Back at home, I never thought I would be mocked for something so dumb as not remembering if a word was feminine or masculine, but these kids were having one heck of a time mocking me because I did. Running down the shiny cement steps, I hid under a shady tree where I was immediately engulfed in cool and refreshing wind, with the comforting odors of pungent garlic, fragrant onions, and, somehow, odorless tomatoes. Hearing their laughter, I started to feel what I had kept bottled up the past year. Sadness, annoyance, anger, and humiliation overcame my thoughts, and I could feel my arms shaking from anger. My head pounding, I couldn’t seem to contain my thoughts, and yet, somehow, I continued acting as if I was fine. Feeling these was usual, and yet, nothing about this trip was usual. My parents decided to move to Barcelona because my father had family there, and my mom wanted to get her Master’s Degree in Europe, where it was “ten times cheaper.” So, with no experience whatsoever with the languages or culture, I was thrown into the midst of children whose pastimes were mocking me. Somehow, these kids would allow me to understand and adapt myself for the better.

I remember the first days of Barcelona well. We lived in a cramped apartment where there were no doors, in a dirty, smelly alley so thin my dad and I could touch each other’s hands and the side of the alley at the same time. I often look back on the apartment in comparison to my time in Barcelona, which was restricting and yet, freeing. Inevitably, school came along. However, the school I first attended was the best thing that could have happened to me when I first arrived. The school was filled with people from all over the world, so I fell in with them perfectly. Over the first weeks, I made friends, and was doing very well. I thought Barcelona would’ve been nice. 

As many good things go, my happiness didn’t last long. Because of “financial issues,” the school closed down, so I went to a new school. On my first day, I was faced with the prospect of the monsters that were my new peers. All from Spain, all in their own friend groups, and all just as malicious, teasing me for whatever reason they could. They simply couldn’t rest without laughing at me if I did something “wrong.” Every day, on my minute-long walk to school, I contemplated how different my life would be if I weren’t Highly Gifted, and if I grew up in the same environment as this one. Of course, I didn’t, and so every day I walked into the large, orange five story cement building, to hear the familiar voices that treated me so horribly. 

I craved California's crowded beaches and scorching summers. When I got accepted to Portola HGM, I returned. That summer, I thought about my experience in Barcelona, and the struggles I had been through. Turns out, the little voyage was very beneficial for my self-understanding. While it hurt to consider, I realized I constantly search for and need approval. I’m always trying to do something that I consider to be funny or even impressive. Most times I succeed, but when I fail I feel insecure and unworthy. Of course, I never got any approval in fifth grade, which is why I believe I suffered so much. That being said, the entire trip didn’t sum up to me shaming myself. I actually realized that I adapt to change very well. Even when faced with a large challenge such as dealing with malicious peers, I did the best I could. I learned two completely different languages in the span of a year and adapted to a whole new lifestyle and culture quickly. In fact, adapting to change has become evident in writing this essay. Upon reading the comments on my document at 4 pm on the day it was due, I was faced with a sudden need for change, and had to re-organize my essay, and I still feel confident about it. Barcelona helped me realize so much about myself and the lessons it taught me about myself and others are priceless.