My American friend drove me to the airport last week. My boyfriend came to visit. I’m not sure how I became one of those people who was loved enough to have someone travel over four and a half thousand miles when they didn’t have to, but it feels good to be one.

For a week I felt like I had someone on my side but also with me on the other side of the world. Although I’ve made friends here, really nice people who also find the same things funny as I do, it was good to not have to try for a little while. Long distance relationships (LDRs) are hard and talked about often. FaceTime is wonderful, but it can’t do all the things. LDRs are mostly talked about in regards to a significant other but that’s not true. I miss my Mother and her pestering ways, how she still hasn’t worked out the time difference. I can’t hop on a train and be home for the weekend.  I miss my friends and talking about nothing, complaining about people in the library or deciding that the LCR is definitely a bad idea tonight but let’s go anyway. I miss being with my people like you miss an old coat. It’s warm and snug to put on, a bit dirty and distressed but doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. All my clothes here feel different, they’re always begging for someone to notice them and say ‘hey, you’re cool!’

I have four final projects to finish in three weeks. I’m not too terrified because I’m very capable but I’m sad not to see the faces I know in the library, or at the local Tesco; I really miss normal supermarkets. Regardless, I can do it because in America I am smart. I am determined to finish on a high as I know that when I get on that plane to go home, home will be waiting for me with open arms.

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