Nor Here Nor There

I moved to Barcelona last wednesday. Did you know that? It was possibly one of the most difficult decisions I have made in my life, possibly more difficult than deciding to move here in the first place. You see, I moved to Barcelona last June. I met The Womanizer, I drank too much, partied too much, did way too many drugs and the only way to get away from him and all the madness was to move back to London. Did it work? Did it fuck.

After promising my family I wouldnt ever move back here, I left without saying goodbye and jumped on the plane. I havent spoke to my parents since. The truth is, when you immigrate from your own country and move to somewhere where the cultural shock is completely opposite to where you grew up, its very hard to go back to what you knew.

After spending 10 months in Spain where time is no concept and you can get hamburgers and beer at half 6 in the morning on the way to work, to moving to London where you have to be in a restaurant by half 9 to get a meal was a major shocker. All my friends had stayed in the same little circle, going to the shitty local clubs, falling out of cabs and into arms of strangers. Whereas as I had seen more to the world, saw countless sunrises on the Med, met stunningly gorgeous men, partied til I couldnt take anymore, explored Gaudi, ate Paella with the locals and made a complete nuisance of myself.

The reality of it was, I outgrew where I came from. I made mistakes, I fell for the wrong guy, I made myself ill by doing too many drugs, I made friends, I lost friends, I starved, I cried, I laughed but most of all, I lived. The six or so months I was in London, I wasnt living. I was exisitng. I was trying to pretend to be something and someone I wasnt and it drove me insane.

For the first time this year, I am free from any man in my life, free to any judgements made by family members and it feels fantastic. I´ve always thought of London as home. I am and always will be a proud Londoner, born and breed but when I stepped off that plane late last Wednesday night, I realised for now, Barcelona is more home than anywhere else.

Until my next post, hasta pronto!

STOP PRESS*** August only means one thing...my birthday is around the corner. Next Saturdays post will be a personal inside to moi (of course!) so you can ask me anything you wish. Remember, thats only another 8 days to go. You can either leave your question(s) - there are no limits in the comments below or email me at missmiadickinsonATgmailDOTcom.

Mia Goes Abroad

The next morning, Mia left without seeing The Spartan. She felt sick as she got on the plane, not only was she leaving him behind but all her friends, a really good job that she loved and her family, whom she had finally made peace with. Everyone was really proud of her and although some had been hesitant about her going, they had come around to the idea. After 10 years of dreaming, she was about to fulfill her childhood dream and yet there was a sadness inside her, she couldn't control. She was scared about whether she would make new friends, fit into the culture and like her job.

The first few days flew bye, she had her job interview which was an adventure in itself (more on that later) she was hunting for a new apartment and trying to budget €80 for a whole month after spending her last paycheck on bikinis and cute shoes. After three days of being in the city and finally having everything in check, she called The Spartan. He was delighted to hear from her and had been missing her. They spoke for an hour and she told him how home sick she was already, she wanted to see him but knew that neither of them to afford to. The next morning, she woke up to find a text on her phone, saying that he had booked her a flight home so they could spend the weekend together. She spent the rest of the daydreaming and couldn't wait.

Leaving him for the second time was worse than the first time. She went back to Barcelona wondering yet again whether she had made the right move and considered moving back to London. She called him every day even though she couldn't afford to, spending the little money she had to buy bulk packs of pasta. She would spent the weekends alone in her flat while her flat mate was away, wishing The Spartan was with her and what they would do in the city. During the days, she would go to see Gaudi's work and feel the taste of sour lemons as she saw other couples, walking hand in hand. She would take pictures and send them to him, describing the history and what he saw, she would write him long love letters and tell him how much she missed him. She called him and asked if he would move out to Barcelona and be with him but all that changed one night in July when she met The Womanizer.

Soon she would fall into a vicious cycle that couldn't be broken by her or The Spartan and that would destroy her physically, emotionally and mentally.