Barcelona, Spain
Everywhere I go, music follows me. As I walk down La Rambla, take the Metro, sit in Gaudi’s underground forest I am always accompanied. All day I feel as though I have stepped into a movie. A beautiful foreign city as my setting, sunny and bursting with art. A perpetual soundtrack in the background. People break into dance in the middle of plazas, in front of cathedrals and on the street. Strange random things occur that are so odd I thought only Hollywood could dream them up. A man crawls under a stroller, sticks his head through a hole and pretends to be a baby in the middle of the street. Che Guevera stands on a box loudly expounding his theories for anyone who will listen. Flamenco dancers who won’t dance. The park we pass is suddenly filled with acrobats doing flips and tossing each other into the air. A giant temple that is decorated at the top with… fruit reaching toward heaven. But these aren’t a writer’s dreams or a director’s visions—they are my reality for today. I sit in the middle of one of Gaudi’s many unfinished inspirations listening to the vibrations of music echo around me, drinking sangria and wondering at how surreal reality can feel.

My mind has become a giant mosaic and I am too busy looking at the individual tiles to understand the whole picture. Small moments of time pass before my eyes, but I can’t seem to back far enough away to see what they combine to form.