I moved into a new apartment last week, and have two wonderful new roommates, Paul and Amie. Through them, I am meeting new people all the time. Most of them are 18 or 19 and have finished their freshman year of college. Paul had drunken friends over the other night, and his friend Casey asked me how I was dealing with his craziness. Once she found out I was from Connecticut, she asked me if it was hard being so far from home and if I missed my parents. It was such a strange question at the time, but considering that she is away from home for the first year, it must have been very normal for her. I don't think I have been asked that in at least two years, and I never realized until her question how little I really miss "home". In fact, I have sadly come to realization that Willington isn't really even home anymore. I get along with my parents and my brother more than I did in high school, but somehow the magic of my house being my home is gone.
I went to Finland in August 2003, and during the entire year I was gone, Willington was definitely home, and the only home I had ever known. While I did learn to feel at home with my host family in Nokia, 61 Eldredge Road was, in my mind, still where I lived. All my friends were still there in high school, and it was the first time I had been away for any real length of time. When I got back in July 2004, my bedroom felt like home. I had returned after a long time away, but it was just as much my home as it was before Finland. It was exactly as I had remembered, and it was almost like I had never left. But I was there for less than 2 months and then I came to Minneapolis for college.
Maybe it should have been at that point that Willington stopped feeling like home, but I wasn't. Owen and I were still together, I went home for Thanksgiving and then again for Christmas, and I still felt that the time in Minneapolis was time away from home. I spent the summer of 2005 in Connecticut, although a month and a half of vacation was actually spent with Karl, touring Europe. I spent the fall semester in Minneapolis, had an extended winter break again in Willington, and then went off for my semester in Graz. Since leaving for Finland on August 13, 2003, I have spent about 4 months total in Connecticut- 91% of my life since then has been spent not at home. And yet, I still identify very strongly with Connecticut- I tell people that's where I'm from, I'm proud to be from the East Coast, I brag about my superiour accent, and I automatically feel close to people from the East Coast or Connecticut even if I know nothing else about them.
I think my time in Austria made me really realize that I no longer live in Willington. Up to that point, I really felt like I llived in Connecticut and just spent many months away at school. When I was in Finland I really was away from home, and that identification carried on. I'm going back to Willington in a few days, and I no longer feel that I am going home. I am going to visit my parents and my family, but it is not home. My new Minneapolis apartment in the basement of a pharmacy is more home to me. All of my most valued things are here with me, and I'm packing like I'm going on vacation and not going home.
Zach Braff's character talks about this exact occurrence in the movie Garden State, but I hadn't realize it happened to me until right now. In fact, when I first saw the movie, I remember agreeing with Sam that I still felt at home:
"Andrew Largeman: You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone.
Sam: I still feel at home in my house.
Andrew Largeman: You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for you kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place."
It happened one day, some time between leaving for Austria and returning. Willington was home, and then suddenly, or maybe gradually, it wasn't. I don't miss my bed or my things in my room like I did when I was in Finland. I don't compare things here to how they are at home the way I used to. I am certain that Willington and my house will be always exactly as I remember them, and up until this point, I have never been disappointed. I change and home doesn't, and I think that keeps me sane. Or maybe we both change a little bit each time we're apart. Either way, 61 Eldredge Road will always be exactly the way it is right now, in my mind. And if that ever changes, no matter how long it's been since I've felt home there, there will be a lot of tears.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Study Abroad
I attended a pre-return orientation over the weekend for the AFS high school exchange students returing to their home countries in a few months, and I've had my study abroad experiences and friends very much on my mind ever since.
The textbook for my Teaching ESL class is all about studying abroad. It's called Maximizing Study Abroad: A Students' Guide to Strategies for Language and Culture Learning and Use and was put together by returnee students from the U of Minnesota. One of the first quotes by a returnee is about returning home after a study abroad experience:
"Coming home story: Beginning at the end
April 28th was the day I chose. I don't even know why. I knew I had to return to Minnesota sometime, so I picked an unimportant date. I had lived in Mexico for four months and, although I didn't consider it home, it just felt more like my home than MInnesota. In the week before I left, I continued my life in Mexico as normal except for pakcing a little and buying some gifts. I spent my last Saturday, my last Sunday, my last Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and THursday in Cuernavaca. And then Friday, April 28th arrived. I wasn't excited. I wasn't scared. I wasn't sad. I was just numb, in total disbelief.
I decided not to tell anyone when I was coming home. My mother would ask and I would say, "Oh, sometime at the end of April or early May." I finished classes at the beginning of April and since then, my friends were wondering when I was coming home so they could meet me at the airport. I pictured the scene: my mom almost crying with happiness when she sees me, a stern hug from my dad, a quick 'welcome home roughing up' from my brothers, friends giving hugs and asking how the trip was, etc.
