The Rain in Spain

My Dad recently announced, out of the blue, that we were going on a family holiday to Málaga, Spain. It's a discount holiday, where my Dad has to spend a day or so listening to pitches by people trying to sell him Mediterranean apartments, but it's still a holiday. I don't pay a penny, outside of spending money, it's all on him. We'll be going in a few weeks. Score. Right?

As a family, we haven't been on holiday together in ten years. We haven't been abroad together in almost 20 years. I haven't personally been on any kind of holiday, even inland in five years. I have left the country twice in the last 15 years.
I don't want to go.
I'm probably insane, I know.

I turned 28 years old last Friday. Last year, I moved back in with my parents until I decided where I was going to go next. A temporary situation which has lasted much longer than I'd have liked. I get on with my family quite well, but the idea of spending time in a foreign country with them is daunting. I had come to terms with those day being behind me. I am independent now, apparently.
That, I can probably deal with though. What irks me, and it really shouldn't, is that my Dad organised the destination and time without consulting any of us. Málaga is surely a beautiful place, but when it comes to the idea of getting away and vacationing, my Dad and I are miles apart. His idea of a holiday is sun, a beach during the day and a bar during the evening. You need nothing else, other than the ability to tan. Essentially, this is Málaga.

For me, that's a recipe for a mental breakdown. I like the sun, but I am one of those people who moans when it's too hot. Anything over 20 is too hot. I get bored on the beach very easily, I like to sight see, adventure, be educated, keep my mind active, not sit and bake. I like a city or the country. Sand, not so much. Spain itself doesn't really do anything for me. I am selfish.
As I said in an earlier post, my mental well being could be better, I am keeping it at bay by keeping myself in my work or in a book. Right now, I don't want a break from that. A break could be the worst possible thing I need.
I know that I will want to spend time away from my family during this holiday and will want to keep my mind active, find something inspiring. I have stocked up on books and notepads for this. I worry that I will lash out at my family out of frustration. I will be given too much time to think and allow negativity to seep into my psyche, to beat myself up for being a 28 year old man who still lives with his parents, has no real career and is currently staying in a two bedroom apartment with them, smelling of sun cream. I am scared about not being able to work for a week, being told to cheer up when I can't physically do it. I am petrified of coming across as ungrateful and childish and turning this into the antithesis of a holiday. If I have to take a break, I have to be engaged.

I rarely leave the country, I should be jumping at the chance to do so. Especially in Twenty Thirtian. The guilt of being ungrateful is weighing me down right now. I am sure, had this been a democratic decision, we'd have agreed on somewhere which could cater for us all and I would be in a complete opposite frame of mind, feeling like the luckiest guy on earth. I am also sure that I will enjoy Málaga, I will finally stop being ungrateful, realise that I finally experiencing something new and find something to inspire me. For now, I hate myself for hating this.