Homeward Bound

I’m writing this as I wait for my final flight at the Amsterdam airport (well, to be honest, I wrote the last two blog posts here too). I’m utterly exhausted, and I’ve been so stressed for the past few days (and am anticipating so much stress in the next few days) that I’ve been shivering. Despite that, I can’t even tell you how excited I am to finally be going home. And not just home as in the-house-I-grew-up-in-where-my-parents-live-that-I-go-to-on-breaks, I mean home as in the US, home as in my family and my Wellesley friends and my dog, home as in being able to buy Taco Bell and the tray of Oreos, home as in the familiar. 

I’m not even homesick really. Definitely not homesick like I was my first few weeks at Wellesley when I used to call home crying because I packed everything I owned but forgot to pack notebooks and pencils and had nothing to take notes with the first day of class, or because I didn’t know how to use the laundry machines and accidentally shrunk all of my pants. Not even homesick like my first few weeks at Leeds when I was so lonely that I just felt sort of numb and empty and watched “Lost in Translation” all the time, wondering what I was doing, leaving Wellesley. I’m just excited to finally be going home, I’ve so so enjoyed my time abroad, I’ve had such wonderful trips, and made such lovely friends, and yet I am very ready to be back in the US. When they checked me in and asked, “Heading home?”, I almost shed a tear out of happiness (not something I do very often). But for some reason, I really was, am, that happy. 

I’ve heard the warnings about reverse culture shock, and I’m a little nervous about jumping back into Wellesley’s curriculum after my relaxing, and borderline boring, semester in Leeds classes, but none of that seems quite as important, just a low buzzing shoved aside by the mental celebrations. 

On the purely logistical side of things, the blog is all up to date now! If you're behind on my adventures and want some voyeuristic satisfaction, feel free to go through my Instagram, where many pictures of my adventures are posted. (Not gonna lie, I sort of gave up on the Photo Gallery page, it's a lot of coding work to maintain. Coding work I am unwilling to do). Friends and family, I have a fairly extensive photo album posted on Facebook!

The next, and last, post I write will be from the US! And I’m writing that sentence with a huge smile! 

Thursday 26th November 2015

AKA Thanksgiving

Though you would never guess that since today was just another day of class for me. Today I'm experiencing one of those rare moments where I really feel my American-ness while abroad. It's more than just feeling like a foreigner or out of place because Thanksgiving is such a uniquely American holiday.

Right now, I would normally be watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV, followed by the dog show (one of my favorite holiday programs), but instead I'm writing this post while I wait for my seminar to start. It's just an all-around strange feeling, like it's something that doesn't exist it's such a non-event. I mean, objectively I knew this was how it would be, but it's just a little surreal to be like "Guys! It's Thanksgiving! Really? No one?" in my head all day, while everyone around me is just going around living their lives. It's weird to be going around, sitting in class, discussing readings and historical events when the whole time I really just want to be lying on my couch watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

I've been feeling a little blue about the whole thing for the past week, so yesterday I decided to go out and treat myself to a little shopping as a way to cheer myself up. I figured, if I'm not going home, if I don't even get the day off, then I can at least wear a new dress! That feels like a totally valid thing to do, right? Although the dress did keep me feeling a little more upbeat today, I'm still a little down an out today, it just can't be helped I suppose.

I'm not gonna lie, I'm kind of bummed out about the food (it's always the food with me though). I feel a little like Peppermint Patty felt when seeing that Charlie Brown had cooked up some toast, popcorn, pretzels, and jellybeans for dinner to be honest, except I'm the one who has to procure the food. Normally we have a true feast, with deep fried turkey, and green bean casserole with the crispy onions on top, and two kinds of stuffing, and candied sweet potatoes, and those weird jellied cranberry pucks (you know the ones I'm talking about American friends, that stuff that comes out of the tin can and stays that shape), and an assortment of delicious pies. Here, I have a choice between another bowl of reheated pasta, the same one that I've been eating for the past several days and that I will continue to eat for the next week or so, or mediocre take out from some place on the walk back to my dorm, which includes knock-off McDonald's and a sub-par Chinese take out place that seems to be run by a whole bunch of non-Chinese people.

