If I Love Spain

Talking with one of the other teachers, I learn that he's here so that he can drink whenever he wants and not have anyone call him an alcoholic. I suspect this answer was his haha funny-guy way of saying he doesn't know. I kind of expected it when he immediately opens his mouth to turn the question on me, but am surprised with what he asks. "Are you done with Spain?" he fires, memory fresh from our conversation about my leaving in December. Done? I shrug a little inside, and fumble for an answer for a moment. I don't want to be done with Spain, nothing so final and severe sounding. After the hestitation of the moment, I tell him "No, not done. But ready for the rest." I'm still not sure what I mean, or if I am done with a country that shone like a beacon in my heart for so long. I know I'm ready to go home for now, that I would love to be in the Spain that I was in five years ago and not really this one. I love the people, I love the culture, I love so many things about this place, but I haven't loved their convergence to form my year and half. I walked in silence with this beer-swilling semi-friend of mine for a bit. It's never a nice feeling to have such a happy memory lessened by such a vivid, dark reality.