things I want

- to lie with cat on my stomach and watch TV for an unhealthy amount of
hours
- to run barefoot outside in the backyard, dodging those prickly bushes
- drag the canoe down the embankment to the river and spend hours
fighting the current until my arms are sore
- to clean the kitchen, empty the dishwasher
- to not feel less capable because I speak only one language
- Tim Hortons, specifically a maple dip doughnut
- to go for walks with my family, alternatively chasing my brother and
the frisbee
- listen at night from my bedroom and hear nothing but the nightly
orchestra of crickets
- to close my eyes and know exactly where I am because of the curve and
bumps of the road
- to be home

I find myself wanting to sleep more because time passes quicker that
way. When I sleep I don't have to think about how much it hurts to think
about home. The past few days have been excruciating. It doesn't feel
quite real. Like, I know I will be home in just over 48 hours, but I've
been homesick so much the past few months this just feels like another
phase, and then I will have to get over it, to move on, then another
adventure until I remember again.

I remember my plane landing in Yangon and thinking, "What is it going to
feel like when the plane touches down in Toronto?" That felt like a
lifetime ago, but it feels more real than going home.

Home.

- - -

Oddly, I feel like I've been mentally home for a while now, figuring out
school things and camp things. Realizing that I will be moving into my
house in Kingston in a week is an odd thought. Won't I always be away
from the familiar?

But thus ends this chapter of my life.

I want to write something inspiring or thoughtful or meaningful on my
last day abroad but nothing is really coming to mind other than I
freaking can't wait to see my family, to use my phone as an actual phone
again, and be someplace I understand.

I think the whole reflection/understanding of this crazy semester will
take time. A long time.

It will be really tempting, I think, when I get home, to not want to
talk about it. They warned us, the last few days on the ship, that we
will be very annoying when we get home, the person who keeps name
dropping all the places they've been to. I don't want to be that person,
and I'm afraid that's going to result in me shutting down all
conversations about my travels, even if someone is genuinely curious. Or
maybe because I don't think I can put it into words for myself, I don't
want to try for others.

They also told us on the ship about "re-entry". The frustration that
accompanies going home, the shock of returning to your home culture.
Right now that seems absurd, but I suppose I will be watching for that.

- - -

I just want to skip the next 48 hours. I want to skip the nine hour
layover and eight hour plane ride.

I want to be in that moment of walking through the door in the airport
hauling all my stuff with me and see my family's faces when they see me.
I want the tears that will happen in that moment, I'm sure.

I want an awful lot of things, don't I?

- - -

Okay, enough of this. I think I will try to write one more entry before
I leave for camp, but then this blog will fade out of existence, being
that I am no longer stupendously at sea! And stupendously at home/school
just doesn't have the same ring to it I think.

Thanks again to all who have come with me so far. I'll see you soon.

mi familia or, when wanderlust is sated

It feels incredible to have a place that I can come back to at the end of the day. I'm well into my stay in Madrid, currently spending my mornings sleeping, my afternoons in a Spanish classroom and taking long unplanned walks, and my evenings with family.

To explain for non-family members... I'm not actually blood related to anyone in Madrid. My Uncle Carlos was an exchange student who lived with my Mom's family when she was in high school. He's been my "Uncle" my entire life, even though I only had a glimpse of a memory of meeting him when I was little, and I've only met him and his family a couple times in my adult life.

Regardless, he and his family have welcomed me graciously into their home in Madrid. I've loved getting to know him as well as his lovely wife and two daughters (who are 12 and 15 and more beautiful and socially-adept than I ever will be). I can't really explain my joy at being able to help load dishes into a dishwasher or eat ice cream in front of the tv- things that feel so blessedly normal I have never been so grateful for.

- - -

But along with the normal, I have been experiencing the city, but at my own pace (snail speed compared to SAS, but what I think I need right now).

I've spent hours in art galleries, and I intend to spend more. I avoid the tour groups and let my thoughts lead me. I love the Bibical scenes that I recognize but those that I don't even more, the colours and the stories.

I've spent a considerable amount of time in the Parque del Retrio, Madrid's largest park, 10 minutes from the house. I take a different route every time through it, and always find something new.



Carlos took me to a football match... This is really important here, apparently. All I know is I watched like six hours of soccer last Saturday and we're going to another match tomorrow.



Some of my SAS friends would be slightly appalled about how little I have done in Madrid. But to honest, I kind of want it this way. When I get home, I have precious little time to transition back to real life, then to camp. This is my vacation, and if that means reading in a park every day and eating sushi with my cousins and ice cream with my uncle then I am getting the most out of my time here.

- - -

I've been really struggling with how much I want to go home.

