Storytime on a Spanish Island

 Open the first photo album you can find — real or virtual, your call — and stop at the first picture of yourself you see there . Tell us the story of that photo.


Everyone I know says I exaggerate about everything, and it’s completely true. My reactions to everything are melodramatic. So here’s a picture of me, sitting on a deserted beach in Mallorca, Spain, in 2012. The summer beforehand I was studying in Barcelona…and when I say studying, I mean everything but actually opening a real book. In the midst of an awkwardly bad break-up, walking hungover and alone 35km in a small Greek village in blistering heat until finding a train station to take me back to Athens, and eventually to the airport (long story)…I found that going back home to Canada to my family and friends wasn’t the right thing for me, anymore. So I packed my bags and moved to Spain, which sounds ridiculously impulsive, and, it was..especially when you don’t speak the language. Fast forward to this picture in Mallorca in April 2012, looking back on all the incredible experiences I had (visiting over 40 different cities in 1 year, learning to speak Spanish, eventually perfecting Spanish – learning to speak Italian, falling in love, moving to Italy, and seeing a whole lot of football matches ) and thinking, yeah, definitely the best decision I’ve ever made.



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