Report from the Middle of a Split-Year

You only live once, but I’m studying abroad twice. Sitting at the airport, waiting to board a plane that will take me to Istanbul and on to Mumbai, where I will find my way to my host family, school, and adventure in Pune, India, I reflect on the six weeks that was my rickety foot bridge between continents.

Re-entry is a disease. This is a truth that many of my college friends are probably experiencing. The phenomenon of returning to one’s country of origin after extended time abroad is grating, it makes everything harder and slower. Being abroad gives a completely new set of mental muscles a strenuous workout, to the detriment of a person’s paper-writing-all-nighter-surviving-extracurricular-balancing muscles. The inertia that makes us long for life abroad leads to cultural whiplash, and it takes time to heal, to get in shape, and to get back to ‘real life’.

On top of re-entry sits my split-year status, the year splitting being such that I spend not one, but two consecutive semesters abroad in two different countries (and continents, in my case). I’m sure it will be a powerful experience, but I’m at the stage in this Ullysian contract where I can hear the siren of my old, normal, college life singing its irresistible song, and I think if I weren’t tied so securely (not having registered for classes at school or having a place to live) to the bow of the split-year ship, I would have jumped overboard days ago. But I am committed, so here I sit at Dulles International Airport. Needless to say I’m not quite as well rested as I was in July before I left for South Africa, and my perspective has shifted to say the least.

4 Ways Study Abroad, Round 2 Has Changed:

1. I brought half as many clothes and twice as many books.
2. I arrived at the airport early, via ZipCar, with best friends.
3. My final American meal was a boogey buffet.
4. I know who’s waiting for me when the plane lands.

4 Things that Haven’t Changed About Study Abroad Round 2:

1. Cheezits are an essential airplane food.
2. Avoid large groups of American’s in matching t-shirts.
3. Frantically call/text everyone you know in the airport to say goodbye.
4. Meet someone under strange circumstances and know that that uncomfortable connection will last a lifetime.

Over the past few days I’ve spent in DC, I’ve talked to old friends about life, loneliness, wanderlust, moving on, growing up, and being brave. I’ve talked a lot about the magic of the Lord of the Rings, the fact that Frodo isn’t a hero, and that it isn’t the act of a king or a wizard or a merry elf-dwarf bromance that saves the world. It’s the marginal act of an ordinary person.

That’s an idea to hold on to as I sit, travel-worn and weary, only part way through an incredible journey that promises unimaginable change. The scariest part of the second half of my split year is that this time, though I may not have a good idea of what the terrain ahead looks like, I know what ‘not home’ feels like. I know what it means to crave a familiar accent, to hope for a simple phone call from your mom, to long for a coke full of corn syrup or a Krispy Kream donut. I also know what kind of adventures might lay ahead, finding that local cuisine that becomes a staple, train rides and spring break travels, being taught Hindi swear words by Indian students, and a host mom and dad waiting for me 10,000 miles away.

So much has changed since I last sat in this terminal waiting for a plane to take me halfway around the world, and so much has not. I’m just as homeless, just as clueless, just as terrified of what’s waiting for me 25 hours from now but really just as capable of dealing with it. But now I know, I know a little bit more about the world, and a little bit more about myself. Joking with the man at the ticket counter, breezing through security, and casually stocking up on American candy in the airport made me remember that in July, doing all these things had involved thinking “This is the first time I’m ____________ on my way to South Africa.” Well it’s not my first time going abroad anymore, but it’s my first time going to India. There’s a first time for everything, but every time is the first of something. And to be honest, the second time feeling feels pretty good too.

(I’m doing this blog thing as kind of a public journal type situation, so keep checking in for more about my split-year adventures.)