So let's face it. It's a big world that revolves around our personal perception of the world. Also things like money and fame and international relations but who's counting. Our perception of the world around us is based off of what we know, what we've been told, what we've seen, and what we've done. Obviously, the more you see/do/know, the broader your perception of the world around you is, and the wiser and more earthly you feel. It's a win-win situation that I am happy to be a part of (*cough cough*
exchange)
This post goes out to all of the future exchange students out there who have not a single clue in their heads about what they're hopping into. But I'm not gonna rat you all out about how different the world really is or how you should
open your eyes and look at the world differently like I am basically known for. This is basically the survival blog entry and not one of my crazy, off-topic philosophical rants.
So let's go from day numero uno. You wake up in an ungodly cold hotel room, take a shower, and head down to the lobby with your life in 60 pounds on your shoulders and in your arms, ready to be wrangled by the airport security. You're wearing your AFS shirt, or Rotary uniform, sneakers, hair nice, make up on, and ready for the day ahead of you. You eat breakfast, and then boom. 10 hours later you're done sitting around waiting and you're on the plane across an ocean.
This point in time I would like to refer as "the last hoorah".
The Last Horrah is probably going to be the last time in a long time you will feel you are completely sanitary, healthy, and sane. You will slowly feel The Last Horrah slip away from you as you sit in this metal tube of air 37,000 feet above sea level with air that is as dry as the Sahara and no flight attendants to spare. As you try to fall asleep with your complimentary blanket from whatever airline you got stuck with or try to get interested in one of the 20 movies you've been provided with, you get the feeling of "I haven't slept in a day, I need a shower". When the lights in the cabin flick on and you hear the captain crackle about morning breaking over the horizion, you can see the beginnings of the continent you are traveling to. It's like a broadway musical, probably "Good Morning Baltimore" from Hairspray will do you the trick if you are interested in really seeing what I am talking about.
Because layovers are twice the fun and half the expense, you get to your layover country.
oh god your knees oh god it's daytime oh god its 3 AM at home oh god wheres the toilet oh god can I speak my language here oh god this doesn't feel any different oh god what do i do oh god this is it oh god oh god oh god. At this point, you and the rest of your caravan meander off of the plane and into a nearly abandoned lobby of an airport. After all, it's like 7 AM. You're early. For the last time in 10 months. You scurry your way through customs and nearly punch the kid in the face that talks about joking about carrying an AK47 across the Atlantic Ocean, and you make your way to the gate. This, this is
the wall. Your adrenaline is dead, everyone else is dead, you're hungry, you're tired, the angry cleaning ladies of the airport keep waking you up as you try to sleep on the floor... welcome to the jungle.
Finally you board your plane to your host country, and this is even more of a casino than the first time. Babies crying, everyone looks like they got into a fight with a lawn mower, different languages,
god am I seriously sweating this hard?!.... The plane ride is decades shorter than the first one. You touch down in your host country and the feeling is basically described in one way:
You hop off the plane, sweatier than before and try to receive your luggage in the warzone baggage claim along with 40 other kids and a dozen foreigners that have the same motives as you do. You get your bags, and if you're like me, stand for nearly two hours waiting for a bus inside a crowded, hot airport in early September in the middle of Rome.
The first sleep you get is on a rickety bus with your head pounding against a window, and it's only because your body is shutting down. The hotel is up a giant hill and you stand in the sun to check in. You corral your bags into a box on the floor marked with tape and get your roommate from the same country as you.
FINALLY SHOWERS AND SLEEP!
ALMOST!
Your first meal in your host country is weird. You don't know how to do jack squat and neither does anyone around you, so you just kind of.....eat.
And eventually, you end up in your bed and fall asleep in your clothes with the lights on and no sheets while in the midst of conversation with your roommate because you are just that exhausted.
I went through this vivid description because this is the start of your new, not-so-glamorous life as an exchange student.
LYFE.
Not trying to burst any bubbles, but the thing is, you are going to show up in your host country and realize that you brought none of the correct clothing. At first, this is a horrifying thing as you show up at school in bootcut jeans, nike slides, and a Washington Nationals shirt because it's really all you got. This is where (parents of exchange students, here's your explanation) the initial clothing binge comes in. Because I am both a cheapskate and oblivious to the opinions of people around me, I initially didn't care about what I wore. But now, since I've lost like 2 and a half pants sizes and every part of my body has gotten weird, only about 40% of my American clothes are socially acceptable without looking like a homeless mother of 4. Sharkbait(s), be prepared to show up to black tie events in the middle of December in a blue sun dress with black tights and orange heels. Be prepared to have only 5 nice outfits for 6 days of school, so there will be a day where you will look better on an episode of Drugs Inc. than in one of the most fashionable countries on the planet. You will ration your socks, underpants, and crucial things like tank tops and cardigans. If need be for more explanation, just listen to Garth Brook's Friends in Low Places and you will receive your personal anthem for the next ten months.
Also, as I've touched on many times before through blog entries, host families can get awkward in the blink of an eye. Whether you are in Morocco and wipe your muddy feet on your dad's prayer rug, go to a private Christian school in the US as an exchange student and ask for a "rubber" as an eraser, because it's the word you learned, or you're me and have had your host brother the same age as you walk in on you in the shower, things will get weird and awkward and you just have to deal with it. You have to learn to live with the uncomfortability that will take up a good 95% of your life, and that's just the flat out truth.
You will be treated like a 5 year old and there's no way of stopping it. It sucks but when you can't order at McDonalds for yourself without stuttering and forcing the employee to speak English after 2 or 3 months, you are gonna have to cut down your ego a little and let someone else step in. It will take you about 5 months to boost the courage to even enter a shop on your own, let alone answer a "how may I help you?" type question, God forbid. You will read children's books because anything else will make you literally break down into hysterics at the sight of the first paragraph. You will use the equivalents of the words "nice", "good", "bad", and "pretty" more than any other adjective on the planet because they are the easiest and most general ones to use. Your friends will do everything for you and will double check that you understand everything. Some will go as far as to hold your hand as you cross the street, even in your seventh month abroad (yes, I have one that does that). If you cry at school, there will be 3 people with tissues, one wiping your makeup off, one holding your hand, three wrapped around your torso, and a dozen comforting you. You are 5 years old.
You will lose a bit of dignity going abroad, yet another thing you can't help. You will become the overly-attached best friend at some points because if you aren't, you ain't got no social life. You will wear the same pair of pants, 3, 4, 5 days without washing them because all the rest have been escorted out of your closet and are being taken captive by the grueling 2-week laundry cycle. Your socks will not match. You will run out of things from your home country (mostly toiletries) and then have to experience the horror of finding replacements.
And then you have my least favorite word in the world. Communication. Try keeping your preoccupied mother, friends at home, church/school body, rest of your family, and your academics under one roof while maintaining your host family, friends, school, and other groups. Throw the time zones in and boom, it's a lose-lose situation! But really, don't expect to keep a load of contact. And you will get emails and messages from your mother about I let you go on this trip so I think I deserve to know A LITTLE more of what you are doing and what is happening to you, Kara Rose Richards.
Moral of the story: Exchange is the most stressful, frustrating, straining, challenging, energy-draining task you have faced yet and maybe ever will. But it will also be the most knowledgeable, fun, exciting, adventurous, eye-opening, memorable, and fastest year of your life.
Believe me.
