It sucks

I woke up on the 25th of July and I didn't know yet. As usual, I turned on my computer (old habits die hard) and checked the Guardian and El País. It was the first news item in both of them: more than 60 people dead in a train accident close to Santiago de Compostela.

The train was coming from Madrid, and was traveling at 190 km per hour when it derailed. The news was a shock. I keep reading about it. Going back to the papers and reading about it. I didn't dare write back home, I was scared someone I knew had been on the train.

Hours went by. I didn't get any news from my parents, so I assumed everyone in the family was fine. The Galician friends I have posted on Facebook or Tuenti, they were OK, no one they knew had been on the train. Slowly I came to the conclusion that the people I knew were fine. I kept reading about the accident.

Most people have an obsession with the morbid to some degree. Violence, tragedy, catastrophe, is fascinating. Stories of survivors started leaking out. I've read a lot of them. The stories and faces of the dead were soon made public too. I read as many as I could of those. I don't know why. Where does the fascination lie? But I read them all the same. They were all normal people. Just people who were going from Madrid to Santiago de Compostela. The only reason their stories have made it to the front page of newspapers is because they died. There is something terrible and horrifying in that. Yet, I can't help but read their stories and feel for their families. Big tragedies, big catastrophes, bring great mourning. Spain declared three days of mourning. The festivities of Santiago turned to mourning. I think most Spanish people have spared a thought for the dead and their families, and for those surviving, and been sad these past few days. And yet, part of me can't help asking why. People die every day after all, people as anonymous as the ones that died on those trains, and we don't mourn them.

The accident in Santiago, along with a smaller bus accident close to my city earlier this year, feeds my fears. I live too far from home. If something happened to someone I know, to someone I love, I wouldn't be able to be there for them, not in good time anyway. Living far away has meant that I haven't been there for my family when I should have been. Living far away means that when a family member is ill I can't go see them as much as I like. Living far away means that sometimes I worry that I'm not being told something important to spare me the worry. It's happened more than once. Living far away means that I get told things late, and that I am not present when I should be. It also means that often I have to cry on my own.

I know now that I made the right choice moving here. But it doesn't take away that it sucks. It sucks that I can't be home to give a hug or get a hug when something goes wrong. It sucks that things are kept from me so that I don't worry. It sucks that I'm not there to take my dog for walks, or to play with him, or to take him to the vet. It sucks that I only get to see my parents a few times a year.

A lot has been said for young people leaving Spain, and how it's terrible. How Spain is losing talent. How it's horrible that these people won't be able to settle down in Spain. How these people pack their bags and are "wrenched" from their home. All this is kind of bullshit. Young people leave because they want to, and because they can. If they say they don't want to leave, they're lying. It might not be their ideal choice, but they have a choice, and they choose to leave rather than stay. Leaving is not a tragedy. Living in a new country is not a tragedy. Making new friends, finding a new home isn't a tragedy. Missing the people you left behind is not a tragedy. But it sucks. And it does not wear off.