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burkecp-blog · 7 years

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Can You Hear Me Now? (#TBT)

After spending four months of living and traveling Europe, I could never think of the ONE country I loved the most, as I loved so many things about so many of the places I had seen. When asked the question about which country I liked the least, however, only one comes to mind: Spain.

It’s not that I despise the country in its entirety, I hear all kinds of wonderful things and I have no fair ground to judge, as I only visited one of Spain’s many cities during my time abroad. However, that one city, that one weekend, that one incident--it was all enough for me to vow to never return. Barcelona will never have a piece of my heart, but it will (most likely) always have my cell phone.

For our first night in Barcelona, my friends and I decided to check out a club recommended to us by an old man on the beach (mistake #1). While at said club, one of my roommates began to feel rather emotional after mixing alcohol and a rude encounter with a boy on our trip. I decided it was best for us two to head back to our rented apartment. It was only 2AM, just the beginning of a night out in Spain, but just getting to the limits of my “I-can-still-be-bubbly-and-polite-to-everyone-even-though-I-just-want-my-pajamas-on-and-this-uncomfortable-bra-off” phase.

My upset friend’s snores could be heard practically the minute I unlocked the front door to the apartment. Once I threw my biggest t-shirt on and wiped every ounce of make-up from my face, I was ready for some serious shut-eye. But after five minutes of being let down, I decided to take this time to check back in with the States.

The one thing no one really tells you about traveling with friends is how very rare it is to have even a few minutes to yourself. Not wanting to pass up the opportunity, I grabbed my cell phone, threw on some Sperry’s (mistake #2) and headed down to sit outside of the little cafe downstairs, as our apartment had no Wi-Fi (mistake #3).

The cafe’s chairs were locked inside for the evening, so I plopped myself down on the ground and used the outside wall as a back support of my “makeshift” chair. I said my hellos to my parents and some friends from school via Skype. My sister was sitting in class, so we were messaging on Facebook to catch up.

Intoxicated by delayed exhaustion levels kicking in and one too many vodka Red Bulls, I decided it was time to head back upstairs and claim a spot on the “comfy” couch before anyone else got home from the clubs.

As I typed out my final “good night” sentence, I felt a slap of the chilled night air against my skin and brought my hands up to my shoulders to stop from shuddering. I looked down at my now empty hands--why was my phone no longer in them??!

A man (or perhaps it was an unfortunately husky woman, I never did see their face) on a bicycle was speeding away down the alley with my phone. I lurched my body upwards and chased after the thief on foot. Clearly at a disadvantage, I yelled out the only thing I could think of, “Bring that back you f*cker!!”

Shockingly, the phone snatcher was not apt to meet my demands and turned a corner. He, along with my phone, was gone forever.

I threw my white flag up and headed back upstairs. Before I could muster the energy to throw myself into bed, I sat against another wall, this time the one on the outside of the apartment, and cried.

I cried for my cell phone being gone. I cried for being the foolish tourist who let the locals steal right out of her hands. I cried for wearing stupid boating shoes over my running shoes because I would have totally, maybe, probably not been able to catch that thief! I had myself a good hour-long pity party and threw myself into bed for a looooong sleep after a much longer night.

I spent the remainder of the trip glaring at nearly every person that passed by me on a bike.

Barcelona: 1 Me: -1 iPhone and a whole lot of dignity.

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burkecp-blog · 7 years

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Out of the Bubble and Into the Hustle

In fourth grade, I was an awkward, 4′5″ kid with a love of sports, fashion and reading. My class was studying poetry and for the first time that I could remember, my brain was overpowered with a desire to pick up a pencil and write. So I did just that. The next day, I arrived to class early to proudly share my poem with my teacher. Unfortunately, the poem has been lost over the years, but I remember the opening line as “The color red is never dead” (give me a break, I was nine years old).

I’m a recent college grad with a serious infatuation for words--be them in song, books, a clever Instagram caption or a witty one-liner on a chalkboard encouraging passerby’s to stop inside the bar. I love the way a haiku unlocks an undiscovered view on nature in only 17 syllables. I love a song so well-written I feel enlightened in the middle of an icy rainstorm in March.

Through this Tumblr page, I will deepen my love for the digital word. Through the furious typing of my fingers, I will share small anecdotes into my world. Most, if not all, will be hilarious capers I regularly find myself a part of in my current, yet fortuitous life after college as I stride towards adulthood. I’ll compose, you try not to doze.

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