Everything I've ever written about longing to escape and explore has come crashing down on me in the form of an airplane ticket three months apart from its return. In a different bed, in a different city, in a different country, in a different part of the world. The voices speaking different tongues, and me understanding nothing. Finally away from everything I've ever known, but instead of feeling found, I felt more alone than ever.
Homesickness came in waves in the morning, when I awoke to the sound of a bell tower reminding me that I was not home. Homesickness came in waves in the day, when I looked around and had no idea where to go. Homesickness came in waves at night, as I clung to the blanket wishing for someone who felt like a shelter in the abyss of unfamiliarity.
I would cry my eyes out, questioning if I had made the right choice. Why was I so desperate to get away? And what was it I was running from? I seeked support from friends from around the world who were as scattered and alone as I was, and they held my hand through words and told me that the four walls were my enemy. The secret to enjoying the drastic change is to go out and embrace it. Explore the city, taste the food, meet the people, and find that although they are different, they are just as amazed by you as you are by them.
Like a newborn baby, I collapsed into a fourteen-hour sleep and decided that the next day I would wake up different. No more crying, no more fear of this strange land of cobblestone streets, bell towers, and beer. This will be home for the next thirty days, and I will speak their tongue and love their people, and by the end of it, I will be found.
