I thought we had more time

how I survived the Barcelona housing crisis only to lose to immigration bureaucracy

Barcelona.

The city that didn’t really welcome me with open arms, but where I still somehow managed to find a new version of myself.

I thought (and honestly wished) we had more time, but a girl from a third world country can only wish, I guess.

I’ve been living, struggling, almost fighting in Barcelona ever since I stepped out of that plane in late March.

And I just made it through the hard(er) part. Or so I thought.

I found myself a nice apartment, after months of searching (the Barcelona housing crisis, if you know you know. And if you don’t, lucky you).

I just started trying out different types of sports, like spinning, barre pilates, hot yoga. I was picking out my favorite studios to stick to, because I was lacking exercise in my life. Just like boxing got me through one of the hardest and most uncertain periods of my life, I needed the sweat and sore muscles to guide me again. I started attending events, like Fuckup Nights, where I connected with some new people.

For the first time since arriving, Barcelona was starting to feel less like survival and more like a life.

Just this last Saturday, I thought this can’t be real life.

I tried out aerial pilates for the first time, the instructor didn’t know English, my Spanish was nowhere near enough to understand a pilates class that was taught in Spanish, but somehow we made it work. And I had my bikini and towel in my tote bag just in case I felt like swimming afterwards, which I did, so I went to Playa de Bogatell by myself after class, with sore muscles and feeling so proud.

But turns out, it really can’t be real life. Not for long, at least. Because just 3 days after that solo spontaneous beach day, today, I found out my visa appeal got denied. Again. And I have little less than 20 days to go back to Turkey. When I thought I had 4 more months in this lively city.

I haven’t even done much of what I came to do here yet. Like I still haven’t gotten my phone stolen (just kidding, thankful for that one).

But really, I was just getting started. The first 2 months were merely survival, and I was just starting to find my rhythm here. My Barcelona list on Google Maps has 180 places saved in it.

People love saying everything happens for a reason, but right now I can’t make sense of this one.

I thought I earned this break. From corporate, from Istanbul, from the version of life that no longer felt like mine. I came to Barcelona to try building one that did.

And just when it finally started to, I found out I might have to leave.