On the night of January 25, as I was over packing my already stuffed suitcases, it still hadn’t hit me. When I handed my host mom the keys to her home, it still hadn’t hit me. As we walked half a mile, lugging the heavy suitcase filled with souvenirs to the charter bus, it still hadn’t hit me. As our driver packed all of our bags into the back of the small bus, it still hadn’t hit me. I instead dedicated my entire mind to playing the strange and challenging version of the real-life-tetris that is fitting 14 people’s suitcases into a small bus with 16 seats. I focused on the three days I would have left in Spain, exploring Madrid.

I didn’t let the realization hit me. It wasn’t until Carmen, my host mom, wrapped me in a heartfelt embrace that I finally let it sink in: This was goodbye. My time in this magical city has come to an end. And the people who made it so magical were there to see us off. I looked at Carmen. “Odio decir adios” I admitted to her, trying not to cry. “Yo también” she confessed. For a second, it looked like Carmen, one of the strongest women I have come to know, was fighting back the salty tears just as much as I was. As she hugged me one last time and gave me the customary one kiss on each cheek, she said “siempre tendrás un hogar aquí en Córdoba” or, “you will always have a home here in Córdoba.”