Inevitable Breakdown

I feel like this wouldn't be an honest account of my time spent abroad if I didn't bring up some of the more unsavory aspects of spending time away from home. I'm talking, of course, about homesickness. Honestly, I didn't want to mention it just because it's the most trite subject in travel. It's just one of those things, like jet-lag and culture shock; it comes with the territory.

Every other time I've been dislocated, I've left places where I didn't didn't feel like I was leaving anything behind. I left for college without knowing anyone in Wisconsin except for maybe a couple classmates I never planned on talking to. Even though I was stuck there for 4 months with limited contact with my old friends and family, I never looked forward to going back home. I never missed my generic suburban town, my former classmates, my family. I felt like the best thing for me was right where I was. Actually, I felt like the best place for me was even further away from home (cf. where I am now).

It's funny how hard it is to keep up this topic now that I've come down from the ledge. Well, not literally of course. But I started this post right after having a long video conversation with my dad, in which I let every single one of my anxieties pour out in a violent torrent of self pity. It made matters worse when he suggested my unspoken thought that maybe I should change my flight home from July 31st to an earlier date. I fantasized about being back home a month early, surprising my friends and maybe getting a chance to spend a little more time in Madison feeding my parched addiction to cheep beer. By the end of the talk I resolved not to give up, even if that meant being an emotional wreck by the end of July.