Exposing myself in Barcelona

And no, I don't mean any sort of public nudity. I did not physically expose myself while visiting my friend Irene from UCSD in her European home of Barcelona, where she has been studying for the year. I can honestly say I had one of my best European experiences this past weekend while visiting her, between going to her church there, meeting some of her friends, and seeing a few of the city's most famous sights. I haven't felt so comfortable yet so vulnerable in quite a while, and it was kind of refreshing and cathartic.

It wasn't until I met the customs agent in Barcelona airport that I realized how automatic the Italian language has become in my brain. When he looked through my passport, he came across my stamps from crossing the Switzerland-Italy border at Chiasso, at which point I mentioned that I was studying in Switzerland. I was quite surprised that he asked to see my Swiss residence permit, but I assume he was just curious as he just glanced over it and handed it back to me. Then, while taking the metro with Irene, a machine ate my ticket, and I asked for help from the attendant...in Italian. However, as the weekend progressed, my Spanish became more pure, especially when I met Irene's friends from her church. I was kind of impressed with myself: I was able to communicate more or less effectively and follow all of their conversations. Not knowing their inside jokes, my participation in their conversations was somewhat limited unless they were addressing me directly. However, it's nice to know that I can still speak Spanish.

But more than anything, this Easter weekend would prove to be more of a spiritual experience than anything. It began on Sunday morning, when Irene and I went to the service at the church she has been attending during her year abroad. It felt much like a modern evangelical Protestant church in the States, much like an IV large group. The people were nice, the music was of a similar style, and the pastor that gave the sermon reminded me of a Spanish Ryan Pfeiffer. It also was interesting being able to take communion for the first time in my life, after my past in Catholic high school. At a Catholic Mass, you must be Catholic in order to take communion, so I'm accustomed to just proceeding to the altar with one hand over my heart to ask for a blessing. But this time, I was able actually partake of the offering. I guess that's one nice thing about us Protestants, though I still have my respect for Catholicism.

The best part of it however was being told, yet again, by Jose Luis, the guy who gave the sermon, that I really shouldn't worry so much. As he said to all of us, worrying really isn't healthy, and I guess that really is God's way of telling us not to worry so much and trust God more. Many of the things we worry about really are out of our control, and wallowing in misery really doesn't solve anything. Reminds me how therapeutic prayer is, offering my concerns to God even if it is hard for me admit that there are many times when I have no control. As Irene and I discussed last night after I returned to my apartment in Lugano, it really is easier to trust God with our eternal destiny than with pressing concerns in the present. Worrying is easy, but learning to trust and admitting that sometimes all you can do is pray ultimately is more productive.

My most revelatory moments came though in my late night conversations with Irene over a few glasses of cava and sangria. I guess the alcohol may have been a factor in my willingness to offer numerous testaments to my weaknesses, but I blame it more on my comfort with Irene. It was cathartic to admit to such things as having an Object of my Worldly Lust (don't get too excited, Mom) and that I may harbor a certain bitterness toward certain people from my past (especially middle and high school, as my current dear friends that I met during those times probably can understand). I basically unveiled all of my imperfections for Irene, and fortunately she didn't run away screaming. Sometimes it's hard for me to admit that I am incapable of perfection, but at the same time I'm thankful for Irene's affirmations that being unabashedly me is still a good thing. And I can certainly say the same things about her. Thank you again, Irene.

And another thing I learned: such lowering of inhibitions can also result in sending facebook messages to said Object of my Worldly Lust... should be interesting...