this Thanksgiving. Yes, I will be going to a fancy restaurant in Barcelona to eat turkey with all the other US kids and while yes, they are part of my Barcelona family, it’s not quite the same. Hence, the Thanksgiving Blues.

Yet, I have so much to not be bluesy about. Hell, I am living my dream in this city that always keeps me on my toes. I have great friends in Barcelona from California, I have amazing roommates, and I even have Spanish and Latino friends. I have a job, a bit of pocket money for traveling, and sufficient Spanish to know what’s going on in class. I have a ticket home for Christmas. This is what I’ve always wanted and I have it… so really, there is nothing to be bluesy about.

My oh my, what a sentimental sap I’ve become. I guess what I’m trying to say is this: to my friends and family Stateside, I miss you more than words can describe. Because sometimes, you know, words aren’t enough.