The whole idea scared me to death. I haven't seen these people in four months, and they want to come together in one place and bombard me the moment I get off the plane? No way! So I decided to tell only two friends when my flight came in -- Matt and Carlos are the two people who I knew would not stress me out.
THe morning of the 28th I took a taxi to the bus station and a bus to the airport in Mexico City with my friend Alberto. We got to the airport with about 15 minutes before I had to board the plane and nervously talked. He and I had become really good friends, and I think we were nervous about saying goodbye. About seven minutes before I boarded the plane it hit me. I was leaving. I didn't want to leave Mexico. I didn't want to leave my friends. And I didn't want to leave the new 'me' that I had discovered. I started to cry. Alberto gave me a hug, we said goodbye, and I walked to the gate. I knew that if I looked back at him I would just walk back to him and say, "Let's go back to Cuernavaca. I can't leave!" Instead I walked to my gate and boarded the plane.
I had a layover in Houston, and it was terrible. I walked off the plane and was surrounded by white people. Everyone was speaking English. I hadn't seen so many people like me in so long. It seems like I should have been fine with it, but I was very uncomfortable. I kept thinking about Alberto and my other Mexican friends, and I kep thinking about all the places I had seen every day that I may never see again. My 40-minute layover seemed to last forever.
My plane ride to Minneapolis was uneventful except for my thoughts of how I didn't want to be going there. I stepped off the plane and saw Matt and Carlos and almost started to cry. I wanted to cry because no matter how great it was to see them, I didn't want to see them. I wanted to be in Mexico.
-Susie P"
It's incredible that if the names and places were changed, this could my narration of how I felt about returning home after my time in Finland. I talked at orientation with other AFSers about how exchange students can relate on so many levels with other exchange students because, no matter the time and the place and the situation, we all experienced so many of the same things. The fear of being in a new place. The homesickness. The close friendships formed. The new places visited. The sheer devastation of leaving an entire new world that we may never return to. The knowledge that we will never be the person we were before leaving. The certainty that our new friends will be close to our hearts, no matter how far away they are. The beauty of having a second home. The unconditional love of a host mother.
My best friend from high school understood less of what I'd experienced than someone I'd just met at an AFS post-return orientation. Even though Susie P went last year for a college semester in Mexico, she can understand my sadness of having to leave my high school year in Finland more than any of my friends from home can. That is the beauty of studying abroad- we are forever changed and affected by the time we spend abroad, learning, growing up, and sharing ourselves with the rest of the world.
Leaving Finland and returning home was the hardest thing I have ever done. It eclipsed the sadness of leaving everything I had ever known to go to Finland the year before. Weeks before leaving, my best friends and I would break down in tears a few times a week, knowing that we only had a little time left. We found as many sad songs and quotes as we could to make ourselves sad, so that when we cried, we were still together and could hug each other for a few weeks more. Sappy exchange student emails were passed around, all about the difficulty of the return process and the lasting bonds that we had made during our year. When the end finally came, we cried. But not as much as we wanted to. There were no tears to express what it was like to have to walk away from our new families, or closest friends, our soulmates. But we did it. I landed in Newark and was struck by all the English around me. I saw my parents at the arrivals gate and cried, unable to control my emotions any longer. I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be back in Tampere, meeting my best friends for food, talking to my host mom for hours a night, and being surrounded by the beautiful Finnish language.
It's been almost 3 years since I left, and I can relive the entire return process. It still makes me to cry to remember what we went through. Even though one of my best friends is in Chile and the other in Switzerland, they are closer to me than anyone else in this whole world. They are there for me in ways that those in my presence can't be. We have millions of shared memories. I've gotten to travel to Chile and Switzerland, and even though it's been years since we've been together, I know that these are lifelong friendships. We don't need to be close in distance since we are always going to be close in heart. To quote Claudio Magris in the wonderful book A Different Sea, " But seeing each other again is not all that important. Our bonds are the sort that cannot be broken." I know that when I see them again, we will pick up exactly where we left off, putting aside the years we had to spend apart.
The textbook for my Teaching ESL class is all about studying abroad. It's called Maximizing Study Abroad: A Students' Guide to Strategies for Language and Culture Learning and Use and was put together by returnee students from the U of Minnesota. One of the first quotes by a returnee is about returning home after a study abroad experience:
"Coming home story: Beginning at the end
April 28th was the day I chose. I don't even know why. I knew I had to return to Minnesota sometime, so I picked an unimportant date. I had lived in Mexico for four months and, although I didn't consider it home, it just felt more like my home than MInnesota. In the week before I left, I continued my life in Mexico as normal except for pakcing a little and buying some gifts. I spent my last Saturday, my last Sunday, my last Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and THursday in Cuernavaca. And then Friday, April 28th arrived. I wasn't excited. I wasn't scared. I wasn't sad. I was just numb, in total disbelief.
