I can confidently say that the two least impactful and least
interesting parts of my experience studying abroad for a semester were the
flight from New York to Cape Town, and the flight from Cape Town back to New
York. Neither of them felt real, or seemed as if they truly did take seventeen
hours, or had any kind of groundbreaking revelation attached to them. In fact,
I would even stand to argue that it took being away from the airport for at least
an hour to even realize that the flight had actually happened. I suppose
there’s just something universal about airplanes and airports; no matter where
you are in the world, they all feel like this strange no man’s land. A place
that isn’t anyone’s final destination, not really. It’s a fast-moving wasteland
of suitcases. I know so many people claim that they didn’t feel the reality of
their study abroad trip until they were in the plane as its wheels lifted off
the ground, but in both of my extended airplane trips I distinctly remember not
feeling a thing.
There are a lot of things that I listened to and took truly
to heart when people offered me advice on spending a semester abroad. Since it
was something I knew I wanted to do since I was sixteen years old and in high
school, I’ve felt perpetually determined to prepare vigorously. Upon leaving
Paris and hearing the end of my grandmother’s own study abroad experience
there, I convinced myself that until the point when I actually set foot on
foreign soil to begin my study abroad experience, I would spend every moment
preparing for it. This presents the reason I have always been extremely careful
with my GPA at Loyola, what motivated me to go to several international program
presentations before I chose which one to apply to, and it’s makes
understandable why I’ve always listened to any and all advice offered to me
about studying abroad.
It’s also the reason I was prepared so well to deal with
disappointments, hassles, and all the other things that are the not so
glamorous part of living in a foreign place.
But if there’s one thing I didn’t necessarily take
seriously, it was what was going to happen to me when I got home from being
abroad. I think the only time I really did spend thinking about the time when my
trip was finally over occurred in a writing class last semester. One of my
classmates had written a story involving a girl who returned home utterly
changed and unable to spend time with her friends and family without feeling
misunderstood. The only part I paid attention to was when the story’s author
addressed my comment about the flight home from study abroad. “It’s the worst
thing in the world.” she said. I agreed with her.
And yet despite my confidence that preparation for the
fateful flight would prevent me from the most difficult part of study abroad, I
never really thought about what it
would be like when the experience was finally over. I didn’t think about my
life in a way that looked toward the future, I thought about it as stopping at
a large question mark at the place where my junior year spring semester would
be. Things wouldn’t begin, wouldn’t make real sense until I went abroad and
figured out what was supposed to happen next. I was so engrossed in the idea of
study abroad telling me what I was supposed to do that in all my preparations
for it I didn’t reserve a space in my mind for what things would actually be
like when I got home. And so when I finally did arrive home, I was slapped with
the realization that the only things I really brought with me from South Africa
were one more experience under my belt and a newly open space for a new dream.
I know people who came home from abroad, even people who
came home from my own program who have barely fit back into their lifestyles
from before. I talk to them now, and they spend time reminiscing, wishing they
were back where they were when they were abroad. And not all of them, but some
certainly have this terrifying attitude I’ve always been afraid of—this
permanent nostalgia, a jealousy of their past.
I’ve always known what this experience was going to be, or
at least, knew what to expect while I was there. And I don’t regret a single
moment of my time abroad, especially because of how much I learned about
myself, the world around me, and the life I want to lead in the future. I’ve
met people and experienced things that some people wait a whole lifetime to
experience. And I wouldn’t say I’m depressed, or that the best part of my past
is now far behind me, because I don’t plan to give up a lifestyle of travel and
new things anytime soon. But I will say that nothing has prepared me for the
way I feel at home. It’s summed up the best in my title—I’ve had to face an
overwhelming amount of re-acclimation to a place that hasn’t really changed in
six months. And when I get back to Loyola, I’ll have to do it all over again.
I’ll have to get used to allowing a new person, a changed person created by my
time abroad to live openly in a place so different from where she emerged.
Sometimes when my relatives and my friends ask me questions
about Cape Town, I do feel really sad. And I miss the friends that I made that
I probably won’t see again anytime soon, and I miss having the mountains
constantly in my background, and I miss the Nest, despite how ready I was to
leave it at the end of my time there. And though it is strange, it’s good to be
home, and to be reminded that in this life I only have to give myself something
to work toward, something to look forward to, and I will escape the treacherous
grip of nostalgia. The open space in my life has already quickly been filled by
a new dream. Or, rather, by a variation of the old one. I hope to continue
living abroad in the future, and to constantly chase the high of experiences
that create entirely new parts of me.
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