Boarding flight DL8363

Many things have happened in the past couple days.

I hand-sewed seven large patches onto thick overalls for my host mom’s birthday; i broke a needle in half doing so; I finished all of my finals; I attended two class parties and one lame class session; i went to the beach and climbed the bluffs; i had another wine and cheese tasting.

And I said many goodbyes.

I said goodbye to Merve, the drop-dead hilarious Turkish woman who taught me how to do a traditional veil dance. To Hanh, my most frequent project partner, who was never not giving me food. To my entire DnD group, with whom I intend to keep playing. To my teachers, to my friends, to my host mom, to Aix.

The day I left Tennessee, my dad told me that the final stage of culture shock is itself in reverse. Right then, I was scared of leaving and I didn’t feel ready. I wanted to wait a semester, maybe a year, maybe just stay home for a while until my confidence grew. I didn’t want to look outside my window and see an alien world. I felt like I was abandoning my home, and that my home was abandoning me. I was so remarkably sad. I didn’t think I would ever feel that bad again.

Reverse culture shock is reentry. It’s hearing language and accents that your ears forgot. It’s losing food, roads, weather, habits that you’ve grown accustomed to. You know, the human brain can get used to anything. Usually you hear that said when something horrible happens and nothing is done about it, like how we’re all used to gun violence in schools now. But it’s not always a bad thing. It’s our defense mechanism. Alien worlds and alien words can get comfortable in your head, on your tongue.

When I get home, I am going to wake up the first few days and be confused because I won’t remember where I am. Then my eyes will adjust. And I’ll slip French into conversation, sounding like a bougie douchebag, but I promise it will be an accident, and I won’t be trying to impress or condescend. I’ll miss the north wind. I’ll be cold.

My absolute final night in Aix, I helped my friends get rid of their food. We had a massive, bizarre potluck of pasta and eggs and Oreos. We laughed and reminisced and danced and cried. We wondered about what we would do first when we got back. We wondered if we would ever see each other again. I walked home alone at 1am. In the morning I would take pictures with my host mom and roommate and take the bus to the station and be rushing rushing rushing to get everything done, but the walk home was quiet and slow. There was a moment that night when only the full moon illuminated me, and I watched it through the scraggly branches of an olive tree.

~

I don’t know how many of my readers have ever left the country. Or taken a big chance with a high risk of failure. Or turned one down. But I do know that a lot of you are in high school, and that means that the next twenty-four months of your life are going to feel like the end of the world, regardless of what does or doesn’t happen. Please, keep this in mind: you are not ready. You will never be ready, and you will never feel ready. You are not ready to do it until you are halfway through it. Whatever you’re about to do, it’s a leap of faith. Don’t wait until until you feel like it’s the right time, because that’s never going to happen. Take a swig of coffee, hold back a flinch, and leap.

Grand bisous,

Allison

P.S.: Any remaining questions or comments should be held onto and asked in person this upcoming week. You can find me at the following places: the Corner Cup, Davy Crockett Birthplace, my bed.

P.P.S.: Sorry if this is sappy. I am ALL in my feels right now.