To be honest, I don’t really know where to begin with this. I’ve been back in the United States for almost a month already, yet my summer in Germany feels like it only just ended last week. The past few weeks have been pretty busy, I have to say. After ten days of rest and relaxation (and going to every doctor’s appointment I’ve been putting off since last winter break), I returned to Evanston to begin training as a Peer Adviser, a mentor for incoming first year students during the ten-day orientation program called Wildcat Welcome, and I’ve barely had a chance to breath since. The past two weeks have been such a whirlwind of excitement, nerves, and icebreaker games that I’m still processing my abroad experience a month later, but I also don’t know if I’ll ever completely process the experience either.
I could take you through the highlights of the summer, from exploring the city into the early hours of the morning to sitting in cafes in the afternoons sipping on cappuccinos, pretending to do my readings for class while watching a march for refugee policy reform occur outside the window. I could tell you about the all of the absolutely incredible traveling experiences I had during and after the program, which included the paradise of Barcelona, the modern cultural capital of London, the Old World decadence of Budapest, and the buzzy, World Expo dominated, post-vacation season, pre-fashion season inspiration of Milan. Or I could write about all of the incredible people I met, including my fellow NU students on the program, classmates at Humboldt University, or the strangers I met on the streets, in hostels, and anywhere and everywhere else. But all of this would read like a “clip show” episode of a sitcom.
I am incredible grateful for all of the experiences that the IPD program provided me, including trips to the wonderful cities of Weimar and Hamburg, a visit to the iconic TV Tower, and some deliciously authentic German meals. I’m also grateful for the experiences provided to me from the classroom, including trips to the Olympic Stadium from 1936 (Waa-Mu was close in accurate portrayal), an Expressionist art museum, a modern theater hosted in an apartment building, and the music studio where David Bowie recorded Heroes.
An iconic view
But the experiences I’m most grateful for are those that I sought on my own. My experience abroad was most complete, most rewarding when I chose to get off the standard road of sights and experiences to create an experience that was truly my own. When I chose to get lost in Kreuzberg, when I chose to go through Wedding on my way to Prenzlauer Berg, when I got döner at midnight and walked through the Tiergarten because I couldn’t sleep (ok I might have regretted the döner the next day).
When I began the summer, I really had no idea where it was going to take me. I didn’t know who I would meet, how I would fit in with the Berlin culture, or if I would even want come back (I didn’t). Studying abroad for me wasn’t all sunshine and roses as people make it out to be. Sometimes I was lonely, often I was overwhelmed, but in the end, it’s an experience I would have traded for anything else.
I’m often asked how my summer was, how I enjoyed studying abroad. I always respond with the innocuous “It was really, really great,” but I never really go further because I can never put it into the words required for a brief conversation. Before I returned to Evanston, a friend of mine texted me, “I would ask how abroad was but I know it can’t be answered in brief small talk like this so we’ll just have to talk in person one of these days,” and I thanked him for understanding. It’s not something that can be whittled down into a one-minute long spiel or answered over text, but only truly discussed when the conversation is dedicated to the subject.
I’m sitting here writing this in my room in Evanston, still exhausted after two weeks of constant energy, staring at my mural of postcards I collected over the course of my travels, knowing that one day, I don’t know when, I will add to this collection, but never forgetting where and when these postcards came from. Ok, I’m over the word limit, someone cut me off.