Argentine Memoirs

Another perspective three years later

Did I ever imagine where I would be after my exchange ended? I guess not. All of this seems to be a surprise to me.

It is June 24th, and exactly three years ago today was my last day attending school in Argentina. I had decided to quit a full two weeks prior to my departure to pay respects and see all I could in my final days. I felt obligated to pay respect to the city that I had been reborn in.

My emotions ran deep that day. Even the memory of what I felt leaves me with a small lump in my throat. I remember recieving that beautiful note that was really nothing more than a standard A4 size sheet of grid paper. It was nothing extravagant, but every classmate had signed it and had left me a kind word, a joke, wishes for my future.

For some strange reason, it was Pia that broke my heart the most. I hadn't gotten to know Pia very well, but I wish I would have. She was collected, and had a definate 'Joe Cool' persona. In retrospect, I aspire to be more like her. She was so calm yet badass, her boyfriend was just as cool as her, and everyone liked her. She could always let the drama slide and it wouldn't touch her.

That day was the only day I saw Pia lose her composure. She cried and told me she would miss me.

I never did end up finishing that diary. Well, filling it I mean. The entries end on June 30th, a full 5 days before my departure.

Three years later... Here I sit in my 24 year old boyfriend's bed. We've been dating for (only) 7 months, but I've got a much better feeling about this one.

Everything happens for a reason. There is a reason Andres and I never came to be. All of the agony, happiness, rage, excitement, or depression I experienced that year built me and sculpted me into the person I am today. It is only through that exchange that I have realized how strong I am. I am intelligent. I am capable. What I did was a big deal, even though it still seems insignificant.

I am proud of who I am, and what I have accomplished. Because of my exchange, I have become fluent in Spanish, learned size and space conservancy (i.e.: "How am I supposed to fit a year of my life into two suitcases weighing less than 50 kilos?"), discovered hope within myself I never knew I had, and realized that no matter what people think of me, I'm a pretty cool person.

However, I am proudest of the fact that there are other people on the other side of the world that are never going to forget me, just as I will never forget them.

Mother's Day. Father's Day. They're fickle holidays, that's for sure. They're so easily glossed over by the commercial hypes like Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays... even Halloween. But think back to what made those holidays special.

Done yet? Who bought your gifts? Made the special dinners? Helped you with your costumes? Who made every holiday the special day that it is?

Your Mom and Dad.

Here's to my Mom: This is for the woman whom I had sleepovers with every Saturday night (and the nights when storms would rattle the windows and my nerves). She has taught me that greatness is attainable regardless of age, and has helped me realized how great I already am. She made the dinners, mended Katie when she needed the repair, and played nurse when I fell ill.

For my Father: My DJ partner, my ignition starter. Everything from dying hair, to car repair. Flying kites, riding bikes, and all that homework from AP Psych. Waking up at 5 on Christmas morning. "Gardens" in the side yard made from tree and garden clippings buried in the dirt. The treehouse that was still standing the day we sold North Orchard....

Thank you...

It's almost 4 in the morning. It's June 3rd. Today is the day I'm supposed to go look at an apartment with Corey. What the hell happened? I'm a wreck. I've been crying for the past hour. I feel incredibly alone.

I write this from his family's computer in their basement.

...He wants to go to sleep. I really can't blame him or anything, but I really wish that he would wake up and hold me in his arms and to tell me that everything will be okay.

Oh this guilt. This incredible guilt. My parents devoted 20 years of their lives to me... and will continue to give me all that they've got. What for? I've got nothing to give them in return. How am I supposed to just pack all the shit that they've gifted to me over the years and pretty much say "Thanks for raising me, but I gotta go now."? It's so heartless...

And as silly as all of that is, the next one is really a doozy. What about Phillip, whom I have raised since he was 8 weeks old? I don't know how much longer he'll be around either... he's aging as all of us inevitably do... but I feel like I'm abandoning him. I can't just leave him.

I feel like I'm abandoning my childhood.

And the reality is that I don't want to leave it. I want to be in my bed, curled up in my own blankets, smelling the cool familiar comforts of my home. I want to be with my Mom, who cares so much for me.

I want to patch things with my father, but the alcohol is one hell of a hurdle. Things won't ever be the same as they were when I was younger. Daddy loved me.... Oh my god did he love me.

And so I leave all of this behind? I... no. There's got to be another way.

I'm scared shitless, and there isn't anything that can be done. It's part of life. But the Spring was so good....

Querido Señor, quien esta en el cielo....
Dame la fuerza para ser la mujer que me espera. Dame la luz para ver que camino tengo que tomar. Y por favor, mi Padre, dame todo el amor que me puede dar. Ayudame para ver las oporunidades que me dio, cualquier si estan muy lejos en la futura, o si estan al frente de mi ahora mismo. Quiero su ayuda, su direccion, su amor.

Please God.