Que será, será.

I find it a little unbelievable that I'll be flying to Madrid tomorrow. The whole concept seems at times surreal. Understand now, I've never left the country before. The idea of other countries is to me just that: an idea. I've been told there exist and I've seen them depicted in movies. But a foreign country to me, at this moment, is no more real than the outline of a landmass on a map that is labelled in some odd tongue.

Already, one of the girls also going to Madrid this semester through the same exchange program is at O'Hare, getting ready to leave. In 24 hours, that will be me. Strange to think. She and I are going to the same school and will both be in the same dorm, although we have different roommates etc.

Europe is already vastly different from the United States and I'm not even there yet. I've asked Carlos III what my room number is, the name of my roommate, and various other pertinent details, but the laid back, somewhat lackadaisical view of the madrileños had them replying with things like, "No worries! We'll tell you when you get here!" and "It's okay! That will be figured out when you arrive."

I'm a chronic planner, it's true. Ask anyone who knows me. I have a to-do list on my person at all times.

I may be in for a bit of culture shock . . . .

But I am ready to embrace a new outlook and I intend to jump in headfirst. I will have to adopt the lifestyle best embodied by the Spanish saying, "Que será, será." 


What will be, will be.