It’s a little after sunrise in Spain; people leave their lofty apartments, breathe in the salty sea-breeze and go about their daily routine. Meanwhile, I anticipate for my family to wake up and plan for what we should do for the day.

To pass time, I go over to my worn out suitcase and peruse through the clothes I brought, searching for the perfect outfit to take pictures in. I choose an aqua blue ruffled dress, a pair of black leggings, a coat and lastly my gray knee high boots embellished with some rhinestones.

This was me over five years ago. Yet, my excitement behind my trip feels so fresh, as if I never really left Spain. Lately, I’ve been longing to go back and explore more of this country to relive my experience — the cobblestone streets and the music that filled them, the cool draft from the Mediterranean Sea, the long but rejuvenating walks from our apartment to the beach. I miss it all and I want to go back.

It’s not even the moments when I stood in front of the FC-Barcelona stadium or laid eyes on the Sagrada Família or any other big tourist spot that calls me back, it’s those times where I felt like I was actually home.

I felt it during the time when our family ate in our favorite Indian restaurant, while feeling the ground shake as the subways sped in and out the station underneath us. The time when we had a late night snack at the little crepe shop by the beach. And all those amusing times when my little brother panicked at the sight of the automatic gates which we needed to pass through in order to get on the train.

I always say how I plan to come back and revisit many of the areas I’ve traveled to, but Spain is the exception. To me, it’s not about travelling and discovering different parts of this splendid country, it’s about possibly having a home here. I don’t know when or how, but what I know for sure is that one day I want to call it home.