So in two weeks exactly I'll be in the airport, waiting to board the plane, trying really hard not to break down, because everyone will be looking at that tall girl with the huge suitcases and on her face they'll still see the traces of the tears and of four nights, no sleep.
And it hurts. Next to me, a few friends are talking and they are all from different places and they wear different clothes and have different opinions (they have opinions) and in two weeks they won't see each other again, no never.
In two weeks I'll travel 8500 kilometers back to a reality which I have so consciously tried to escape in the last two years, and I am scared, scared, scared. I'll host friends and family and family friends and though their embraces will lift me up and carry me towards bright sights of the future, at night when everyone is gone I'll stick my leg out of the bed to let it rest on my roomie's bed, which won't be there. And I'll think that, if such a celebration would have happened here, there would have been tea in dirty cups and pyjama shorts involved. I'll message one of my friends but I won't get an answer because it's 4 pm there and who checks facebook at 4 pm anyway.
When I'll be walking in the streets with my friends talking about our favourite candy, I'll see the word 'united' somewhere and I'll think of the dozens of times my friends and I sarcastically laughed at how we "united" the world. I'll see nescafé instant coffee and will be reminded of the last month we spent all together in the AQ. Studying, but really just sharing our last tea bags and taking naps in our effectively designed napping-room.
This UWC-thing is, in a sense, unethical, highly unethical. Taking young people out of their context without them realising it. Raising them in a culture of big dreams which are slowly carefully turned into reality. Then, two years later, throwing them out. Catapulting them back to their homes.
And yet, grief grief grief. And gratefulness. And laughs, many laughs. When someone asks "what are you laughing about", I'll just say the woman on the other side of the street looks funny, while thinking about that time when I was laughing so hard that I fell on the ground and my feet accidentally hit my friend's nose, which made our stomachs ache for the next 15 minutes.
14 days left. Already gone, but never gone. It's not like 'home' stays here and I can come back whenever and be home again. Next year it will be half home and the year after it will only be home in the recognition of trees and buildings and paths.
Home are the people. Home is whenever I'm with you.
And it hurts. Next to me, a few friends are talking and they are all from different places and they wear different clothes and have different opinions (they have opinions) and in two weeks they won't see each other again, no never.
In two weeks I'll travel 8500 kilometers back to a reality which I have so consciously tried to escape in the last two years, and I am scared, scared, scared. I'll host friends and family and family friends and though their embraces will lift me up and carry me towards bright sights of the future, at night when everyone is gone I'll stick my leg out of the bed to let it rest on my roomie's bed, which won't be there. And I'll think that, if such a celebration would have happened here, there would have been tea in dirty cups and pyjama shorts involved. I'll message one of my friends but I won't get an answer because it's 4 pm there and who checks facebook at 4 pm anyway.
When I'll be walking in the streets with my friends talking about our favourite candy, I'll see the word 'united' somewhere and I'll think of the dozens of times my friends and I sarcastically laughed at how we "united" the world. I'll see nescafé instant coffee and will be reminded of the last month we spent all together in the AQ. Studying, but really just sharing our last tea bags and taking naps in our effectively designed napping-room.
This UWC-thing is, in a sense, unethical, highly unethical. Taking young people out of their context without them realising it. Raising them in a culture of big dreams which are slowly carefully turned into reality. Then, two years later, throwing them out. Catapulting them back to their homes.
And yet, grief grief grief. And gratefulness. And laughs, many laughs. When someone asks "what are you laughing about", I'll just say the woman on the other side of the street looks funny, while thinking about that time when I was laughing so hard that I fell on the ground and my feet accidentally hit my friend's nose, which made our stomachs ache for the next 15 minutes.
14 days left. Already gone, but never gone. It's not like 'home' stays here and I can come back whenever and be home again. Next year it will be half home and the year after it will only be home in the recognition of trees and buildings and paths.
Home are the people. Home is whenever I'm with you.
