VOLVER: Coming home to Spain again

Coming back to Spain after nearly 3 weeks in Sweden was both emotional and chaotic. As I walked out of the airplane into Barcelona airport on the 7th of January 2020, I felt an immediate relief and sense of home. Landing in Ibiza a few hours later was less of a homecoming - chaos set in immediately, as so many of us know - this island is just intense, in all possible ways. And challenging, too. Things are just blown out of proportion, be it good or bad, positive or negative. 

On the way to Sweden I bought a new coat from Zara at Barcelona airport. As a single mother, this is no small investment for me, and I had budgeted for it. I was immediately drawn to this shiny, green, sporty but yet elegant parka-style jacket, and my heart screamed for me to buy it. 

But I tried being the responsible, logical adult that I'm supposed to be, and I looked for something warmer, longer, and more protective against rain and wind. So I found it; long, black, average, but with all those practical attributes. But - as soon as I landed in Ibiza, it got stolen. Or taken, by mistake maybe. I know exactly where I had left it in the overhead compartment on the flight between Barcelona and Ibiza, and when I reached up to get it, the last ones out of the plane, it was gone.
So here I am, in the middle of the winter, without my practical winter coat. I swear that had I chosen the one my heart wanted me to choose, I would have not let my eyes off it.

Here I am, at one of the first days back to work. It took me some time to land back here and I'm not sure I've really landed yet. Still trying to make sense of those 3 weeks at home, but haven't had any time to let it all sink in. I need my time to write and ponder about things for them to make sense. Maybe right now is that time. 

I went through a massive culture shock when I arrived in Sweden. Having lived in Spain now for nearly 9 years, it’s become my “normal” - and it’s made me ponder a lot on the process of normalization. If we are continuously exposed to something - be it good, bad or neutral, it eventually becomes our “normal.” To me, the Spanish way of being, the culture, the routines and habits, the way of relating; it’s all become my normal. So when faced with my native Sweden and it’s very opposite ways of being, relating and habits, I was in serious shock. Mind you, I hadn’t been in Sweden for 2 whole years when we arrived, and we came from warm sunshine to cold darkness. 

The sunrise from the place we are temporarily staying in while I search for a better housing option for me and my children. The view is absolutely stunning and the finca is gorgeous and surrounded by old, ancient-looking Ibicenco houses, and nature. 

It wasn’t so much the cold that shocked me when we arrived in Sweden. It was the way that people relate (or don’t relate) to each other. Take a simple thing like grocery shopping. In Sweden people are quietly ploughing through the grocery shop, lists in hand, not meeting the eyes of the fellow humans also present. Many people use those automatic scanners that enable them to do their self check out; others use the normal cashier system, but please read this: THEY ACTUALLY LINE UP THE BARCODES FACING THE SCANNER OF THE CASHIER so that everything will be faster and more efficient for everyone. And that, to me, is the essence of Swedish society: the rule-abiding citizen following the instructions on the signs without ever questioning anything. Blindly following the law without actually thinking for themselves, and not just that - actually reporting on their fellow citizens who don't follow the rules. There is this feeling of people being against each other, like they are all working for the government. 

Here in Spain, it's the exact opposite. People break all the rules and stick together against the government. Of course that has its historical implications and reasons; but in their essence, the Spanish people are more rebellious, less judgemental, more emotionally connected. If you have something to say, you say it straight to the face of the person involved. You don't go writing notes that you stick on the neighbours' doors when you know they are out. 

We were in Mercadona last Saturday morning before going to the communal swimming pools and I was again shocked, but now in the opposing way. When my kids were doing the fresh orange juice squeezing-thing, a man came up to them to join them. He spoke to them and laughed with them. When we bumped into another shopper with our basket, we stopped, smiled, exchanged a few words. At the till, the girl wished us a good day after helping us pack our groceries in the bag. When my kids wouldn't move out of the way due to being deeply engrossed in fights, the two ladies who couldn't move ahead just smiled and kept chatting to each other as they waited for me to shuffle my kids out of their way. 

There is an air of acceptance of others here, that is lacking in Sweden. In Sweden it seems everyone is annoyed by each other. There is a lack of human connection, smiles, small talk. In fact, if you talk to someone in public who you don't know, you are considered a freak. 

What I think shocked me was the lack of connection. It felt like every human is a separate entity, a robotic existence, always rushing towards perfection. 

