There's no place like home

Sorry for the lack of blog entries, e-mails, or phone calls to dear loved ones. I've been sick in bed with what I can only self-diagnose to be the semi-annual case of Allie Bronchitis that seems to coincide with the changing of weather or seasons (and in this case, the drastic change between one 84-degree day and the following 40-degree-and-raining day).

While I have all the anti-biotics and codeine I need (purchased for only a dollar or two at the pharmacy down the street; Big Pharma, I do not miss you!), I am realizing how much nicer it would be to be laying in my familiar childhood bed in my familiar childhood bedroom, being attended to by a doting mother, and being present in the same time zone as people whom I love.

Yes, I'll admit it: I'm homesick, and I'm ready to come home. This isn't intended to be a whiny, negative blog post about how miserable I am, because deep down, that's not the point. In all fairness, I really like Fulbright, and I really like Vietnam. But, as I'm learning, I really don't like being so far away from people I love, from family reunions and 90th birthday parties, from weddings and meet-the-boyfriend dinners, from relationships-that-could-have-been, and, most importantly, from stability and regularity in my everyday life.

I've had some amazing, valuable, once-in-a-lifetime experiences that I would never trade in for a year of being at home. I've gotten to throw a hugely successful Halloween party, I've been able to ride and care for elephants, I've watched the sunrise on Ha Long Bay, taught myself the value of a warm shower and a soft bed (necessities that I once took for granted), I've learned how to drive a motorbike, learned about the feeling of true patriotism and love for my country (a feeling I never needed to reflect upon because I was physically present in said country), and helped as a junior goodwill ambassador to continue forging positive relationships between the US and Vietnam - two countries that, 40 years ago, never could have anticipated being friends. I've appeared (for better or for worse) on Youtube, biked 50 miles down some pretty sweet mountains, eaten Thanksgiving dinner with a US Ambassador, and done countless other things that blow even my own mind. I'm so lucky, and no, I would not trade in my Fulbright experience.

It's been hard as hell, incredibly lonely, frustrating, and confusing, but it's also been eye-opening, enriching, and best of all, helped me to realize exactly what I do, and do not, want out of life once I return home.

So yes, there are three and a half months left in my Fulbright grant, and I know that (for better or for worse) they will fly by. And I'm not ashamed to say that I'm sooooo excited to come home and try to build an adult life in Boston. But I also don't regret being here, experiencing what I've experienced, and realizing what I've realized, both about the world and about myself.

I have plenty to look forward to in these next few months: a visit from Dad and Jenna, a trip to see Kelly in the Mekong Delta and to participate in a Fulbright reunion/conference at her University, finally getting to experience the majestic Angkor Wat, eating dumplings in Hong Kong, re-visiting Thien Cam Beach once the weather gets warm again, hanging out with the girls of K2B English, and spending plenty of time in Hanoi with the various networks of friends that I have made over the past six months. (Oh yeah, and I still have 13 more books to read before I can say that I accomplished my goal of reading 50 books over this grant period!) Life is really good here, and there is no shortage of things to be thankful for or to get excited about.

So here's to staying positive and engaged for these next four months, but also knowing that at the end of those four months, I get to go home and return to normalcy (as well as expensive produce and groceries, 8% tax and 20% tips at restaurants, and the depressing materialism and waste that has luckily not yet fully made its way over to Vietnam). Here's, also, to getting healthy and pulling myself out of this pensive, opiate-enduced fog.

And now... more Advil, water, and Aldous Huxley's The Doors of Perception while I slowly drift back into a restful afternoon in hopes of fighting off this awful cough.