Memories are funny

Memories are strange. They are at the same time so irrelevant and so crucial to every passing moment. Memories are made every second, and lost just the same. And sometimes they come back, like magic, into a moment in which you are a different person, time gone by. Yes, memories are strange.

They are especially strange being created and forgotten in another country. I wandered through the streets of Sevilla after class today, which is easy to do since the roads make this city a maze, and I found myself under Metropol Parasol, or las Setas (mushrooms), the largest wooden structure in the world. The first time I saw this grand architecture was my first night in Sevilla (a great adventure in itself). I was with two new friends, one in my program and a girl in another whom she met on her flight here, and a Spanish guy leading a hostel pub crawl that took us along. After a local's tour of Sevilla's Wednesday-night life (and don't let the American idea of Wednesday night fool you-- the summer streets were quite alive), we suddenly emerged underneath these huge wooden parasols, beautifully lit. I thought back today, as I sat underneath their shade, how long ago that moment now feels. While I won't dare say I remember how I felt then, I have this vague memory of this feeling of astonishment and joy. That night, las setas were a discovery, a surprise. Sitting under them today, knowing exactly where I was situated in Sevilla, in relation to my classes and my homestay and my favorite bakeries and bars and parks, las setas took on a whole new meaning in my life.

Metropol Parasol is back there behind my goofy friend Elysia

I ascended to the top of the mushrooms one night with friends for one of the best views of the city

I continued to walk, and like I was reading a scrapbook, I would pass one place after another that brought back moments from the past. I walked by a little cafe that I have never entered, but in which has the smallest men's bathroom one may ever experience; I know this because I was walking around Sevilla with two Germans I met in Cádiz who needed to use the restroom, and upon leaving couldn't stop laughing hysterically for minutes. I passed a vending machine that sells candy, beer, and waffles that I have walked by many times with different friends, almost always noting its incredible and hilarious service. Around every corner of the streets that always seem to stump me with their labyrinth-like qualities presented something that sparked a memory of my time here these past months. 
Maybe I was having a particularly nostalgic day, trying always to somehow comprehend the fact that I am living in Spain. It's coincidence that today marks the one-month-left, as my departure from this temporary home that is Sevilla is set for high-noon on December 12th. With a ticking clock, every day includes great expectations. I can barely get a hold on all the experiences I'm having; how can I possibly retain all the memories I want? I'm striving to engrave each one into my brain like Spanish grammar, but they are flying at me at light-speed. It is scary to think that even the slightest detail of this adventure will be forgotten, and for this I am clutching onto each moment, studying my emotions and surroundings like vocabulary on a test. Without these sunny walks filled with images that remind me of the snippets of my experience abroad, what will spark these fantastic memories and remind me of all I have learned? These are intimidating thoughts. I often want to go home just to be able to absorb all of this. But one thing is true, which I must remember during my clenching of time: each memory-- whether it live at the tip of my tongue or in the depths of my heart, or whether it slip by, forgotten forever-- every single moment has changed my experience, and every one has changed me.