Tag: exchange

The importance of leaving home

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Before I left Melbourne, I was…I wouldn’t say ecstatic, but content with the life I was living. It consisted of school, work, home and repeat, looking forward to the school holidays until I was finally there and would again look forward to go back to school. Because I felt school gave me purpose. Circumstances of my life right now give me a fresh perspective on what it is that I have missed. Seven months ago, I couldn’t wait to leave Melbourne. The prospect of living in a new city as a foreigner meant to me that I could be anyone I wanted to be, and learning a new language was exciting.

Interstude tubMost people, I feel, are satisfied with staying still. Perhaps it’s just me that grows restless, having called more places home than the average suburban kid would have. Though the point that I want to stress on, now that I have re-settled once more, is that we take things for granted. I have discovered that I am always longing for whatever it is that I don’t have within reach. But once it is in my possession, it is always rushed and I thirst for the next chapter, the next adventure. I, myself, have to learn how to take a moment and breathe. Appreciate the things that I have, right here, right now.

I remember specifically when I was travelling that I was always annoyed at one of the friends I made, who constantly held the group back to take photos. I shook my head impatiently because I was tired, I wanted to go to the next place as soon as possible so we could go back to the meeting point and return to the hotel. But if it wasn’t for that friend of mine, I wouldn’t have been able to look back and reconnect with things I may have missed. Despite the opportunities that have been presented to me, I was so blind to see them. And the thing is, I wouldn’t have even learnt this about myself if I hadn’t gone out and filled out that application for exchange, if I simply hadn’t leaped. There will be times in life when we are given a choice. And sometimes, as scary as it is, we just have to take it because at the end of the day, no matter what happens, we will be okay. Every obstacle and every joy that comes across us will only make us into a better person than we are now.

NYC Collage

Coming Home

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Before leaving home, I remember hearing the words reverse culture shock and being amused at the thought of alienating Melbourne. For sure, I anticipated to be estranged in Montréal not just linguistically, but also in terms of common street courtesies and such. I had initially thought that Montréal was similar to Melbourne with its focus on promoting the arts and nourishing the community through its local projects.

I found a piece of my heart calling this libertine and very French city home. After finding myself a trustworthy cliqué to explore what the city had to offer, I was confident and most importantly, comfortable in my surroundings, often even endeavouring to speak in French. The winter was less unbearable with company, especially when I had someone to finally drink with…It could not have been more perfect when the month of May brought the beginnings of spring and there was finally green in the streets.

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I eventually had to face the reality that I was coming back to Melbourne and endure another 3-4 months of winter. Sure, it would be more bearable than the Montréal cold that should have toughened me up by then, but the thought of it still pangs.

But it wasn’t the weather that shook my fantasies. Landing in Melbourne, being surrounded by English speakers and seeing my family after 5 months were all well and good…though I could not help but feel that there was something gone. Even to this day, roughly a week after my arrival, I cannot quite explain what it is that I think is…missing.

Perhaps it’s the independence that I miss, the freedom to travel around the city without ever feeling the need go home at a certain time (thanks to STM). Perhaps it’s the delicate balance of French Canadian and North American cultures, that gave me the chance to practice mon Français and switch to English as soon as I was too tired (or too elementary) to respond. Perhaps it’s a melange of all that and something more…the people I met, the experiences, bad and good, that I had.

The freedom of just being whoever the hell I wanted to be.

I reassured myself that once I have saved up enough and am more capable in French, I can always return to Montréal…but it’ll never be the same. That annoying roommate, that one night when I had too much vodka…they’re only memories now. And perhaps I could never ever relive the fun that I had then, but these memories will forever be a part of who I am.