My Two Cents: College is much too short to not choose to study abroad
Kate Barker
Issue date: 11/17/09 Section: Opinion
I spent a couple hours the other day doing something that shamefully is not all that out of the ordinary for me: robotically clicking through photo albums on Facebook. The difference on this particular occasion was that in contrast to my usual perusing (read stalking), the albums I was focusing on this time had a particular theme, shared a common thread. Whether initially aware of it or not, I realized when I was done that every album I had selected (some were friends' handiwork, others' those of perfect strangers) had been posted by people studying abroad.
I was at first, I must confess, rather "weirded out" by myself. I felt like an ex-football player trying to fit into his high school lettermanís jersey, ignorant or uncaring of the fact that the thing was now two sizes too small.
After all, I had my stint abroad: took my own shots in front of the Eiffel Tower, smiled cheesily in front of Big Ben, proudly held up my enormous beer stein at Oktoberfest.
The pictures I was looking though, for the vast majority, were ones I could have easily found in my own albums.
Why was I hunting down these rogue albums when I had perfectly acceptable shots of my own?
After a period of general unease I had to admit it to myself: though I cannot imagine what I would change about my abroad experience to make it fuller, I still deeply, presently miss the time I spent overseas. And if lessening that ache means aimlessly scanning a borderline acquaintances' Rome 09! album, then so be it.
This time last year, I was "studying" in the shanty little town some of you may know as London, England.
For four months I drank tea, road double decker red buses, and didn't blink an eye when typing things like "colourful" when writing formal assignments.
I laughed myself to tears listening to drunk Britsí attempting to impersonate American accents (for the record, the default voice in this scenario is a cowboy-like drawl), ran every morning past Princess Diana's old digs in Kensington Gardens, and attended class daily with students from all over the world.
I was at first, I must confess, rather "weirded out" by myself. I felt like an ex-football player trying to fit into his high school lettermanís jersey, ignorant or uncaring of the fact that the thing was now two sizes too small.
After all, I had my stint abroad: took my own shots in front of the Eiffel Tower, smiled cheesily in front of Big Ben, proudly held up my enormous beer stein at Oktoberfest.
The pictures I was looking though, for the vast majority, were ones I could have easily found in my own albums.
Why was I hunting down these rogue albums when I had perfectly acceptable shots of my own?
After a period of general unease I had to admit it to myself: though I cannot imagine what I would change about my abroad experience to make it fuller, I still deeply, presently miss the time I spent overseas. And if lessening that ache means aimlessly scanning a borderline acquaintances' Rome 09! album, then so be it.
This time last year, I was "studying" in the shanty little town some of you may know as London, England.
For four months I drank tea, road double decker red buses, and didn't blink an eye when typing things like "colourful" when writing formal assignments.
I laughed myself to tears listening to drunk Britsí attempting to impersonate American accents (for the record, the default voice in this scenario is a cowboy-like drawl), ran every morning past Princess Diana's old digs in Kensington Gardens, and attended class daily with students from all over the world.
Be the first to comment on this story