Why do students choose to study abroad? Before I actually chose to spend a semester overseas, I would have said that students study abroad to learn about another culture. They take a semester to learn in a different classroom setting, familiarize themselves with a different kind of people, and maybe even learn a different language. Being abroad, I’ve realized that maybe only a small percentage of students overseas truly, at their absolute core, study abroad for those reasons.
I’ve asked myself why I chose to leave my university for a semester. Actually, I had no original interest to leave the country at all. During an appointment to schedule my classes for the following semester, my advisor heavily encouraged the idea of studying abroad. She told me I could earn a Certificate in International Business (which in reality is just a pretty garnish to an already substantial diploma). She noted that I had already taken steps to complete the Certificate subconsciously. She added, ambiguously, “I always recommend a semester abroad for students like you.” Students like me? What would that be exactly? Cynical, pessimistic overachievers who’ve kept themselves busy in order to expedite their way through a university they never wanted to attend in the first place? Well then, sign me up.
I had no idea where I wanted to go. I considered every option from Beirut to Beijing; from Cairo to Caracas. I realized I had taken 4 semesters of Spanish for a reason, so that helped to narrow the location to some city in the Spanish-speaking world. Still highly unmotivated, it took me almost 10 months to finalize my decision. I was on my way to Buenos Aires. Why Buenos Aires? It was a city in South America that spoke Spanish. I had also heard it was dirt cheap. I apologize to the Argentines who are insulted by that reasoning, but let’s be real; I’ve got two words: foreign investment.
When I first arrived in Argentina, I wasn’t really completely convinced that I was on another continent. By the cityscape, I was just in a fancier South Florida. Everyone was speaking Spanish, no one was overly helpful, and I was sweating from the humidity; yup, I was in Miami, alright. The only thought that continued to enter my mind was, “Alright, let the life-changing experiences begin.” But the more I waited for something life-altering to begin, the more I realized I wanted to go home. My conclusion became: well, if nothing dramatic is going to happen here, then I might as well go home and continue with my real life. To me, spending a semester in Buenos Aires was equivalent to just pressing “pause” on life. Yeah, I’m sure I’d have fun. I’d meet some cool people, I’d learn some complex grammar and colloquial vocabulary, but my real life was in the United States. It wasn’t until I realized that no one at home had put their life on pause, that I began pressing “play” on mine.
From the first week I arrived, I began having the same dream every few nights. The setting was always different, but the thought process was always the same: I was back in the United States, but for some reason I hadn’t finished my program abroad. I kept telling everyone that I had to catch a plane back to Argentina and finish the semester. Why was I back in the U.S. if the semester wasn’t over, I had no idea. In every instance, however, I never seemed to make it back to B.A. Now, you can offer whatever analysis you prefer, but the dream has bothered me to this day. What unfinished business was I leaving behind in Buenos Aires? Was this how I was going to feel when I returned home? I’m writing this in the 4th month of my stay in Argentina, and I still don’t know the answer. Oddly, I’ve stopped having the dream.
Being the cynic that I am, I convinced myself that students who studied abroad were just trying to escape reality. They imagined that life abroad was so much better than life at home and so they packed as much (or as little) as the airline allowed and left to find a fantasy. I refused to be one of those students. I didn’t want to study abroad in the first place, so why did I have to pretend like being in a foreign country was an excuse to live a life I was denied in the States? I lived each day waiting for the next, never once enjoying the present. It became 4 more months, 3 more months, 2 more months; eventually 7 more weeks. And as I look back on my time in Argentina, I can’t tell you what I’ve done of notable importance. I’m still waiting for that live-changing event.
I’ve always been a strong believer of the idea that expecting nothing will never leave you disappointed. I try to have lived my life in this manner, only to realize I’ve turned into a pessimist. Maybe expecting nothing came with a side effect of enjoying nothing. Maybe I became a contradiction by waiting for something awe-inspiring. My host mother tells me that I am changing. I used to think she meant this only in the context of my verbal skills; now I know she meant within me. She told me that I’d only recognize it in contrast to the old me. How this would come about, I have no idea. Maybe one day when I’m ordering ice cream and they tell me that I have to pay extra for a second flavor. Maybe when I’m walking to class in deep concentration of the sidewalk, searching for any excretory surprises. Or maybe, when during a conversation with my best friends I realize we have less in common than I thought. That’s what scares me the most; changing so much so that I’ve disconnected with everything familiar.
I have been told on many occasions that I worry too much about the future. I could never empathize with those who don’t worry about the future. And although that part of my personality will probably never change, I have learned one thing: this life is mine. It isn’t my advisor’s, my mother’s, my friend’s, or anyone else’s. If I don’t live my life, it doesn’t matter where I go in this world or what I become. It will have all been in vain.
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