The Thoughts of Someone Going Abroad

"Are you excited?"

It's the go-to question for people when they learn about my upcoming exchange. I usually reply with a "Yeah." or "At the moment I'm just dealing with some bureaucracy stuff, so later." or "I'm trying to spend time with my friends and be here now." These answers are automatic. I drilled them into my head to avoid being locked into repetitive conversations. When I'm feeling exceptionally fatigued, I quickly change the topic.

Why? Nobody's doing anything wrong. It's natural to want to inquire about a person's future, especially if it's a major shift like moving to another continent. And since we're all pretty much the same, the questions will surely have similarities.

Enter the perfect cliche: It's not them. It's me. Yes, it's a platitudinous saying that...actually, no, fuck you. It's valid in this context. 

The day that I was informed of my acceptance to Rotary Youth Exchange, my reaction was enthusiastic. It was incredible to have dedicated so much energy toward a goal and to have succeeded. Wowzers, an opportunity to advance international relations, to be culturally enriched, and to throw myself into a foreign unknown. It was the perfect first step to where I wanted to go with my life at the moment. I was even tap dancing with glee.  

But it wasn't the only chance to do what I wanted. Nothing is for anyone.

Imagine if I were rejected. I would have received a call from a Rotary representative, swapping pleasantries but eventually discussing the fact that I wasn't going. "Oh." The next few seconds of suppressive silence would've told anyone near me what happened. It would have hurt. It would have been temporarily defeating. I'd be feeling despondent for several days. And then, I'd move on. Maybe college. Maybe volunteering in Russia or Nicaragua. Maybe working in Canada for a year. These options can be just as fulfilling as being an exchange student. It may be more difficult, but if I truly cared, I'd make it. Anyone could.

Happiness is a malleable concept for humans. It's part of our psychological immune system. Whatever place we find ourselves in, we'll find or create something positive about it. 

Viktor Frankl, a former Austrian psychiatrist, recounted the atrocities he witnessed in the concentration camps of World War 2 in his one of his books. He emphasized the delight he felt at being given a five minute break after laboring for hours in freezing weather. An extra piece of stale bread was a blessing and staying out of a workgroup with a brutal leader meant you'd live another day. Surviving, even in hell, became the ultimate purpose and joy, for what tiny good it did, to many of those poor folk.

Now, don't throw yourself into a concentration camp. You'll die cold, starving, and abused. The weakness of our flexible capacity to be happy is that we need food, shelter, social interaction, and freedom to maintain a sufficient baseline of happiness. Without one or more of them, even a trace of contentness could be crushed when we're reminded of what's absent.

So when the question of how excited how I am is posed, I remember a very summarized version of that not only to be a smartass but to keep in mind that it would have been okay to not go. But why do I have instinctive answers or jump into different subjects? Well, when you're relentlessly chattering about the same thing, though it's no one's fault, being an automated human for a bit can be nice, or at least discussing something else can enliven the conversation. It can be related to exchange if my actual excitement isn't drained.

Here's an example: 

I didn't do it alone. My parents' support was priceless. They were the ones who drove me to the doctor's office six times to settle the required medical clearance papers. They were the ones who had to deal with their anxieties about me going away, which took a lot of self-control and empathy. Even though the program was relatively inexpensive for them, investing more than $5,000 in what I wanted demonstrated a gargantuan load of trust in me and a respect for my desires. We have an abundance of dysfunctional family issues, but that's okay. The positive effect they've had on me outweighs the emotional baggage, which is my responsibility to manage now. 

My best friends-turned-brothers, Sam and Brett, have been encouraging throughout the whole process, despite us going our own directions. None of us can predict if we'll still be close in the next several years. So what? I'll always be grateful for those cheeky bastards, who brought me into their family, expressed sincere love, and pissed me off again and again. I love you both.

The three of us had some crazy adventures. Hope to keep having more

The volunteers in Rotary and a few teachers deserve appreciation too. And not just for participating in a great cause or educating the youth. A personal story or favor can have more of an impact than doing what's expected. The Rotarian who nudged my shoulder and regaled me with her shenanigans while on exchange. The teacher who spoke with his class about letting his best friend drink and drive in high school, then hearing about his fatal accident the next morning. Or the teacher who pushed me into an honors English class after she noticed the potential of my writing. They showed examples of what it was to care, to connect, and to transcend the limits of a job description. Thank you all for being so candid and accessible as people. It inspired me to be the way I am.

The skeptics were helpful too. Without someone challenging you, you'll turn lazy and inhibited. The vast majority for me weren't malicious. Some were simply concerned. They couldn't fathom my reasoning for shooting off somewhere without enrolling in college first, or primarily seeking work experience to gain an advantage in the international job market. Sometimes the strongest doubt can come from you. Self-fulfilling prophesying or excessively abiding by the status quo will hinder you. You will die. I will. Your dog will. The stupid buzzing fly will, with a swatter in a minute or two actually. Do what makes you tingle on the inside, and accept the down days that will come with it.

And the three families I'll be staying with? They deserve kudos for hosting a student at their own expense. Perhaps I'll write about them later, after getting to know them.

My high school is called Høje-Taastrup Gymnasium. Pronounce it. I dare you. Maybe a post will be done on that, comparing American high school to its Danish counterpart, or even a larger piece on how their respective educational systems function and treat students, teachers, and parents. 

How about covering the widely accepted beliefs, health, fashion, attitude toward sex/dating, environmental protection or lack thereof, and other stuff? Then considering American, Bengali, and Canadian culture to see how life works in each society?

Oooh, maybe something on various art movements in Danish history and popular mathematical philosophies and if they like/have Twinkies...and let's end it here.

Top Picture Credit: Fabian Schmidt