First Entry

Before I entered high school, I never thought I’d be doing a year abroad before college. But over the course of several months my freshman year various people suggested the idea to me, and soon I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. How cool would it be to live in another country for an entire year of high school?

I was born in Spain, and lived there until I was three, when my family moved to Mountain View. I ended up at Escondido Elementary School, in the Spanish Immersion Program, and continued in it through eighth grade. I’ve visited Spain four times since we returned, my family has fast friends there, and I feel a strong bond with the country. But the fact is, I can’t remember what it was like to live there, and I feel like I have missed out on something, like a part of me hasn’t been filled in yet. A year ago, I decided I wanted to fill in that part.

I applied to American Field Service (AFS) in October of 2005. I wrote on my application that I really only wanted to go to Spain, although, thinking back, I might have gone somewhere else if I’d had to make the choice between going somewhere besides Spain or not going at all. Eleven months later, it has come down to the week before I leave, I don’t know where in Spain I’m going, and I’m stressing myself out.

You would think that one of the most fun things about going abroad is getting to tell everyone about it. And it is, the first 500 times. Something I’ve found out about it, that I really didn’t expect, is that there is almost no way to make an entire conversation out of the fact that you’re going abroad. That goes double when you don’t know where you’re going or who your host family will be. Here’s a general composite of 90% of the conversations I’ve had on this subject:

Me: “I’m doing a year abroad in Spain this year. I’ll be there all school-year.”

Someone else: “Whoah!”

Me: “Yeah, I’m really excited.”

Someone else: “That’s so cool.”

Me: “I know.”

Someone else: “Where are you going?”

Me: “I don’t know yet.”

Someone else: “That’s so exciting!”

Me: “I know.”

Then, awkward silence. There’s nothing to say. There’s nothing to ask. It’s not that it’s not exciting, or not a big deal. Instead, it’s so huge, it’s like trying to talk to a fetus about what it thinks life will be like (assuming that you can find a talking fetus). To add an extra element of strangeness to the experience, I can sort of imagine what it will be like to get home, see everyone again, tell people about my life for the past nine months. My time abroad is a large unfilled hole in the picture I have of my life in the next few years.

To add to the uncertainty, there’s the issue of packing. How do you pack for the unknown? Spain is such a diverse country, climatologically speaking, that where I go is crucial to what I will pack. Going south would mean shorts and a swimsuit, whereas in the north (where, literally, when it rains, it pours) a jacket and long pants will be crucial. And it goes without saying that I’ll be fighting the battle between preparedness and excessiveness, in terms of what clothes I bring. I don’t want to get there completely unprepared, but I also don’t want to be rude by bringing too much. The middle road is very hard to find.

Preparing to leave has been one of the more stressful things I’ve had to do in life, so far. Saying goodbye is very hard, too. But it’s easier knowing that it will be a much greater experience than can be described with mediocre words like “fun” or “cool”. At this point, all that’s left to do is wait, and prepare as best I can.