I mean, I know this is a one time thing for now, that I'll be back celebrating Thanksgiving next year, I think I just hadn't fully prepared myself for how very, very strange it would be to have to be outside the US on Thanksgiving. Guess it's just making me a little homesick for turkey and sweet potatoes and all things sweet and pumpkin flavored. Ah well, I'll make a go of knock-off McDonald's!

My Roman Holiday II

Part 2: When In Rome

Ok, ok, I know. It's been like a month since I was actually in Rome and I'm just finishing up the Rome posts now. Sorry, I was busy, I do have actual school work to do sometimes guys, and I just finished up paper season (phew).

In fair Rome is where we had set our scene. It was sunny and warm and I'd just had a wonderful little morning with my mom and aunt at an outdoor market. The rest of the day was decidedly less eventful. Mostly we just wandered around, we did some shopping, mom got her pair of custom made sandals (which she sort of needs since she has, essentially, child-sized feet), and we looked at some landmarks. I made it my personal mission that day to pick up every ironic postcard of the pope that I laid my eyes on, and boy was it a fruitful day. Everyone seemed to make some fun purchases, and we ate some yummy pizza and saw the sights.

The Trevi fountain was nice, though it was a little disappointing since there was a fence up around it and the fountain was devoid of water (wah wah), but it was cool nonetheless to see if "close up" (we couldn't get that close--see: fence). Then we walked all the way over to the Spanish Steps. It was getting kind of dark by then, and the plaza at the bottom of the steps was very, very crowded. I didn't even realize we were looking at the Spanish Steps until someone told me because, honestly, it was just a large outdoor staircase, and there wasn't much that made it stand out (yes I know, a heretical thing of me to say. I promise, I am an appreciator of art and architecture, but really, after several days of being on my feet all day with no alone time, can you blame me for being rather unenthused about a staircase, famous or not?). It, too, was fenced off, so, yeah that gives you a sense of the sightseeing portion of our Sunday.

At the end of the day, one of my aunts (cousins? again with the family tree and title thing) wanted to visit the Gucci store. Of course, me being me, I followed her and her husband in like a duckling following its mother because I was intensely curious to see the inside of a real designer boutique. I mean, the fanciest store I've ever been inside in my life is probably Lord and Taylor. I felt a bit like an imposter, like if I didn't walk right on my relatives' heels, someone would sniff me out and a salesperson would gracefully push me out the front door with their carefully gloved hands. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it was all just so dreadfully chic and glamorous.

I found it fascinating to watch as someone bought an actual designer handbag from a designer boutique. It was probably the largest purchase I've ever witnessed someone make, aside from when my parents bought their car (though the car dealership wasn't nearly as aesthetically pleasing or amenable, I mean, they brought out free water in little glass bottles, with crystal tumblers to serve in all on a dark lacquered tray. I mean...).

After that, and a lot more walking, and quite a bit of time being lost, we made it back to the hotel and went out to dinner, sort of as a way to celebrate my last night there. Dinner was nice, I was exhausted, and we had to take a ton (and I mean, a ton) of group photos. I had a fairly tearful goodbye the next morning with my family, as they all piled into a van to go on their food tasting tour of the city, and I waited in the hotel lobby for my cab to the airport to arrive. I hadn't really realized until that moment how much I missed the sense of familiarity that comes from home, even just from being around other Americans (I haven't met more than one or two in Leeds). It was a strange, makeshift, portable version of home, but nonetheless, it was decidedly less foreign and I felt that.

I didn't have to miss it for too long though. Hahahaha. Haha. Ha. Ha...

