It was two years ago. In the Summer holidays, while I was spending some days in the Algarve, my parents decided to travel to Spain and to visit some places near the border. I was in Spain only for one day, and because I didn't spend the night I didn't take anything in particular.
I travelled with my parents and my sister. She wasn't so excited as me because she had already left Portugal once.
It is not what I saw or what I did there that has stayed with me until these days, because nothing actually amazed me that much. The buildings, the beaches, the traditional shops, although I enjoyed them, I didn't see anything that was more beautiful than what I'd seen before in Portugal. It was simply that moment when I was getting out of the car and my father standing outside filming, so that he would keep that memory forever. And the feeling of stepping on foreign ground was just unexplainable, not for the action itself, but for what it meant to me. I could finally tell my friends and myself that I had left Portugal, and it felt so good to be true.
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