At now 20 years old, my supposed prime, I am living alone in one of Europe's most fantastic countries and in one of the most fantastic cities in the world, and yet my life currently consists of chipping my chicken out of my overenthusiastic freezer on a nightly basis, mopping up my regularly exploding washing machine and visiting the wheelchair mechanic on a weekly basis. I have clearly...been fully indoctrinated into the exciting fast life of Sevilla....
But honestly I would have it no other way, as a wise British man once said to me "If your happy with your life you're not being critical enough". This is of course a joke, but seems to have some relevancy for me. I have, among other syndromes, the depressive, bohemian writer syndrome. Except this syndrome is not as sexy as Victor Hugo conceptualized, especially when your not a very good writer. You end up just being poor and depressed ;)
But Sevilla, after a long bout of rain and chill, is now beautifully warm and mediterranian. The days are long and, especially in this city, the nights are longer. Despite all the turmoil, of which i am convinced that in a past lifetime I have certainly screwed over someone in Spain, this country is extremely beautiful and with time I will certainly miss it when i leave.