I decided not to tell anyone when I was coming home. My mother would ask and I would say, "Oh, sometime at the end of April or early May." I finished classes at the beginning of April and since then, my friends were wondering when I was coming home so they could meet me at the airport. I pictured the scene: my mom almost crying with happiness when she sees me, a stern hug from my dad, a quick 'welcome home roughing up' from my brothers, friends giving hugs and asking how the trip was, etc.
The whole idea scared me to death. I haven't seen these people in four months, and they want to come together in one place and bombard me the moment I get off the plane? No way! So I decided to tell only two friends when my flight came in -- Matt and Carlos are the two people who I knew would not stress me out.
THe morning of the 28th I took a taxi to the bus station and a bus to the airport in Mexico City with my friend Alberto. We got to the airport with about 15 minutes before I had to board the plane and nervously talked. He and I had become really good friends, and I think we were nervous about saying goodbye. About seven minutes before I boarded the plane it hit me. I was leaving. I didn't want to leave Mexico. I didn't want to leave my friends. And I didn't want to leave the new 'me' that I had discovered. I started to cry. Alberto gave me a hug, we said goodbye, and I walked to the gate. I knew that if I looked back at him I would just walk back to him and say, "Let's go back to Cuernavaca. I can't leave!" Instead I walked to my gate and boarded the plane.
I had a layover in Houston, and it was terrible. I walked off the plane and was surrounded by white people. Everyone was speaking English. I hadn't seen so many people like me in so long. It seems like I should have been fine with it, but I was very uncomfortable. I kept thinking about Alberto and my other Mexican friends, and I kep thinking about all the places I had seen every day that I may never see again. My 40-minute layover seemed to last forever.
My plane ride to Minneapolis was uneventful except for my thoughts of how I didn't want to be going there. I stepped off the plane and saw Matt and Carlos and almost started to cry. I wanted to cry because no matter how great it was to see them, I didn't want to see them. I wanted to be in Mexico.
-Susie P"
It's incredible that if the names and places were changed, this could my narration of how I felt about returning home after my time in Finland. I talked at orientation with other AFSers about how exchange students can relate on so many levels with other exchange students because, no matter the time and the place and the situation, we all experienced so many of the same things. The fear of being in a new place. The homesickness. The close friendships formed. The new places visited. The sheer devastation of leaving an entire new world that we may never return to. The knowledge that we will never be the person we were before leaving. The certainty that our new friends will be close to our hearts, no matter how far away they are. The beauty of having a second home. The unconditional love of a host mother.
My best friend from high school understood less of what I'd experienced than someone I'd just met at an AFS post-return orientation. Even though Susie P went last year for a college semester in Mexico, she can understand my sadness of having to leave my high school year in Finland more than any of my friends from home can. That is the beauty of studying abroad- we are forever changed and affected by the time we spend abroad, learning, growing up, and sharing ourselves with the rest of the world.
Leaving Finland and returning home was the hardest thing I have ever done. It eclipsed the sadness of leaving everything I had ever known to go to Finland the year before. Weeks before leaving, my best friends and I would break down in tears a few times a week, knowing that we only had a little time left. We found as many sad songs and quotes as we could to make ourselves sad, so that when we cried, we were still together and could hug each other for a few weeks more. Sappy exchange student emails were passed around, all about the difficulty of the return process and the lasting bonds that we had made during our year. When the end finally came, we cried. But not as much as we wanted to. There were no tears to express what it was like to have to walk away from our new families, or closest friends, our soulmates. But we did it. I landed in Newark and was struck by all the English around me. I saw my parents at the arrivals gate and cried, unable to control my emotions any longer. I didn't want to be there. I wanted to be back in Tampere, meeting my best friends for food, talking to my host mom for hours a night, and being surrounded by the beautiful Finnish language.
It's been almost 3 years since I left, and I can relive the entire return process. It still makes me to cry to remember what we went through. Even though one of my best friends is in Chile and the other in Switzerland, they are closer to me than anyone else in this whole world. They are there for me in ways that those in my presence can't be. We have millions of shared memories. I've gotten to travel to Chile and Switzerland, and even though it's been years since we've been together, I know that these are lifelong friendships. We don't need to be close in distance since we are always going to be close in heart. To quote Claudio Magris in the wonderful book A Different Sea, " But seeing each other again is not all that important. Our bonds are the sort that cannot be broken." I know that when I see them again, we will pick up exactly where we left off, putting aside the years we had to spend apart.
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