I remembered recently the countdown I had on my whiteboard all last semester, counting down the days until I left. I couldn't wait to leave. And now, the thought of waiting 7 days until my flight home seems forever. Not to mention the 8 hour flight across the ocean.

I'm concerned that this aching desire to go home means that living overseas isn't the right fit for me. I'm afraid that I'm actually secretly one of those people we whispered about on the ship, those people, who have no desire to leave their home town, who think North America is the best this planet has to offer.

But then I think about the excitement that buoyed me as I walked off the ship into a new country. Somewhere new to explore. And I loved the places that felt most like I could live there. I suppose once I spend a long time in a new country, truly making it home, then I maybe wouldn't miss Canada so much.

And then I remember that I have a lot to look forward to in the next year. My final year of my undergrad (including my little brother attending the same school, which means we'll get to spend more time together than we have in the past three years, which delights me to no end), fantastic new housemates and a challenging job, not to mention a summer at the greatest place in outer space before that. Being away has also confirmed how much I care about my friends at home. I'm excited to return to their friendships and how they will continue to grow in the upcoming years. And there's something cheesy about how distance makes the heart grow fonder... it's true, I think.

Some of my friends on the ship had absolutely no desire to return to their home, even displaying a sort of revulsion at the thought. I thought that was a little sad. The world is wonderful, but if you can't find any spark of happiness in the place where you were raised, I don't think you're looking hard enough.

- - -

All for now. Buenos noche.

aye, scotland

I got on the bus in London, and waved goodbye to Hallie. I stood in the bus station in Glasgow for barely two minutes before Rachel walked in the door. I felt like God was just handing me over from friend to friend, which was lovely.

It was so surreal being with someone from camp in a non-camp environment (although it always has felt slightly that way, until recently I think, when my camp friends have become more than just camp friends but true, life-long friends). But it's so incredible, always, being with someone who understands my jokes about Today's Special or the tuck shop or my constant need to reminiscence about the Waterfront.



- - -

When I reflect back on the few days I spend in Scotland, I find myself thinking in the musical accent in my head, which is odd, considering most of the time I didn't have a clue what was being said to me. I would often smile and nod and then turn to Rachel, looking for a translation.

But I loved that they said "out" and "about" like "oot" and "aboot", like Canadians, and that rather than "um", they said "ehhh".

It was difficult not to lapse into an accent myself, just letting my voice and tongue slide over words and phrases. My brother and I have often been told that we speak with an odd lilt, something neither us or our parents have been able to properly explain, and sometimes I find myself frustrated when it comes through and forces me to concentrate on being understood. I think the Scottish brogue was one that I wouldn't mind picking up rather than whatever the heck Ben and I have.

- - -

Rachel and I spent an absurd amount of time being cultured.

We browsed through two art galleries, attended an orchestra performance, watched a (very British) film, and a production of The Tempest. Maybe that's why I really enjoyed Glasgow- I felt like like it was comparable to my school-home of Kingston, a place filled with art and opportunities to appreciate it.

I also loved the architecture of the city- beautiful in a very strong, bold sort of way.



I think the only thing I struggled with was the rain. One day I looked out the window and said, "I don't think it'll rain today" and Rachel laughed at me. It rains every day in Glasgow. I'm not sure I could live in a somewhere that's always slightly damp.

- - -

The second day I was there we went hiking at a nearby lake - or, loch, as they call it in Scotland. Beautiful, green rolling hills and this tremendous view of the expansive Loch Lomond greeted us when we reached the top.



- - -

It was five short days I stayed with Rachel, but I was so grateful for every moment. The chance to relax with a good friend and not worry about if my stuff was getting stolen back at my hostel or if I would find somewhere to eat supper was very good for my mental and emotional health.

On the 13th, we woke up at 3 AM to get a taxi to the bus station. I waved goodbye to Rachel and was off once again.

Glasgow tasted like dark chocolate and cheddar and felt like peace. I'd love to experience more Scotland, but the days I had there were exactly what I needed.

- - -

I'm currently in Madrid, with family. Today I went to El Prado, felt overwhelmed by all the art there, had a picnic in a park where I played with friends of the family (including an adorable three year old), registered for a Spanish intensive course (fingers crossed, I'm super nervous), and went for a two hour swim (I can't feel my shoulders but I'm so happy).

All things said and done, I love being here, getting to know people I've always called family but have never really known. But I also am counting down the days until I am home.

Home.

london calling

With no natural rhythm of port-ship-port-ship, it feels odd writing my blog while still technically "in country". Yet, here I am. The blog does still feel like a really good processing tool though, so I feel drawn to continue.

I write this from Glasgow, sitting in my friend's flat, warm and content. I don't think she realizes how grateful I am for the opportunity to not worry about where I'm sleeping/what I'm eating/if my stuff is going to be stolen from my bag. We've been taking it really chill the past few days, which I'm also very grateful for. Not that I feel like my adventurous spirit is gone, but it's quite weary.

