Catalan Week <3
(Ni som vill läsa detta på svenska får vänta tills imorgon)
"Oh Lilly, don't cry." they said to me all the time. But it was hopeless. I had fighted a war against my tears ever since Marina packed her bag and we went to the bus stop together for the last time. The thought "when I come back here, I come back alone" was enought to make me wanna cry.
We signed each others flags. Were crying and laughing in a tired combination. Dancing the Scottish dance that Helen showed us last year, and a Spanish or Catalan one as well. The movie "Mamma Mia!" was a bit too happy to match my mind, but at least it stopped me from crying. A while.
Cause when I saw Cristina's tears, I started and couldn't stop. I thought about our wonderful week. The first meeting at the bus station, with Marina's beautiful curly hair and big heavy bag. The first dinner at my place, the pasta and my home made sauce which I was so glad that she liked. First English class at Thursday morning, with all name games á la Helen. IKEA after school. Evening at Malin's place, watching "Idol" and a political debate. Friday with pizza party, 15 Catalans and almost as many Swedes at the smallest pizzeria in that part of town. Party and dancing to all the songs we came up with. The long and dark but nice bus journey down to Vimmerby, with a meeting with a not-too-sober classmate as well. The weekend with Astrid Lindgren, Swedish nature á la Gullringen and some movies. The lonely Monday, and the happy reuniting. The evening with nuts and smoothies at Sofia's place.
And then it came. The end. The goodbye. The tears.
They sat at Elsa's and had some fika. When Marina and I showed up and came in throw the door, all of them clapped. They did that to Sofia, Marta and Maria too, but it made me warm inside. I felt that they wanted me there. I was a part of their group.
We got to McDonalds and bought dinner. When we waited for Joël and Emma, I had to ask Marina: what had been the best thing with this week in Sweden?
"Everything." she said.
Somewhere when I had adapted my language after her. Somewhere when I could keep a conversation with her alive, talking about Sweden, music, Stockholm or politic. Somewhere when we laughed together. Somewhere when we sat at the bus stop, in the cold and darkness, she played me her music and I just listened and didn't have to say anything. Somewhere when I learned to see when she was sad and when she was happy, just by one look.
Somewhere there, I understood that we are friends for life now.
Do you know what the worst thing is, Marina?
Tomorrow, there won't be any Catalan hard rocker with black curly hair sitting in the extra bed and eating cookies.
I will miss you so much, Marina. Your beautiful hair, your black clothes, your presece in the other bed in my room. The way you talk, walk, smile, laughts and tries to find the Engish word for things, with your hands and cute Spanish accent.
Somwhere here, everything has to go back to normal again. I have to start speaking Swedish, thinking in Swedish, cycle to school. Eat my breakfast alone.
I have a long way back to normal. And I don't know if I wanna go there.
What I know is that I will go to Spain and visit all this wonderful people. I don't have much money, have never flied before and my Spanish ends with "Hola, como te llamas?", but I will. Someday. Somehow. I promise. I love you, my Catalans.
"Oh Lilly, don't cry." they said to me all the time. But it was hopeless. I had fighted a war against my tears ever since Marina packed her bag and we went to the bus stop together for the last time. The thought "when I come back here, I come back alone" was enought to make me wanna cry.
We signed each others flags. Were crying and laughing in a tired combination. Dancing the Scottish dance that Helen showed us last year, and a Spanish or Catalan one as well. The movie "Mamma Mia!" was a bit too happy to match my mind, but at least it stopped me from crying. A while.
Cause when I saw Cristina's tears, I started and couldn't stop. I thought about our wonderful week. The first meeting at the bus station, with Marina's beautiful curly hair and big heavy bag. The first dinner at my place, the pasta and my home made sauce which I was so glad that she liked. First English class at Thursday morning, with all name games á la Helen. IKEA after school. Evening at Malin's place, watching "Idol" and a political debate. Friday with pizza party, 15 Catalans and almost as many Swedes at the smallest pizzeria in that part of town. Party and dancing to all the songs we came up with. The long and dark but nice bus journey down to Vimmerby, with a meeting with a not-too-sober classmate as well. The weekend with Astrid Lindgren, Swedish nature á la Gullringen and some movies. The lonely Monday, and the happy reuniting. The evening with nuts and smoothies at Sofia's place.
And then it came. The end. The goodbye. The tears.
They sat at Elsa's and had some fika. When Marina and I showed up and came in throw the door, all of them clapped. They did that to Sofia, Marta and Maria too, but it made me warm inside. I felt that they wanted me there. I was a part of their group.
We got to McDonalds and bought dinner. When we waited for Joël and Emma, I had to ask Marina: what had been the best thing with this week in Sweden?
"Everything." she said.
Somewhere when I had adapted my language after her. Somewhere when I could keep a conversation with her alive, talking about Sweden, music, Stockholm or politic. Somewhere when we laughed together. Somewhere when we sat at the bus stop, in the cold and darkness, she played me her music and I just listened and didn't have to say anything. Somewhere when I learned to see when she was sad and when she was happy, just by one look.
Somewhere there, I understood that we are friends for life now.
Do you know what the worst thing is, Marina?
Tomorrow, there won't be any Catalan hard rocker with black curly hair sitting in the extra bed and eating cookies.
I will miss you so much, Marina. Your beautiful hair, your black clothes, your presece in the other bed in my room. The way you talk, walk, smile, laughts and tries to find the Engish word for things, with your hands and cute Spanish accent.
Somwhere here, everything has to go back to normal again. I have to start speaking Swedish, thinking in Swedish, cycle to school. Eat my breakfast alone.
I have a long way back to normal. And I don't know if I wanna go there.
What I know is that I will go to Spain and visit all this wonderful people. I don't have much money, have never flied before and my Spanish ends with "Hola, como te llamas?", but I will. Someday. Somehow. I promise. I love you, my Catalans.
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