In the morning I wake up to my blasting alarm. I crawl out of bed and move on to the bathroom
where I wash my face. A new day has
begun. I look in the mirror and a sad,
tired face looks back at me. Slightly
different than it was a year and a half ago. In this past year, I’ve changed quite a lot. For the better, I’d say, for the most
part. I begin my day, I get dressed… its
cold out, and I don’t need to impress anyone at the university. I put on a big yellow sweater with my name on
the sleeve. I say “santé” to the rooster
and lion printed on the front, each holding a beer. “Tous les enfants de ma cite et meme d’ailleurs”
is printed on the back under “Rotary Youth Exchange 2011-2012”. I think of all of my friends with the same
sweater who are all over the world. Some
are lucky enough to still be in Belgium.
Others in Peru, California, Florida, Mexico, New York, Argentina, New
Zealand, India, Japan, Finland, Australia, South Africa, Brazil, Austria,
Colombia… the list goes on. I struggle
into my jeans, as I have refused to accept the 20 pounds I gained. I put some makeup on my pale face that didn’t
see much sun under grey Belgian skies, and then I make my way to the kitchen to
settle my growling stomach. I try to
stay away from the nutella I used to eat every morning, but something tastier
than a little margarine has to go on my English muffins. I put my books in my bag, which is so “a la
mode” in Europe. For the longest time I
wanted one, because it was like the bags all my girlfriends had. Just in case of rain, I stick my umbrella in
it too. I didn’t even have it until a
few months ago… my first time in Paris it was pretty rainy, so I was forced to
buy a cheap umbrella there. I put on my
shoes, which I happened to buy in Spain.
I bought them in a little mall outside of our hotel in Madrid. I liked the black ones, and a friend from New
York bought the same in navy blue. They
were very much needed. The original
colours of the converse I had before became indistinguishable from all the mud
and beer from the “ducasses”. Before I
leave, I put on a hat. I decide between
the one from Peru that was such a nice gift, and the one I bought in Brussels,
convinced of its awesomeness by my best Arizonian friend. I unlock the door to leave my house,
remembering where that keychain came from.
It’s a little green lizard bottle opener I got in Bruges when I was
there for a weekend in May.
I rush to the bus stop, listening to music on
the way. I might listen to some French music,
but probably house or electronic, most of which I was introduced to during the past
year. I get on the bus, and swipe my bus
pass, considering the differences between Transit Windsor and TEC. I smile to myself as I remember all the times
I got away with cheating to get on the bus by flashing a bus pass that had been
expired for 3 months.
I get to the university and sit in Spanish
class. I wouldn’t even be taking this
class and learning this language if some of my best friends weren’t Spanish speaking. I want to travel more in the future, visit my
friends, and experience their culture and language. So I’m learning Spanish. It’s so much easier now that I speak
French. Ah merde ! J’ai fait une
erreur devant tout la classe… ah oops. I
totally just started thinking in French again.
Move on to my next lecture… finally something that doesn’t remind me of
Belgium!! Oh wait, my
professor just mentioned a French philosopher… so of course I think of my
religion class back au college a Chimay.
By the
time this lecture is done, it’s about time for lunch, so I head over to a café on
campus. I order a tea and a Panini. Not too expensive – I have enough change for that. I pull out my change purse, and have to smile.
Its big yellow button eyes look up at me
as I unzip its red mouth and take out some money, dollars and quarters still
looking weird… 25 cent pieces don’t even exist “where I’m from”. The change purse is very important to me, so
I take care to make sure it doesn’t get crushed by books in my bag. It was generously given to me by a friend I
made on a school trip to Normandy near the end of the school year.
I eat alone. It’s so hard to make friends at university. It was so much easier in Belgium. I was an exchange student. I was interesting. People wanted to be my friend. But Belgians are friendlier anyway. To be honest, I barely even mind that I don’t have many friends
here. But then again, sometimes it would
be nice to let loose and go to a party now and then. “I don’t have time,” I tell myself. “I have to focus on my school work.”
When I arrive back at my house, I check the
mail, hoping something came for me from a faraway place… but no such luck
today. Just some ads and a bill
addressed to my mother. I get into the
house. Off with the Spanish kicks and on
with the slippers, shaped like clogs, from Amsterdam. That brings back fond memories of my Iowan
friend, who invited me to Amsterdam with her and her host family. I relax for just a moment before starting on
my tedious homework. I never had to do
homework all last year. I put my face in
my hands … and I see on my wrist a bracelet of black, yellow, and red
thread. One of my best friends hand made
that for me. I’m not allowed to take it
off until I go visit him in Peru. I go
the fridge to look for a little snack before starting my homework. I see on it the postcards I brought back from
Barcelona, Paris, Bruges, and Chimay… But
most importantly, a couple magnets, given to me by yet another one of my best
friends. He’s such a sweetheart. Not finding anything I want in the fridge, I
make my way to my room to work on my homework.
On the bulletin board above my workspace, many pictures are pinned: my
class, my best friends, my favourite pictures, a postcard featuring Carnaval at
Binche. Every time I look up from my
work, they’re all smiling at me. I just
wish I could be there again.
I study until the evening, when I shower. I get my towel off a hook behind my
door. I see on the hook next to it and
apron given to me by my second host family.
It has a little rooster on it and says “Erpion”. After my shower, I watch a little TV with my
mom. That’s one thing I didn’t do much
of in Belgium – watch television. I
always had better things to do. I have
to get up very early again tomorrow, so I go to bed. Before dozing off to sleep, I look around my
room. I look at the pictures on my
walls, the flag hanging, and I cuddle with a sweater of a boy I had loved. I try to think positively and look forward to
next summer, when I plan on going back, but for now it just seems so far
away. Three months have passed
already. Better than most, I know how
time can just fly by. Three months have
passed, so only 9 months left, until I can be home again.
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