Back at La Cava in Vara de Rey, Ibiza town, writing. Kids were in the indoor playground and I did my favourite ritual of pink Gin & Tonic and olives and writing. But this wasn't just any kind of writing - this was a major milestone finishing. Wow. 

So, almost every time we went to the huge well stocked grocery shop that had a supervised playground for kids (free of charge) and iPads at the charcuterie so that kids could be entertained (read: don't disturb other people) my kids opened the car door and it touched the car next to ours. Every time the owner of the car showed up with a scary, stern look that reminded me of a serial killer; speaking in a police type voice about the invisible scratch on their expensive car. I. MEAN. EVERY. TIME. Like they were guarding their car against children who may open their car doors on their car, just hiding there WAITING for the moment when they could do finally do their well practiced authority-impersonation. And my kids, like, when does it EVER happen here that they open their door onto another car? Like, never. It was due to the tension in the air and all that anger towards others. They became clumsy because they could feel that awkward tension in the air. 

Not that I hate Ibiza, but I certainly don't love her. I want to live here in Spain; it is my home, that I am sure of. But it is so difficult to have a normal life in Ibiza. It's unpredictable, turbulent, changing constantly. It's beautiful and transformative and spiritual; but I really had enough of all of those things. I just want to get on with my life now after having spent 8 years in this "spiritual washing machine." And besides; the salaries are Spanish, but the rents are Paris or London. There's a bizarre gap between the two and I am stuck right in the middle of it. 

There is a feeling in the air of perfectionism and efficiency; but also as if everyone is annoyed by other humans. And it makes me feel so isolated and unwelcome, so dead and dull inside; the lack of human connection makes me immediately depressed. Here in Spain, I feel free, connected and accepted. I guess that’s why I love it here. The first place I went to after finishing school in Sweden at the age of 19 was Spain. I never thought this would "be it" but it turned out to be so. I don't really see myself living anywhere else now. I grew roots here when I gave birth to my children here. 

When I was in Sweden, I saw a very interesting documentary series about depression. It was done by Nour El Refai who happens to be mega famous but is also the little sister of a very dear lifelong friend of mine; Wasim.
She spoke so openly about her issues with depression and anxiety, and met different people who were going through the same. Turns out Sweden is one of the top countries in the world to take prescribed anti-depressants, and she tried figuring out why. In the last episode, she actually goes to Italy, which happens to have one of the lowest consumptions of antidepressants in Europe. She spoke to a psychologist there and met with a Swede who had been very depressed in Sweden but now felt better when living in Tuscany. The psychologist told her that her problem is that she is an arab who is living in Sweden and therefore it's a clash between her warmer roots and that colder country. I find it funny - it's probably right in some ways, but in other ways; the Swedes ALSO get depressed. So it's more like: you are a HUMAN soul with need for human connection and you are living in a cold disconnected country and that is the problem. It's a culture of independence gone wrong - it's become isolation nation. 

For me, living here in the south of Europe has always been like an antidepressant. Maybe it's the sun - I mean, yes obviously that plays a role - but I really think it's about the human connection. In Sweden it's all so, so cold and distant, and people are not united. Everyone is separate and isolated and closed in with their tiny family structures. In the south of Europe, people meet the eyes, laugh, touch. Help each other, spend time together. 

As an introvert, I can be the weird guiri doing my own thing here - but still, when I go outside, I smile and meet the eyes of other humans, doing my daily things. I go to the playground with the kids and I speak to the other parents, we watch the kids together. If I sit in a bar and have a drink and do my beloved writing, the barmaid will share a joke and a laugh with me. I feel connected. While in Sweden, I feel mostly like I'm an annoyance; and especially like my children are an annoyance. They're too loud, energetic, open, asking too many direct questions. 

Surprise birthday breakfast for Ben the other day. That light... who wouldn't feel the warmth in the soul from basking in this beauty? 

And still, just sunshine, acceptance and rebelliousness doesn't make a perfectly happy life. I have a long way to go. But just accepting this as my home is a VERY big deal for me, being this constantly restless soul who never can settle on anything because I'm afraid of missing out on something. 

I guess I just feel like I can be myself here, without anybody casting glances on me. In any case, I'm a guiri (a foreigner) and I always will be different. But nobody really cares. I don't feel judged, ever. I feel free, and I feel at home. Now, next project: to finally start creating material security after this difficult period of losing it all.