I got all the way to the airport, stood in line, and when I got up to the check in counter, found out that my flight was extremely delayed due to some monster fog that had eaten the Netherlands. Consequently I was going to miss my connection back to Leeds. Yes. I stood there in the airport, breathing very deeply, insisting that the counter employee check every single flight back to Leeds that day. She kept clicking her mouse, mumbling to herself in Italian, and shaking her head, while I stood there focusing all of my energy on not crying in public. I tried not to think about the fact that I had three classes the next day, or the strict attendance policy Leeds seems to promote, or any of that. Nonetheless, I was stressed. I mean, I was Princess-Mia-driving-the-Mustang stressed. I was breathing very heavily, which made the airline person glance up in concern at me a few times. Finally, she said something to the effect of well, I see no solution for you today, but I can book you on a flight tomorrow! TOMORROW. Apparently, this fog was so crazy that a whole bunch of flights were disrupted, and so many passengers were displaced that every flight to Leeds, on every airline flying out of Rome to every possible connecting city was absolutely full.

Just my luck.

I was sort of in a daze as I accepted my new boarding pass, asking where I could find a cab. I didn't really see any other option except to just go back to the hotel. By this point I was totally out of cash, so I had to wait a while until a cab with a credit card reader could pick me up. I continued to do my paper-bag breathing (sans paper bag) all the way back to the hotel, where I walked up through the front doors to the astonishment of the concierge at the desk who had seen me off in the morning. I sort of just shrugged my shoulders and said, well, I'm back. He was very kind, asking me if everything was alright, and if my family knew what had happened. They didn't (since my phone didn't work unless I had wifi). Well, he said, this will be a nice surprise for the Aquinos (which he, and everyone else, insisted on pronouncing "Ah-KWEE-no", saying that it was an Italian name, even when we said it was pronounced differently in Southeast Asia. That's a different story, though).

I was so distraught and caught up in the stress (as I am wont to do) that I completely forgot for a while that if I was going to be stranded somewhere, at least I was stranded in ROME. Eventually I calmed down and managed to let my family know what had happened, then settled in to catch up on some homework before they came back. I sat at the desk with the window open and a cup of coffee and I felt a little better. My family was very sympathetic, and I treated myself to another plate of tiramisu at dinner that night (I deserved it).

Then I had to do the tearful goodbye again. My family was scheduled to leave early early the next day to catch a train to Venice, but my flight wasn't until the afternoon. I woke up briefly to say goodbye to my mom and aunt, but I was only half awake really. When I woke up again a few hours later, I was alone in the room, which made me feel a little blue and achy, but was what I had expected really.

This time, I actually made it back to Leeds. Of course, the universe wasn't going to make it easy though. The wrong terminal was printed on my boarding pass, so I ended up having to walk 2 terminals over, which was fine. But then, I had to take a tram all the way to the international terminal, and then I got on a bus to go out to the tarmac to actually get on the plane (which I really hate doing, it's just so much shuffling). After a few hours we landed in London Heathrow, which is just a hot mess, let me tell you.

I had to first figure out which terminal I was transferring too, since this would be a domestic and not an international flight, and it turns out that I would have to take a 20 minute long bus ride to my connecting terminal. There, I had to check in and pick up my boarding pass. All I had was the flight and ticket number that the woman from the day before (when I didn't cry in public) had written on the back of my first boarding pass. The man at the counter seemed a little confused, but eventually he sorted it out. Then I had to stand in line for another 45 minutes to get through passport control. They only had 1 person stamping passports that weren't UK/EU. Oh joy. Then it was another 30 minutes through security, and by then I only had 15 minutes to pick up a sandwich before I was scheduled to board. But of course, after running through the terminal to make it, I get there and find out that my connection has been delayed a half hour. Wonderful. I love traveling. So much fun. Adventure.

I made landed in Leeds only to be welcomed by insanely thick fog. Gotta love that fog. It was 8:30 PM before I actually made it back to my room where I promptly fell onto the bed in exhaustion.

