Barcelona intoxicated me and there was no doubt that that mere city alone could make me conjure up thoughts of how my twenties could be smoothly played out in that foreign land - living in that wonderful mirage of a place, in a small, cozy apartment that I'm able to identify and proclaim proudly as "my space", where paintings retrieved from different parts of the world are hung with such exclamation as their colours exude a pleasurable thrill to any stranger's eye and how their metaphors would require any genuine passerby to question their mere existential selves. Visits to art galleries, walks in the park, attending plays, seeing and experiencing live bands; a life as wonderful as that would complete me so, I believe.
But once I arrived in Granada, crossed through that particular open doorway which led me into Alhambra's castle ground, my mind was astounded with the beauty that was presented in front of me. The castle with it's enchanted ceilings, beautifully decorated walls that were embellished with handcrafted Arabic calligraphy which were then adorned with the 4 primary shade of colours that were known to each and every seeing man, in the form of squared tiles that were delicately and elegantly placed.
However the sight of these intricate wonderments suddenly brought up a pang of sentimentality that my once careless heart used to burden itself incessantly with. It was weird and unexpected, to be honest. Here I am, half way across the globe, initially enjoying myself in another country of uncharted territory, exposed to the world and it's endless possibilites, magnificence and charm right before my very eyes and without much of a hint nor indication, I found myself dumbfounded by my heart's negligence to rouse up old, hurtful memories which I've carefully hidden in the most remote corners of it.
Suppressing emotions has never been my forté(and never shall it be for quite some time) and I began to wonder if I am ever ready for the trials and tribulations that my heart will experience sooner than later because it's obvious that it can't.
But what if, what if , what if...
But once I arrived in Granada, crossed through that particular open doorway which led me into Alhambra's castle ground, my mind was astounded with the beauty that was presented in front of me. The castle with it's enchanted ceilings, beautifully decorated walls that were embellished with handcrafted Arabic calligraphy which were then adorned with the 4 primary shade of colours that were known to each and every seeing man, in the form of squared tiles that were delicately and elegantly placed.
However the sight of these intricate wonderments suddenly brought up a pang of sentimentality that my once careless heart used to burden itself incessantly with. It was weird and unexpected, to be honest. Here I am, half way across the globe, initially enjoying myself in another country of uncharted territory, exposed to the world and it's endless possibilites, magnificence and charm right before my very eyes and without much of a hint nor indication, I found myself dumbfounded by my heart's negligence to rouse up old, hurtful memories which I've carefully hidden in the most remote corners of it.
Suppressing emotions has never been my forté(and never shall it be for quite some time) and I began to wonder if I am ever ready for the trials and tribulations that my heart will experience sooner than later because it's obvious that it can't.
But what if, what if , what if...
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