Another school assignment about Exchange

Here's another old essay I wrote for school about coming home from being an exchange student and the bittersweet feeling that accompanies it. 

A Fusion of Obesity and Freedom

Tears streamed down my fire-red cheeks as I said my goodbyes and absentmindedly followed the program leaders out the hotel doors toward the airport. After six months in a new country with new friends, a new family and new surroundings, I readied myself to leave this new life I had created and return to my real home.

            With Parisian voices echoing through my ears, I carefully captured each word and placed it in my memory as I trudged through security. Accompanied by eight other American girls who were busily chatting away, I isolated myself as I observed all the awful French habits I had somehow come to love in this country of cheese and wine. The terribly impertinent French attitude, the overpriced magazines, and the constant linger of cigarette smoke had somehow all became things I was sorry to say goodbye to. Within an hour of arriving at the airport, I boarded Delta flight 185 back to the United States.

            As the plane lifted over the city of Paris, smog rested among the ancient buildings covered in cracks. The Eiffel Tower loitered far off in the city known for romance and overpopulated with tourists. Tears continued to spill down my cheeks while a quick grin invaded my mouth as the thought of going home flashed through my mind. After nine short hours of nerves, chatting, and anxiousness we all clasped hands as Delta flight 185 ended its journey on the PDX runway.

            The friendliness of the US customs worker surprised me along with the obesity of the woman behind me in her newly worn bleached tourist shoes.  As I finished with customs, I spotted my family whose eyes immediately lit up. Through the smiles and hugs I couldn’t help but feel glum as I wondered what my family in France was making for dinner. On the way home I couldn’t help but notice the amount of leg space in our immense Buick as it devoured the gas. Pulling up to my house, I felt as if it had grown, but after entering it, I found it to be the same place I had left many months ago. As I sprawled out onto my cozy bed, the mattress seemed to harden beneath me, and within the comfort of my own home, I grew cold. Shortly after reacquainting with my home, my best friends exploded through the back door and attacked me with hugs. Although I felt happy to see them, I noticed one of them stop to check her IPhone a few seconds after reuniting. After a few questions about my new life, the topics quickly shifted to the newest Instagram picture and Facebook post. With my oldest friends back by my side, I felt relieved but also found the petty conversations to be perturbing.

            After weeks of the bitter readjustment, my home grew warm again, my bed became spongy, and portion sizes changed from the monstrous plates to normal, however, my views are not where they once were. My enlightening experience changed many of my views, but readjusting these new views to my old life was a challenge in itself. My return home exemplifies the saying, “nothing is all-good and nothing is all-bad, it is simply bittersweet”.