"Exotic is relative" - TJ

I've thought long and hard about whether or not I should write this post since it is a very personal subject.

I wasn't sure if it would make me feel uncomfortable that as a public blog, people I do not even know may be reading about my personal battles-something that I'm not usually inclined to publicize. But, I feel that despite the personal circumstances of this internal turmoil, this feeling and problem is universal, and I hope if anyone comes across this post during a similar feeling of unrest, that he/she may find comfort if only in the fact that someone else has felt and feels the same way.

Do you remember getting your license? Do you remember turning eighteen? Do you remember your high school graduation?

These phrases should automatically provoke feelings of joy, accomplishment, happiness, relief, excitement, what have you. Instead, I remember getting my license was not a big deal since I'd been driving around with my permit for a while . I remember turning eighteen was kind of cool just because I could legally buy cigarettes even though it was almost embarrassing showing my ID because I had barely turned eighteen. But eighteen felt just like seventeen and nineteen and ten for that matter, and I've since quit. And my high school graduation felt exciting because the parents were so happy, and we had this huge celebration and grad night on a boat. But I also remember thinking, "What now?" I graduated high school and instead of being ecstatic, I was wondering, "I've worked my butt off all these years, and I got into college, and this is it?"

And here I am in Jerusalem. And oh my God. I am so homesick. I've been beating myself up about this ever since I got here.

Why am I not more excited?

Why am I not more happy when the only thing I've really ever wanted in my whole life, when the goal motivating me is being fulfilled right now?

Why don't I wake up every morning and think, "Holy shit. I'm in Jerusalem. I'm walking on ancient land. The land that makes up most of ancient history. The place I've only dreamt about and couldn't even try to imagine just a few days ago."

Instead, I wake up, and I don't really feel anything. No sadness or anger, but no excitement or happiness either. I wake up at around 7 am every morning and get ready to go to Ulpan Hebrew class. The walk there has some really spectacular views of the old city, but I don't often find myself lost in them. Already, the golden dome is starting to lose its shine, and it's becoming more of a fixture in my daily life. I feel like maybe I've hyped up these moments so much that my expectations were just so unrealistic and intangible that now I'm disappointed.

But really, I feel like behind it all, I now understand why this whole trip thus far has been one long anti-climax riddled with unspeakable thoughts of giving up and going home. (Listening to Imogen Heap brings about sad and profound revelations.)

Studying abroad my junior year of college has been my main goal in life. Sure, getting into a good college was also an important goal, but I really feel as though college was another step, albeit an indispensable one, like graduating high school. It was just another step of many to my finally being able to travel and try to be one of those cosmopolitan intellectuals. These were my two biggest dreams. And here I am. Dream fulfilled.

Yet, where is the celebration? My heart is not rejoicing. Instead, it's filled with nostalgia for the summer and a loneliness reminiscent of my first year at Wellesley. Both of these feelings make sense in any situation similar to mine for any student or person leaving the comforts of home, but I never thought they would hit me this hard.

I believe that studying abroad in my mind, equals the culmination of all that I've worked for all my life. It signals the next level of my life. Over with this era and on with the next. And that means that I really need to grow up and move on. As independent as I act, I'm not really as mature or as independent as I want myself to be. I'm still clutching to the last strands of childhood as they're being tugged back into my past to rest.

I can grow up and move on and let them peacefully float away as fond memories. Or I can run away from this uncomfortable and unfamiliar situation and give up and go home and let them haunt me as specters in my present limbo.

I know what I need to do, but the scariest part is that this choice is not as easy for me as it should be.

edit: note-I'm not jaded. I will not go slit my wrists in private, now. It's still pretty cool that I'm here especially because I get to hear loud Arabic music blasting from cars zooming by. These were just some of my thoughts on growing up. In retrospect, that's all being put in difficult and different situations is. It's being forced to grow up for better or for worse. Mostly better.