A week ago
yesterday I was zipping up my suitcase. I was checking that all my papers were
in the right places. I was trying to decide which of my mud-splattered,
hole-riddled clothes I wanted to take home with me.
“Are you
nervous?” my mamá asked me, seeing me pace our courtyard, trying to collect my
thoughts.
“It’s a mix
of thoughts,” I told her. Our pesky dog yipped around my ankles as I dragged my
bags up the stairs for the last time. After so many months, there were people
back home I couldn’t wait to see. But it felt strange to be leaving so much
behind.
My little
sister/niece ran out and hugged my knees. I dropped my bags and she pulled at
my hand, dragging me into the living room for one last game together. She was
too young to know this would be the last time.
“Lay on the
floor!” she told me, characteristically bossy. I obeyed and we stared up at the
ceiling, our hands folded beneath our heads.
“What are we
looking at?” I whispered.
“The stars,”
she whispered back solemnly, and pointed. “They’re beautiful. And that’s the
moon.”
At the
appointed time, all ten of us students trickled into the park dragging
suitcases and families behind us. We had a school bus rented for the occasion,
so mamás and cousins and siblings and friends could come with us.
I tried to
be sentimental as we rolled out of our city for the last time, but it didn’t feel
real. We’d left so many times in the four months for a day or a week that it
was hard to believe this time we didn’t have a return ticket. But I blinked and
tried to memorize every little detail.
The airport
was an organized sort of chaos. Somehow we made it through all the lines and
baggage-checking points and emerged to find our families waiting for us. In a
crowded airport, we hugged and said our last goodbyes to these beautiful people
who had cooked our meals, cleaned up after us, encouraged us, and looked out
for us all semester.
I hate long
goodbyes. I hate crying in public. I want a clean break, and that wasn’t
happening. But we made our way through the glass doors eventually and onto the
airplane and we stowed our bags and heard the warm Georgian voice of our flight
attendant and it was really over.
Even though I
had an aisle seat, I caught a glimpse of the country growing smaller as we took
off into the sky. It was the end of a chapter.
I landed
safely. Collected my bags. Distributed some much-deserved bear hugs. Saw friends.
Laughed. Went home. Ate too much and did too little. I am eating too much and
doing too little. The page has turned and the next chapter started, but this
one doesn’t seem to have much of a plot.
A week away
from goodbye, I’m struck dumb by the force of the question, “Now What?”
Four months
doesn’t erase your memory. Dropping the toilet paper in the toilet felt weird
maybe twice. Homemade food is nice. Carpet is okay. So maybe my mom laughs at
me when I accidentally point with my lips and not my fingers; so maybe I’m
surprised when I sneeze in a crowded store and don’t get a single “Salud” but things aren’t as weird as I thought
they were going to be.
I prepared
myself for reverse culture-shock. Instead, it’s almost a letdown how ready I am
for extra clothes and applesauce and hot showers. I still fit in with my family
and my friends. So what’s changed, then?
I have to
remind myself of why I went abroad in the first place.
Was it to
feel morally superior when I came back? Was it to impress people with all my cultural
knowledge, or to be considered a more interesting person?
I hope,
instead, it was to go humbly into someone else’s home and see what I could
learn. To better understand, globally as well as locally, who my neighbor is
and what responsibilities I have to her. And even if I feel like the same
sister/daughter/friend who left, I know that I have learned a lot.
So now I just
have to do something with it.
After four
months of helplessness – of people feeding me and guiding me and translating
for me; giving me deadlines and asking me questions – it’s up to me to keep on
going. The things I’ve learned have to become to things I do, and that’s a
tricky process.
Now what?
In some
ways, my life isn’t as exciting anymore. There won’t be volcanoes or trips
across borders in my near future. But in another way, my life is just getting
exciting. Anyone can have an experience, but it all depends on what you do with
it. Now my life, more than ever, is in my hands.
What I’m
going to do with the things I learned will fill its own chapter. I’m not going
to stop asking questions and exploring ideas. I have three more semesters of
college, and who knows what comes next. So stay with me! The story (I hope) is
just starting to get good.
