“Homesickness is… absolutely nothing. Fifty percent of the people in the world are homesick all the time. You don’t really long for another country. You long for something in yourself that you don’t have, or haven’t been able to find.”
Sometimes I can still picture my entire route to school. I wake up, and can picture my old room, the sound my door used to make, the flushing of the toilet. How I used to take the elevator from the apartment to the first floor. Walking to the bus stop, where I would see faces but never talk to them because I was too into my American music; listen to music and the day would go by faster. Remember the 4 minute bus ride, even feel the curves on the thin windy road. Walking down the stairs only to go back up another flight to get in-between the tracks. Piling onto the train to go to school, avoiding eye contact because listening to music was easier then trying to have a coherent conversation in french. I can still see the shops as I pass them, each step bringing me to a glass building on a ledge; my own hell. Get through school, and you can see your exchangies. Get through first block, then you can skip the rest. Wait. Why am I going to school? Turn around. Back to the train station to get on a train going anywhere, with The Best because she hated school too. Stolen GAs. Coffee shops. Paying for hot chocolate with only change. Monocos. Bread and cheese lunches, because we were poor. Bitch dialing The Young One because she always called back. 80cents.
Music, French, Trains, Exchangies. The perfect combination for freedom.