After Italy, going back to school, going back to cold, damp, dark England felt like being pushed into the deep end of the pool: you sink all the way to the bottom and have to fight for some momentum in order to get yourself back up to the air, struggling to breath the whole way. I felt like Dorothy at the end of the story, when she leaves the Technicolor dream world of Oz and heads back to literally gray Kansas. While there isn't nearly as much corn and dust as Kansas, Northern England can certainly rival Kansas in dull grayness. I guess that every time it's cold and windy and rainy here (i.e. every single day), I'll just have to remember that I'll always have Rome.

Cambridge to Cambridge Connection

This week in “Austen Does Day Trips” I ventured down to Cambridge with some of my friends. After leaving at the ridiculously early hour of 7:30 (uhg it was still dark out...or was it just really cloudy?), we arrived in the picturesque land of Cambridge. 

Me, Sara, and Petra in front of King's College (pc: Sara)

While I have been to Cambridge, Massachusetts numerous times, have walked along cobblestone streets there, and have even drunken tea, Cambridge, UK was starkly different. The town and campus looked like they had been plucked out of a story book or movie set! We wandered around amongst hoards of Asian tourists, peering into the windows of posh tailor shops advertising £600 suit jackets, strolling through an open air market, and generally enjoying the prettiness of the setting. 

We ate lunch at a delicious Italian restaurant, which made me all the more excited about my upcoming trip to Rome (!). After the one of the best eggplant parmesans I’ve ever had, we ventured to Great St. Mary’s Church, at the center of Cambridge. The church itself was quite pretty, though I always feel strange walking on stores paved with people’s gravestones—it feels disrespectful, but seems quite common in Europe. We decided to go up into the tower of the church, which advertised the best views of Cambridge on a sign in the church gift shop (a strange thing in and of itself, but no one else seemed to think it bordering on the realm of Indulgences, so I let it be…). 

So narrow...so steep... (pc: Sara)

We had to climb up the narrowest and steepest set of stairs I’ve ever climbed in my life. I’ve never thought of myself as a claustrophobic person, but I was holding on for dear life as well climbed up to the top. The views were absolutely worth it, though. The buildings at Cambridge (like in many European cities, I’ve found) were all rather low to the ground, so we could see a lot. The campus is beautiful, and we had an amazing view of the iconic King’s College. The lawn had such precise stripes (that you were constantly reminded not to walk on), that the whole place seemed like something out of “Alice in Wonderland”. I read the little information pamphlet about the church and was once again amazed at the immense age of some things in Europe. The church had been “well established” already when the university started building up around it in the 12th century CE. My constant shock amuses my friends, but I can’t help but feel a sense of reverence walking around a fully functional structure that is exponentially older than my country (in terms of it’s “establishment”, trying to be PC here folks). 

Top of the tower! (pc: Petra)

After our long descent in the spiral stairs from hell, we decided to stroll through the local art museum. It was quite nice with a pretty solid collection! I even got to see a real portrait of Henry VIII that wasn’t in a history textbook—it was quite novel. We spent a few hours tottering around the museum and then we went and met up with a friend of mine, Mark, who I’d met in American Cambridge last year while he was studying abroad at MIT. It was loads of fun to see him again, though it was sort of like seeing two worlds collide: my Boston life and my Leeds life bumped into each other in Cambridge! Mark took us punting, a uniquely British activity. Punts are little river boats that you move with a long pole, like gondolas (but the driver doesn’t sing to you!). 

Mark making punting look easy (pc: Sara)

Mark punted us around for the majority of the trip making it look quite easy (little did I know that he has done this numerous times before and was also a crew person…), so when he offered me a go, I thought it might be fun. Haha. Ha. I tried so hard to make the boat move, but mostly I swung the pole around in the water, trying to make the boat point straight (but mostly just making it spin around and drift sideways). I think I moved us a few inches forward, but really this was just a rude awakening to the complete lack of core strength I have as I desperately threw my entire weight into trying to move the boat and essentially failing to do so. 

