Glass-Half-Empty Vibes, Glass-Half-Full Mind

February. A month of uncontrollable circumstances and controllable reactions.

Mar 19, 2024

February.

Not only did the weather fluctuate like eternal chills, but so did the general vibes. For that reason entirely, I gave myself compassion to step away from my Substack screen for the last few weeks, physically and mentally. February provided some inconvenient and unruly situations. Gratefully, they were balanced out with delightful and inspiring events, but required humility, patience, and acceptance.

Getting swiped

Oh what I’d do for the power of Dora’s word.

The first day of February’s fever was the Thursday morning I walked out of my apartment to a shorter bike. The forks that hold the front tire of my bike in place were off duty that morning — with my front wheel missing and it’s support rods on the ground. It took me a second to realize that I’d gotten robbed, a financial fear of mine I tried to prevent back when I got the bike in the first place.

Having woken up less than an hour beforehand, the sky still navy blue, and my mental gears still un-oiled by a freshly brewed coffee, I wasn’t ready to process that scene. I gulped. Took a picture. And walked away. Trying to calm the frustration I usually feel when external circumstances really inconvenience me, I took some deep breaths and calmly continued to the bus stop. I left my bike chained to the light post (just with less rubber this time), exactly as it had been for a couple weeks now (and that may have been the problem).

Before my first ride with Ruby outside the mall where I got her.

I mean, I guess I learned my lesson? My chain was too short to lock my front tire in with the body of my bike. I thought it’d be safer to park my bike in front of my apartment building rather than around the corner and across the police station where I wouldn’t see it everyday. My logic was: who would steal someone’s bike right in front of their owner’s building? Well, I learned that my logic isn’t always somebody else’s logic — all logics are different, Tea. And in this logical (in)difference, somebody got away with it. (There is also logic in parking your bike across from a police station with cameras, so I’ll pursue that logic next time.)

My 60-euro comfort-zone-shifter has been loitering in my kitchen since the robbery. Although I wasn’t angry, I did feel a bit defeated. I hadn’t ridden my bike in a while, and obviously I wasn’t the only one aware of that. A few months ago I had made a goal to step outside my comfort zone and bike to work. I didn’t necessarily fail… let’s just say I made adjustments. I haven’t reached that goal, but I have sweat a lot on the fully-inclined rides I have taken. The sharp winter winds of the Mediterranean weren’t a friend to my dried and sat-in sweat, even when I’d brought an extra set of clothes. Prone to sore throats, aching coughs, and migraines, I decided to wait out the winter and bike shorter, flatter distances until the spring.

On the bright side, I was satisfied with my cool and calm reaction to the inconvenience — immediate acceptance of being powerless in the situation. Sometimes we just have to trust and submit to the Universe’s choices.

After the fall and recovery of most of Málaga’s bitter oranges from their trees, the aroma of the orange blossoms stroll the sidewalks of the city.

Getting enlightened

On my way home from work that day, I stopped at El Carrito, the Latin American store near my bus stop. I was craving my boyfriend’s cooking, particularly cachapas. I couldn’t take it anymore and picked up some sweet corn flour and cheese to give the typical Venezuelan dish a shot. My roommate Vanessa is from the same city in Venezuela as my boyfriend Alex, and I blushed when she walked into the kitchen and giggled watching me pour the flour in the bowl before the water (supposedly there’s a huge debate about this order of events). Stage fright had me sweating as I mixed the two-ingredient dough to the correct consistency.

Cachapa presentation was a solid 3 out of 10. The taste was a 10 (could also be bc I had been craving it for weeks), slightly underdone, but I still enjoyed every minute of my new sweet and savory go-to dinner.

My stepmom’s practical souvenir from Spain, preaching, '‘we can't always choose the music that life plays for us, but we can choose how we dance to it!!”

As we type away at the dining room table, Vane and I began discussing when we’d finally go to the salsa and bachata party we’ve been talking about going to for months now. The conversation led to the idea of blasting tambor at the beach one day to dance and attract other Venezuelans to a wholesome picnic. That inspired us to manifest our dancing dream by living it the best we could in the present. How do you do that on a cold Thursday at 11pm? Well, you put Youtube tutorials on the TV of course!

