Life As A Bipolar Person

🇪🇸Spain🇪🇸

In 12 years of being an immigrant, I preferred to spend my vacations anywhere else, different from Romania. As I always remained nostalgic for Spain, as initially it was supposed to be the destination for living, not Italy. Things didn't go that way, but somehow I chose it as a vacation destination.

My first vacation was in Ibiza, intentionally scheduled during a less crowded period. Since I booked through an agency in Italy, I ended up in a resort where the majority were Italians. Wait, I'm talking nonsense, they were all Italians, only a small part of the staff were Spanish.

I met Alberto there, a bartender for a lifetime who had traveled all over the world. The guys in charge of entertainment were all Italians, and the chef was a wonderful person from Sicily who had moved with his whole family to Ibiza.

Basically, I was on a Spanish island, but I felt like I was in Italy.

It was funny when I went out for a walk and stopped to have a coffee. The lady serving it was Romanian and had been there with her sister for about 7 years.

It's incredible how we Romanians are everywhere.

The sneaky agency, like all of them in this field, played some tricks. I had to walk about 25 minutes to get to the beach, not 10 as the lady who proposed the vacation confidently stated. Fortunately, there were 3 indoor and outdoor swimming pools with plenty of sun loungers.

On the first day, I checked into my room and lasted about 5 hours until I decided it was time to change rooms. They had assigned me a room right next to the children's pool.

I had come to relax in my own pain, not to hear the screams of other people's "little demons."

To the despair of the girl I was with, who had already arranged everything neatly on hangers, I went to the reception to request a room change.

And the reception staff, let's just say they won't forget me. Neither the bartender, nor the waiters, nor all the kitchen staff, nor the ones who cleaned the rooms. Because...