- - -

London was magnificent. It felt like a perfect city to drop off in after traipsing around the world - I saw restaurants selling dim sum and women in hijabs and I had some level of understanding rather than confusion. London is such a blending of the old and the new.

But a lot of the old. Oh my gosh, the plaques everywhere. Everything is important. I was walking to our hostel and realized we were about a block away from where James Barrie, the man who created Peter Pan, lived.

My days in London were a bit of hasty whirlwind, but I can recall some of my favourite moments.

- - -

One day, we saw a matinee of Titus Andronicus at The Globe. It was surreal, standing feet from the stage, the light filtering into the theatre. It felt like almost a religious experience for me, a theatre student, standing in The Globe.

The production itself was quite interesting as well, done as bloodily and harsh as Titus should be done. We were standing feet from the stage (for three hours- groundling tickets are fantastic because they were five pounds but just means you are standing the whole time), and with this production things happened on the ground with you. Actors would shove you out of their way trying to make a speech or get to the stage. Loads of fun.

- - -

Saw all the places you're supposed to see.



This place. Not that we really understood what was going on but there was marching and some horses and the whole thing felt very British.



I'd always thought the London Parliament looked sort of like the Canadian one, and I guess it does, in a way, but the detail work outshines anything I've seen in Ottawa - although now I suppose I'll look more closely next time I'm there.



And another important personal pilgrimage place. Baker Street!



- - -

Also spent only an hour (!) in the National Gallery, something that pained me. I, being someone who could spend hours in an art gallery, was with non-museum people and we had quite a list of things to do that day, so I respected our timeline. But still! Bit of a tragedy, really.

Ah well, next time, I suppose.

I did get to spend a couple hours by myself in the Tower of London, which is how I love museums. Myself and the stories of the past.

- - -

What else? Um, we rode the Tube a lot, which I rather enjoyed. It was just so efficient and colourful.

Something else we noticed was that everything was very expensive, which I suppose just comes with the city. However, after paying for my meager fish and chips lunch with money that would have sustained me for three days in Morocco, I winced. I'm going to glad to be home when I don't have to do mental math gymnastics every time I buy something.

- - -

I did enjoy London, but I was glad to leave. It stressed me out. But I look forward to returning, when I can have time and the money to appreciate the city.

The nine hour bus ride up north to Glasgow I kept trying to guess when we passed the border into Scotland. I didn't see a sign, but suddenly I looked up from my book and there were green rolling hills and sheep and I was pretty sure I was there.

reflections on goodbye

Our cabin is bare, and interestingly enough, looks smaller than ever.

The past few days have been a blur. Two days ago was the Alumni Ball and
final dance, the yesterday was the Re-entry Presentation. Today was
Convocation and the final Pre-Port.

- - -

I don't like long good-byes. I have no patience for them, so today has
been a long day. Tomorrow will be even more so. I'm not stressing over
whether I say good-bye to everyone I care about. I do genuinely care
about them but... I'm just so bad at saying good-bye.

It's goodbye, in a way. I'm traveling with a couple friends in London
and have plans to meet up with a couple more. It is unusual to think
that when we get off the ship, it is for the last time. There is no
embarkation time, no new adventure, there is no next country.

Except there is. There is tomorrow, and the day after that.

Just because I'm not arriving in a new foreign land every week or so
once I return home, it certainly doesn't mean I don't have to take the
exact same approach to every day of my life as I did to every day in SAS.

Every day. Every day can be exciting. There is so much to look forward to.

- - -

My eyes feel older.

Like my soul, my essence, has been broken and reformed in so many ways
that I'm not quite sure how it goes back together again. And maybe that
new puzzle shape isn't the incorrect one.

I feel like a disclaimer is necessary: everyone who will be a part of my
life post-SAS will, I think, inevitably learn how important this
experience was to my life. Whether you hear one story or them all, I
cannot be the same person I was when I left for you, nor is there any
point in trying to be.

Not only because I shaved off all my hair, or because I have so many
stamps in my passport, but because I have left and I have returned, and
I will likely do so again.


- - -

I have no idea of how frequently I will be able to blog once I get off
the ship. Hopefully every country or so, but we'll see. Currently the
plan is London until May 7th-ish, Glasgow until the 12th, fly out of
Edinburgh on the 13th to Madrid, home on the 31st. We'll see.

For everyone whose emails I have ignored the past few days, I will get
to them, I promise.

- - -

Thank you to everyone who has read this blog thus far. If you've taken
the time to do so, I feel like when I get home I can look into your eyes
and know that you, in a way, were with me the whole way.

Thank you. Thank you.