The telly helped us get groovin’ to a tambor dance class in the living room. The quality of the video was y2k, and the instruction fantastic and clear. We broke a sweat. Even more ambitious, Vane put on a samba tutorial from the same instructora. The fact that we didn’t get a neighbor knocking on our door from the rapid, intense, and extremely difficult foot movements attacking the ceramic floor was a blessing. I didn’t need anymore confrontations that day… just joy. And therefore, dance.

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Getting run down

And so went February. Hot and cold. Lighthearted and frustrating. Midst discovering new cafes (e.g. Dulces Dreams) and music venues (e.g. La Polivalente), attending almost all of Málaga’s eccentric Carneval events, seeing my traveling cousin and meeting his girlfriend, and being visited by my partner, also came repetitive throat infections with two rounds of antibiotics, several stubborn leg lesions, and, due to the prior, not being physically active and spending over €70 this month alone at the pharmacy (doing that calculation hurt). With a run-on month, you get a run-on sentence.

The winner of Málaga’s goddess of Carneval contest strutting her stuff and enchanting the audience with her “Belize” theme. She was my fav! Her float and energy were jaw-dropping! Photo from DiarioSur.

At the end of the month, my boo took advantage of his full week-long vacation to come visit me in the south from the north of Spain. He came with a nasty foot wound from dropping some unknown object at work, so it was nice to suffer our unexpected health problems together. We would remind each other to clean our wounds, replace our band-aids, take our antibiotics. We were even prescribed the same antiseptic spray, so that was pretty cute! It’s nice to have someone come to the doctor’s with you again, have someone help you solve your problems with you (like the missing bike part from earlier), and have someone to forget about time with. The weight of responsibility and stress dissolves, and it all becomes so much easier.

Getting taken care of

Alex was on vacay, but I wasn’t yet. He would wake up with me at 6:30 AM and join me to my bus stop for work. While I went to the high school, he would do his thing at bookstore/café Q Pro Quo near the University of Málaga’s Law School. We both have a dream to open up a café with a huge library, so this charming, two-in-one, literacy-rich concept was the perfect place for inspiration while apart.

Not only was I taken care of emotionally, mentally, and physically by my partner, but also by myself. I was present. Savoring each second spent together is the natural consequence of a long-distance relationship. Our time apart from each other makes being together that much sweeter. The presence is inevitable, and whatever stress our brains were making up previously moves to the backseat. We can only sit in the driver’s seat when we’re fully present, with ourselves and each other.

Trying to get a cute sunset pic on Marbella’s promenade.

Getting lunch, resting without feeling guilty, researching volunteer opportunities, making cachapas and arepas and Serbian salads, laughing til we (I) pee ourselves (myself), going to the doctor’s for my second round of antibiotics, breathing the fresh air of Málaga’s botanical gardens, and spending the weekend in Marbella for an exotic pole competition (which was one of my favorite memories) all nurtured and rejuvenated me.

Thanks to the way Spain enjoys life and finds any opportunity to create a day off, I’m blessed as an English language assistant at a high school here. Not only do I work part-time, but the students and teachers have so many vacation days that it’s pretty convenient for travel junkies. The last Monday in February, Alex and I went to the airport together. While he was going back to the north, I was flying to Serbia to enjoy the week-long pre-spring-break break with my family. Six days is a short period of time, but it’s enough to catch up and get a good dose of each other until the summer. Both my sweet stepmom and aunt prepared ‘welcome back’ cakes, and, obviously, I ate at least a couple slices a day.

When life gives you cake, eat it.

Well-fed, medicated, supported, and cared for, I’m rebooted for whatever obstacles and opportunities March has to offer. With three months left of my English assistant duties (and unsure as to whether I want to do NALCAP for a third year), I’m fully engrossed in the great amounts of free time I have now that I may not have next fall. Obstacles will occur because they always do. And when they do, I’ll hurdle over them the best I can.

Nevertheless, it’s a bit stressful not knowing what’s next, not knowing the independent variable of your experiment, but knowing for sure that the dependent outcome you want is to continue traveling and living in Spain.

My friend Lara and I are in similar boats regarding our now and our ideas for our coming selves. She’s been my go-to for talking and relieving my stresses about the future, and I’m grateful for her empathy and support. To end this article, I’m going to share some words of wisdom she gave me about her own situation —

Everything in my life has worked out the way it was supposed to and it’s going to continue giving me what I put into it. It doesn’t make any sense for me to spend my life worrying about the rest of my life.