Annie Jones on: That Little Happy Face

Every exchange student should know what I'm talking about. You know those days where you just wake up look at yourself in the mirror (try to figure out what the fuck that dream signified, then translating it back into english so you might understand the gist of it), and say "I don't really want to be in a good mood today". Regardless of this, you jump in the shower, sit at the kitchen table with your morning coffee, and when your host mom walks in, smile the biggest smile you can muster.

Those days, are in a bigger supply than one may think.

Inside, you're having a shitty day and you want to tell someone, but that may lead them to think that you aren't enjoying your time in their country, but you really are. Therefore you keep it bottled up and put on the exchange student smile we all know so well. That is, until one night you're in your bed and it just explodes. It's like a dam breaking and all this pressure comes forward and you get it out. All of it.

And the next day is the same way.

There's always a time where you just can't fake it anymore, which is usually right before you break and sob to yourself in english. You can't hide the feelings you have behind the mask you wear day to day. It's not that you feel alone. It's not that you even feel homesick. You just... have a bad day and you can't show how you really feel.

I guess that's what I took for granted in the states. I've always been a very extroverted person. If I'm happy, I'll smile. If I'm sad, I will cry, and quite often have little to no regard if I'm in public or not. If I'm having a bad day, then I'll let myself have a bad day. If it's a good day, I'll share it with others.

The problem with exchangees is that you have to be happy all the time or else you feel like you're doing something wrong. For another person to distinguish your good days from your bad days would be virtually impossible because of that little happy face. I still want to share my happy days, but that would be 'everyday', wouldn't it?

This is the dark side to exchange. It's not the homesickness. It's the feelings you surpress.

So how's my day going? Seriously?

Well, I woke up at about 2 (I went over to Andrés' house last night and stayed until about 3:30. I got to sleep at about 4:30) and made myself some pancakes. I called Fantin, Gastón, and Santi to see if they wanted to come over for some maté and social time. They said they'd be over at 4:30.

I'm sitting at my kitchen table watching TV at 4:30 and drinking a bit of maté by myself. 4:45 rolls around and I'm certainly not worried, considering Argentine's are always late for everything and I'm very much engrossed in my movie. The clock strikes 5, 5:15, 5:30. Now I'm starting to feel a little bad. At 6, it hits me that I was forgotten.

They forgot to come over to my house when I had called them the hour before.

Last night I when went over to Andrés' house, I got there an hour early because Gastón told me that we were going to meet there at 9, but Andrés said 10. I was the only person at his house with him, and I caught him in the middle of a shower.

Nonetheless, being the gentleman he is, got out of the shower and we took a walk over to Santi's house. We all talked a bit. Santi's little brother fell down and scrapped his knee, so Andrés and I were left outside, looking at the moon.

He examined a scar on his knee. I asked him what had happened. He had fallen down when riding a bike at 6 years old. We both laughed and he asked if I had any. I said yes, but refused to tell him anymore. He pushed. So I pulled up the sleeve on my polar fleece and showed him my arms. You could see the scars, even by the pale light of the moon. He frowned, looking at my arm, then my face.

"What happened?" He asked.

"I used to cut." I said, looking straight into his eyes for one of the very few times. My heart pounded. I knew it, he thought I was a freak now.

Quite the contrary.

So I told him what happened to me... why I did it. I didn't realize it before, but I did cut to try to die. I cut because I was lonely. The thing that kept me alive was that I was going to come to Argentina and meet all these people...and I kept myself alive for that reason when I was living in the States and Argentina was just a dream.

And Andrés was one of these people. It was surreal.

I don't want people to know that I still think about it from time to time. I can't.

Because I have to put on That Little Happy Face.