In thirty two days, I will be on a flight back to my hometown, back to my family. It’s a strange feeling to be so torn between my love for two countries that I almost can’t comprehend what these short thirty two days would feel like.
Today was officially the last day of school, it felt as though I had walked into class just this morning and been introduced as the new exchange student. I had known this place for year now and I loved every little corner there was. I didn’t want to come to terms with it though, I don’t quite want to accept that this was the last time I would eat the delicacies made by my french teacher in the middle of class while singing along to songs, or the last time my dutch teacher would hand out candy during important tests. The last time I would talk to my history teacher about MUN’s and international law, The last time I would participate in psychology and philosophy class and learn about european art and religion in school. It wasn’t fair to have to leave an entire world behind, pack it into two suitcases and leave. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to memorize the sound of the leaves against the unpredictable Belgian weather or the complaints I made about gym class every Thursday, I couldn’t memorize the smile on the teacher’s face when he stood outside the gate every morning and said hello to me, my classmates confiding in me, or simply how everyone welcomed me with kindness and as much love as they had to offer. I can’t memorize what it feels like to tell them about my world while gradually becoming a part of theirs.
It’s the harshest most beautiful thing you could do, become one with another world. I still struggle to memorize every moment and live it as much as I can, whether it’s late night movies with my host mother or comic book stores with my host brother, table tennis games with my host sister, volunteering at the old age home or even simply looking out the window and feeling the breeze on my face.