Rilyn’s Journals

October 27, 2025

Poco a poco: Lessons from Spain

I can hardly believe it’s been almost two months since I stepped off the plane…heart pounding, suitcase in hand, my whole world packed into a few bags. I remember the stillness of that airport moment: the echo of a new language, the blur of unfamiliar faces, and the quiet realization that I didn’t know a single person in this country that would soon become part of who I am. Now, Spain doesn’t feel foreign. It feels like the place where I'm intended to be. It's a place where God has quietly rewritten parts of my heart into a rhythm of grace, patience, and joy that I never knew I needed.

If I could rewind time, I would go back to those first few weeks just to feel it all again. I would embrace the awe of walking down the street, the thrill of having an exciting conversation in broken Spanish, the warmth of strangers who didn’t stay strangers for long. I would relive the nervous laughter, the quiet evenings staring out my window, realizing how far I’d come from home, and how close I was to finding a new one. Time is slipping by faster than I ever imagined, and it has taught me how vital it is to live these moments, not just watch them pass. I know that in a few months, when my time here ends, I’ll look back on this season with gratitude, nostalgia, and maybe a little ache in my heart wishing I could do it all again.

The truth is that time here feels different. It doesn’t rush. It sways. It lingers like the last golden light of the evening that seems to stretch forever. Spain has taught me how to slow down, how to breathe, how to live in the in-between moments that I used to hurry past. When you move to a new country, it’s easy to chase the big things like: the trips, the famous cities, the excitement of something new every day. But what I’ve learned is that the small, ordinary things are what truly bring transformation. The slow walks through my city. The way I’m always greeted with a hug, a kiss, or a smile. The long dinners that somehow stretch into hours, filled with laughter, conversation, and endless courses of delicious food. There’s a warmth here that’s hard to put into words, a way people genuinely see each other.

A big part of that warmth comes from my host family. From the very beginning, they welcomed me not as a guest but as someone meant to be here. Their support has helped me live out my purpose with assurance. Their laughter fills the house, their kindness fills my heart, and every shared meal reminds me that love can cross any language barrier.

I’ve gotten into the groove of school and have officially been feeling the “study” part of study abroad. There’s still a lot to learn with my Spanish, but I’m understanding my professors more every day. I am able to have more personal conversations with my friends which ultimately builds connections and relationships. Even though I still don’t understand Valencian, the local language spoken by many people here, I’ve learned that kindness and connection don’t always need translation.

Aside from school, I’ve taken day trips to Alicante and Valencia, both of which are stunning, with beaches, good weather, and a variety of shopping. However, shopping here feels a little different. I don’t see Lululemon, Alo, or Target, and somehow, I don’t miss them. Instead of browsing through the newest shade of leggings, I’ve started embracing the timeless elegance of Spanish fashion. I’ve ridden horses with my family, celebrated my host grandmother’s birthday, and celebrated my friend’s birthday. I joined a Rotary walk, played volleyball, baked banana bread with another student here in Spain, studied a lot, and taken plenty of siestas.

During Thanksgiving, I’ll be traveling to Madrid for an orientation with the other inbounds in Spain. I look forward to reconnecting with the students and to seeing the capital city. Thanksgiving isn’t really celebrated here, so being surrounded by friends who feel like family will be a comforting reminder of home. My school is also planning a trip to Budapest, Hungary, and Prague, Czech Republic, which I’m super excited for. Also, one thing I've noticed is how often people take quick trips to places such as France and Italy because they are close by. In just a short flight, you can be in another country. 

One of the coolest events I’ve experienced was the Mig Any celebration in Alcoy, which marks the “halfway” point of the Moors and Christians festival in April. I was surprised by the sheer number of people filling the streets and the amount of music and dancing. In the different filàs (groups) in Alcoy, each one celebrates with food, music, and joy. The atmosphere was so full of life that it reminded me how deeply culture, family, and community are woven into daily life here. I am so thankful to have amazing friends who took the initiative to include me in the festivities and make me feel welcome. Though I haven’t been here long, I’ve learned that connections happen when they’re real, and I have made some amazing connections, especially with friends at school. They've taught me how to belong in a place that once felt so far from home. With them, I’ve celebrated birthdays, gotten ready together, walked around the city, laughed at silly mistakes, and found someone to lean on when I’ve felt unsure or when I have questions. They’ve turned this adventure into something shared, and every memory feels richer because it’s been lived with them. 

But more than the activities, what stands out to me are the lessons I’ve learned. One big one is patience. Life moves slower here, in a mindful, intentional way. People take their time to talk, to eat, to connect. At first, that was hard for me because I was so used to rushing, planning, and constantly thinking ahead. Now, I find comfort in the slowness. There’s an appreciation for presence and conversation that will forever be instilled in me. I’m learning to let go of my need to control every detail and simply be. There’s a phrase here, “no pasa nada,” and it means “it’s okay” or “no worries.” People say it all the time, and somehow, it’s changed me. It’s taught me to release the constant need to plan, to fix, to hurry. Here, you learn to just be.

Sundays have a magic of their own. The whole city seems to exhale. A typical Sunday here means church, followed by hours at home with family, resting, eating, talking, and simply enjoying each other’s company. Shops close, streets quiet down, and families gather together. If you want groceries or need to shop, you’d better do it on another day. Here, I’ve seen Sunday as a day of rest actually lived out.

I love how people take time for conversation. They take time to listen, to share, and to connect. One thing I've noticed is that most teenagers here don't have after school or weekend jobs. Coming from a place where the life of teenagers commonly consists of school, sports, and work, it was kind of a shock. As someone who has worked up to 3 jobs at once, I've learned that life here isn’t about efficiency or productivity. It’s about being alive. Some days, I walk through the city and feel this overwhelming gratitude for the simple fact that I get to be here to learn, to make mistakes, to grow, and to belong. Other days, I feel the ache of missing home, the familiar comfort of what used to be easy. But even in that ache, there’s beauty. Because it means I’m living fully, feeling deeply, loving two places at once. 

If I were to give any advice, it would be this: slow down. Let yourself be transformed by where you are. Let the world soften you and let your mistakes transform you. Don’t rush to capture every moment; just live it. The beauty isn’t in the postcard places; it’s in the quiet streets, the laughter after dinner, and the love of the people you surround yourself with. Spain has taught me to live “poco a poco,” little by little, to trust God’s timing and be where my feet are.

Through all of this, I’ve seen God’s faithfulness in ways I never expected. Every time I’ve felt unsure or small, I’m reminded that I’m not alone by a hug, a kind word, a shared meal, a sunset. I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude—gratitude for the kindness of people who have welcomed me like family, for the beauty I see every day in small, ordinary things, for the laughter that breaks through language barriers, and for the quiet moments when I realize how far I’ve come. I’m learning to live slowly, love deeply, and embrace every unpredictable, wonderful moment. This country will always be a part of me. Blessings upon blessings; my cup runneth over.

Hasta luego.