Me failing to move the punt (pc: Sara)

Mark had pity on me and resumed punting, giving us his best tour guide impression as we went. My friends and I learned all about the womping willow (both of them) that grew near the river, the stake where freshers who are witches are burned, and that Queen’s College is so named because that is where the Queen herself throws all her ragers. It was truly informative. Mark also rejoiced in his quest to his every duck, goose, or swan we encountered with true vigor. Overall, our trip was really nice! It’s always good to get out of the residences, off campus, and away from Leeds for a day. 

The always lovely Petra and Sara :) 

It was nice catching up with an old friend, though it did make me think of Wellesley, which made me a little homesick (as did talking about how much I missed Taco Bell…I know, I’m an addict…). My bout of homesickness lasted a few days, and I ended up drowning it in a small shopping trip, 2 packages of Oreos (which are blasphemously sold in the biscuit aisle of the grocery store!), Willow’s sad and soft playlist, and a TV binge. 

For the most part I’m just trying to keep myself busy to ward off any feelings of homesickness, and it’s proving not too difficult to do so here! I’ve started working at Special Collections regularly now! I’m helping to catalog a rather extensive archive of material from the famous British poet Tony Harrison. I’m mainly working on his photo albums (of which there are many), and throughout the semester I’m working to put out a digital resource of images from the albums and texts that focus on one of Harrison’s projects. It’s all quite exciting and everyone at Special Collections is quite lovely (though I do miss the people at Wellesley’s Special Collections quite dearly!). 

Outside of academics, I’ve had a few more moments of culture self-awareness. I’ve recently discovered that some truly wonderful food items are not universal! Several of my European friends have asked me about hash browns when I was describing what I eat for breakfast (a list that amused them in and of itself, but that’s a different story). I was truly astonished and mildly horrified that the wonderful item that are hash browns are not enjoyed globally! A true travesty if there ever was one. I’ve also discovered that my friends from continental Europe have never had Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Lattes before! I’m not really much of a Starbucks supporter in general, their coffee is honestly nothing special, but their Pumpkin Spice Lattes are the gateway into Fall for me! So we are all trying (or have tried) them at my insistence (I tried to describe it as drinkable pumpkin pie, but that reference didn’t land because apparently that’s an American thing too). Lastly, root beer floats! My favorite dessert! I’ve described to numerous people before about how wonderful root beer floats are because it’s not too much ice-cream and you can quench your thirst at the same time and it gets so frothy and wonderful, but my friends all looked quite disgusted and confused when I described the concept. 

Speaking of unique food experiences, this past Monday I went to my program director’s home for dinner! It was one of the most English experiences I’ve had so far! He and his family live in York (about 30 minutes away by train) in a sweet little row house. He had invited me and two of his post-grad (or grad students in US English) that night to eat with him, his wife, his daughter (about my age), and his son (elementary school age). They were all so lovely and welcoming and I had a really lovely time! My favorite part of their house was probably the kitchen because it was so cozy! It even had one of those old fashioned oven/stove tops! We had a very very British meal, as well. We had roast beef (and everyone was amused and slightly horrified when I said I’d only ever had it in lunch meat form in plastic from the store), which was served with horseradish and “hot” English mustard (both were quite mild by my standards, though). We also had some yummy baked or steamed veggies and Yorkshire pudding (which is not like the chocolate pudding you can get in the US, but like a dough puff that you bake). For dessert (which is also called pudding, confusingly enough) we had a yummy apple tart or cake of sorts, and a chocolate cheese cake! The conversation was interesting (I learned a lot about the NHS and its politics) and everyone was so sweet! Plus it was just so nice to have a real, home cooked meal after a month and a half of reheated pasta everyday!

When Homesickness Meets Wanderlust

Distance is a funny thing. Just the thought of it can change a person’s attitude. For example, when I first went away to Wellesley I was moving 1000 miles away from home, away from the only place I’d ever really lived and gotten to know, away from everyone I’d ever really known and understood. Many of my relatives (many of whom will read this, I’m sure) came to my graduation party and told me how much they were going to miss me, and how it wasn’t going to be the same without me around, even though in reality I would still see most of them about the same as I normally would. This isn’t anything against my sentimental and caring relatives, it’s just funny how the very thought of someone being far away and out of your immediate reach can make you miss them. 

