I'm home. I'm home. I'm home.
So why does it not feel like it?
My first few weeks in Chile, I was frantically trying to survive. Everything I knew had been turned upside down, every support system I had was gone. I could no longer cope with food, my family was thousands of miles away, my beloved Office was not on Netflix, and the reality was, I had to change. I had to adapt, to somehow conform myself into this role, to find a away to live in another country to four more months and not have emotional breakdowns.
Never, did I think that my survival, my frantic moments of attempted would turn into comfort, stability. I never thought it would turn into my home, but it did.
I had a routine. I showered in the evenings because the rest of the house showered in the morning. I would wake to a somewhat sleepy house, most already gone for the day, the rest still nestled in their beds. I'd go to my sparse closet and choice one of the same outfits I wore every week. How very minimalist of me? Comb my hair, brush my teeth, grab a piece of fruit and chao, off she went.
I remember zooming down the sidewalk in my last few weeks of school. A simple walk that once winded me, now energized me, prepared me for the day. Earbuds in my ears, Spanish mannerisms in my mind, my commute had become, dare I say, enjoyable. Interactions with locals had become easier. I understood them and they understood me. They smiled when I spoke their language and I smiled that I could (and that they didn't have to speak mine to me).
My friends, American and Chilean, had become my rocks. They were sweet little pebbles scattered throughout my week that brought me joy and sometimes hangovers, but always smiles and laughter.
My host family had become an extension of my own. My American family knew their names well. I talked of them often, how they made me smile, how my host mom Paula made something shockingly different for lunch every day that I wound up loving, how my host dad Gonzalo chased after me with the vacuum while I shouted "serpentina", and I'd share little pieces of chocolate with my sister Camilla only because we were both trying not to eat the whole thing ourselves.
In Chile, when someone is leaving, the expression "Que te vaya bien" echos through the house. It's a shortened version of "espero que te vaya bien" meaning, "I hope you go well".
To my precious family in Chile, "que te vaya bien".
So why does it not feel like it?
My first few weeks in Chile, I was frantically trying to survive. Everything I knew had been turned upside down, every support system I had was gone. I could no longer cope with food, my family was thousands of miles away, my beloved Office was not on Netflix, and the reality was, I had to change. I had to adapt, to somehow conform myself into this role, to find a away to live in another country to four more months and not have emotional breakdowns.
Never, did I think that my survival, my frantic moments of attempted would turn into comfort, stability. I never thought it would turn into my home, but it did.
I had a routine. I showered in the evenings because the rest of the house showered in the morning. I would wake to a somewhat sleepy house, most already gone for the day, the rest still nestled in their beds. I'd go to my sparse closet and choice one of the same outfits I wore every week. How very minimalist of me? Comb my hair, brush my teeth, grab a piece of fruit and chao, off she went.
I remember zooming down the sidewalk in my last few weeks of school. A simple walk that once winded me, now energized me, prepared me for the day. Earbuds in my ears, Spanish mannerisms in my mind, my commute had become, dare I say, enjoyable. Interactions with locals had become easier. I understood them and they understood me. They smiled when I spoke their language and I smiled that I could (and that they didn't have to speak mine to me).
My friends, American and Chilean, had become my rocks. They were sweet little pebbles scattered throughout my week that brought me joy and sometimes hangovers, but always smiles and laughter.
My host family had become an extension of my own. My American family knew their names well. I talked of them often, how they made me smile, how my host mom Paula made something shockingly different for lunch every day that I wound up loving, how my host dad Gonzalo chased after me with the vacuum while I shouted "serpentina", and I'd share little pieces of chocolate with my sister Camilla only because we were both trying not to eat the whole thing ourselves.
In Chile, when someone is leaving, the expression "Que te vaya bien" echos through the house. It's a shortened version of "espero que te vaya bien" meaning, "I hope you go well".
To my precious family in Chile, "que te vaya bien".