I was talking with my brother a week or so ago, as he was adjusting to his first year at college and his first year far away from home. He said that sometimes it was just hard, and that even if there wasn’t anything in particular at home that you missed, somehow you stilled missed home as a whole. It’s the distance itself, I told him, just knowing how far away you are from any and all safety nets, that thought alone sits heavy, like a rock in your stomach, making you ache a little. The distance and the sense of familiarity. When you move far away, everything is new, and that's exciting, but it's also so alien and unfamiliar, and often trips you up as you go along. Two years ago I was in the same boat as my brother, moving far away from home, and two years later I tacked on another 3,000 miles and had to go through so many things again. 

It’s funny how quickly something so far away and unknown can become your normal, everyday life. You may have read about my adventures in culture shock in some previous posts, and yet in the course of just 3 weeks, although I’m not completely adjusted, I now know where to get my groceries and how and when to get to my classes or catch the bus back to my residence. I’ve settled into a mini routine that covers most of my day-to-day life. 

But at the same time, there will be little things that send me into a spiraling bout of homesickness. I wanted to buy a few more pairs of socks the other day, and normally I would just head to Target…and I suddenly realized that I had no idea where I would go here to buy socks, where I would even start to look. Or if I wanted to get a pair of sturdier shoes for the rain, where would I go? There isn’t a Target, or Payless, or DSW here. It’s infantilizing and scary and deeply unsettling when you don’t know how even the most basic things work. 

Sometimes I’ll just start thinking about my dog’s head and his fuzzy ears, and how he lets out a sigh when he plops down on the sofa, and suddenly I’ll be really sad. Or sometimes, when it’s really gray and rainy out, I’ll think about fall at home. There is a crisp brightness in the fall at Wellesley: all the lines feel more defined and there is a distinct and brisk clarity in the air. Here, everything feels a little muddled and blurred by the constant and inescapable mist. And sometimes the heater is just too hot, or the room is just too cold or damp, or my bed is too squeaky, or my sheets are too scratchy, or I just don’t have enough socks, and there are a million post it notes on the wall nagging me with all the things I have to do. 

It’s the littlest things that push you over the edge when you’re already dealing with the shock of suddenly finding yourself in a completely foreign and alien place. I remember after my first week at Wellesley, I tried to do my laundry for the first time, and I didn’t understand what washer settings were what temperatures and somehow ended up shrinking all of my pants. I was utterly horrified when I pulled everything out of the dryer and discovered I was left with ill-fitting capris instead of regular length jeans. I ended up running out into the courtyard in the middle of the night and calling my mom in tears. It was the first moment I thought I had made a mistake, the first moment I thought about turning around and giving up. She calmed me down and that weekend my roommate took me Gap and I bought some new pants, and I successfully completed 2 years at Wellesley. I always think back to that moment, though, I laugh at it now and try to remember how hopeless I felt in that moment when I’m having a hard time here. 

Nevertheless, the weight of the Atlantic Ocean weighs on me sometimes, sitting heavy on my chest, making it hard for me to breath. Sometimes I just miss “safe”. Sometimes I get tired of “new” and “exciting” and “unknown”. Maybe this is just the second stage of culture shock talking, or maybe it’s just always kind of hard to be away from home. Facing a challenge is always infinitely more scary when everything and everyone around you is unfamiliar. It’s like learning how to swim: always easier when your parents are right next to you at the neighborhood pool than when you inexplicably find yourself stranded in the middle of the ocean. 

Despite all of this moaning and groaning, I forge ahead. I think the toughest thing, really, is reconciling all of my wistfulness and homesickness with my incurable wanderlust. As much as I miss home sometimes, I can’t help but want to see more, to go further, to keep traveling away from home, at least for now. I lived in and around Chicago for most of my life, and I became so claustrophobic I had to move 1000 miles away to Wellesley. When I’m in one place for too long, I start to get restless, but when I’m away, especially far away, I feel so sad for the distance. It’s a hard thing to balance, but I just keep reminding myself that this is a big, old world, and that I want to soak up as much of it as I can. So, whenever I’m feeling lonely, when ever that distance pushes itself up to the front of my mind, I make myself a big cup of tea, I ask my mom to send me some pictures of my dog, and I put on an episode of Gilmore Girls—then when I wake up the next day, I look forward to every unknown and scary thing out there. 

“Dear old world…you are very lovely, and I am happy to be alive in you.” 

--L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

(I mean, I've already seen every single episode, but who wouldn't feel a sense of comfort from this? It's like having a hug from my own mom)

Miss-List

I’ve been thinking about the things that I’ll miss while I’m away. To some extent, I did this before I left Chicago to go to school in Massachusetts as well, but the culture shock during this round is undoubtedly going to be more, well, shocking. So I wanted to take a moment (or a few paragraphs) to reflect on what about Chicago, about Wellesley, and about the US, that I’ll miss the most:

• It goes without saying that I will miss my friends in a painful way, but of course, I’ll say it anyway. My friends are amazing, they’re my chosen family and I have no idea what I’m going to do without them. It’s already so strange to know that my friends are back in Boston, going to class and seeing each other without me. I feel a profound sense of loss for those goons who make me laugh and make me brave. And sure, I have friends from high school who I’m already acclimated to seeing only a few times a year, and yet it’s just knowing that I will be so many thousands of miles away that makes me miss them all even more. That sense of distance has a strange, almost tangible quality to it that I can feel sitting deep in my stomach, making me constantly aware that I’m very far away from every one that I love. 

• And for me, friendship goes almost hand in hand with something else sacred in my life: Taco Bell. For me, Taco Bell has become a ritual over the years. My younger brother and I would go there together to get late night food and we’d sit in the parking lot talking and eating when we started to feel a little cramped at home. Then, in college, I found more people who loved Taco Bell and it’s cheap prices and suspicious ingredients as much as I did. It was a point of bonding as we tried new menu items together, such as the crunch wraps and the Mountain Dew Baja Blast Freeze. And anyone who knows me well knows of my unfailing devotion to the Nacho Cheese Doritos Locos Tacos. What, oh what, will I ever do without this wonderfully American and questionably delicious eatery?
• This may be a strange one, but I’m going to miss the nature sounds from Illinois. I only include this because I didn’t realize how distinct and familiar they had become to me until I first moved to Wellesley 2 years ago. It doesn’t seem like there would be measurable variation in nature sounds between Illinois and Massachusetts, but I found that although Wellesley had some pleasant sounds (crickets and some lovely birds), they couldn't hold up against the cacophony of Illinois. Here in Illinois during the summer, at night the crickets, beetles, frogs, and nocturnal creatures are so loud that I can hear them through walls and closed windows and doors: it is an unrelenting hum of chirping. At dawn, the same 3 birds have called the same three song patterns outside my window for as long as I can remember listening to them—it’s a nice slow whistling call and response. And during the day, the cicadas scream in a relentless and deafening tide of hisses, like the sound of uncooked rice being poured into a plastic tub. I love these sounds, they’re soothing and nostalgic and I’ve always found that I don’t notice them until I already miss them. 
• Any Wellesley girls out there are going to cock their heads when I say that I’m going to miss the Wellesley meal plan. Yes it’s expensive, and yes sometimes the food is rather lackluster, but I’m facing my first semester ever in my life where I’m going to be completely and solely responsible for feeding myself. It’s a little worrisome, particularly considering how time-warped I become during finals week. Suddenly, the idea of being able to go down to the dining hall and have a few pre-made meals ready and waiting for me doesn’t seem so bad, being able to go back for seconds and thirds or afternoon snacks is no big deal. Sure I wish the food quality was better sometimes, but at least I didn’t have to find time to do all the leg work to cook it myself. 
• New England in the fall is unbeatable. And Wellesley in the fall is the stuff of postcards and Instagram. The way the trees seem to light on fire over night, the crisp and clean quality of the air, the way the wind seems to smell like woodsmoke, and of course, the apple cider donuts. I’m sure that England in the fall will be an experience as well, though I’m sure it will be a little more gray than New England. I always feel like I’m walking through a movie set with the technicolor leaves crunching under my feet and the way the cool air seems to bring everything into focus after the hazy summer months always astounds me. 
• I will miss peanut butter. I have no eloquent words for this one. Simply put, I have it on good authority that peanut butter in England is different and I really love American peanut butter, so I will miss having that around to eat with my apples. I feel like this one is pretty self explanatory. 
• The classic study abroad miss-list item: Thanksgiving. A uniquely American holiday that a lot of other countries just don’t seem to get. I’ve always love Thanksgiving because it is a food-centric holiday and I love food. My family has always deep-fried our turkey and filled up on a bunch of old family recipes that we break out twice a year. Green bean casserole, candied sweet potatoes, and stuffing just don’t seem like appropriate fare for anything other than a holiday, really. I will mourn the absence of this feast. 
• I will also miss Target. Who wouldn’t though? It has everything you could possibly need or want, and more! I love to wander around solo or with my friends or my mom, trying on hats and shoes, browsing the home goods section, and carrying stationery and office supplies around for a half hour while deciding whether to buy it or not. Everything at Target is aesthetically please and beyond reasonably priced, and personally, I find it rather fulfilling to stroll through the store endlessly. In high school my best friend and I used to go there to buy pre-made sandwiches during lunch hour, and now my friends and I will go there on weekends and mill around just to get off campus. And even though I always end up spending 70$ there somehow, I never regret the fuzzy slippers, the owl print thank you notes, the Pixi make up items, or the blue wicker storage bins that I buy there. It is truly a magical place. 
• My dog is wonderful and perfect and I may be a little obsessed with him. His name is Oliver, and he is a behemoth teddy bear, and as I found out when I left for college 2 years ago, I usually miss him more than my human family (sorry guys, I really will miss you as well!). He is a big, grumpy, cuddly ball of fur who I love to watch lay around or eat food, or chase shadows, or do anything really. He’s the best and I will miss him an insane amount. 

• Unfortunately for me, my exams won’t be until after the Christmas break, so I won’t be able to go home for the holidays *sad face*. I love Christmas, it’s a magical time of year when everyone seems to be just a little bit happier and just a little bit kinder to one another and the world snuggles up under a fluffy white blanket of icy sparkles. Yes, I love Christmas that much. At home we have a lot of traditions surrounding Christmas, that I’m going to sorely miss this year. We have a huge tree that we put up and decorate with ornaments from my grandma and we put garlands and poinsettias and lights up all over the house until everything is glowing and effused with the holiday spirit. We make my family’s stuffing recipe in a massive batch several weeks in advance, and we string popcorn while watching one of five essential Christmas movies (one of my favorite movie genres). We eat Christmas Eve brunch at one relative’s house (and let me tell you, that is not a meal to miss), and dinner at another house, and then we host Christmas day. I’m going to miss seeing my family, and especially all that wonderful food. 
• Last, but most certainly not least. I am going to miss American breakfast food. As many of you know, breakfast food is my all-time favorite kind of food. I could eat breakfast food for every meal of the day. Late night diners that serve waffles bigger than your head, and perfect, golden hash browns, and bacon and eggs and lox and…the list could go on and on, let’s just say that
  
  I’m going to miss it all. England, of course, has breakfast, and I’m sure that their breakfast will suffice, but there’s just something about the way IHOP does pancakes, or the way Denny’s makes hash browns, or the way my favorite diner at home makes french toast and sausage, or moonlight breakfast at Wellesley that has absolutely spoiled me and given me unrealistic expectations of what breakfast deserves to be.
  

So this is a long list, and now that I’ve reached the end, I’m a little sad and quite hungry, but I’m also looking forward to finding new things to love, and eventually to miss, while I’m in Leeds. So, stay tuned people because we are just about a week out.