Reflection: Venturing Into The World
When I first decided to study abroad, I didn’t know where I wanted to go. Actually, I knew exactly where I wanted to go: Egypt. But someone, *cough cough* my mother wouldn’t let me go there. So, I had to change my strategy and pick a new place.
Because I’m studying marketing, the only other great business schools that were really calling my name were located in Europe. I sighed, exasperated, slightly annoyed, because Europe wasn’t exactly my desired location. As I said before, my eyes and heart were set on Egypt. Spoiler alert: I didn’t go to Egypt. But I do enroll in competitions and sweepstakes on a weekly basis to get there one day. Pray for me.
Anyway, back to my story. I was now left with two choices: either Italy or Germany. My mom liked Italy, so I picked Germany. What can I say, I like to be a pain in the ass I guess. Either way, the deed was done and my mind was now set on Schnitzel, Bratwurst, and of course, Oktoberfest. After months of diligent labor, endless paperwork, more meetings than I can count on my hands, and stress that left me crying in the bathroom – population me and an empty carton of ice cream – I was finally accepted into my program.
Armed with my passport in one hand, all of my important documents in the other hand, and a whole lot of Smartfood Popcorn in my stomach, I nervously stepped onto the Lufthansa flight that would whisk me away from Philadelphia, and fly me straight to Frankfurt International Airport in Germany. All week long I was being asked varying questions: Do you know German? Are you packed yet? Are you excited? Not really, sort of, and absolutely.
I am not the most relaxed person, okay, but I wouldn’t necessarily categorize myself as a Type A, just someone that doesn’t want to die abroad right? So naturally, with my mother telling me horror stories on a daily basis, I did the smart millennial thing and attempted to walk through Google Maps on the exact route that I would be taking from the train station to my new apartment. 20 minutes? A breeze. Should I take public transit? No, it’ll be easy. Why? Why am I the way I am? When in life has 20 minutes in 90-degree weather whilst dragging 50 pounds of luggage behind me been the setting of a Covergirl photoshoot. Who am I?
Naively, I started walking out of the station, but I kept getting stuck. Not because I didn’t know where I was going, but because my wheels had unfortunately broken on the flight. Ugh! What a literal drag (pun wholeheartedly intended). But me, being the stubborn person that I am, decided that this wouldn’t stop me, and I continued on. Not even 70 steps later I wanted to whither up in a hole and die. But I didn’t stop there, oh no. I continued on for another 6 blocks. I’m not even kidding when I say I was burning rubber. You could not only hear me, but smell me, from blocks away.
So here I was, fresh off of an 8-hour flight, hair fluffy, clothing disheveled, fighting with my suitcase on one of the quietest streets in Mannheim, Germany. I felt as if I was in some blockbuster rom com, except with no love interest, or plotline, or humor, or overpaid celebrities, just me simply being the nuisance I am.
You know that feeling when you purchase a piece of furniture from IKEA, and you gingerly open the instructions, only to find that they’re all in a foreign language, and even though you get the general idea of what you’re supposed to do based on the pictures, you’re still not 100% positive that you’re going to achieve your desired end result? That’s what it felt like looking at this transit map, 6 months after taking my last German class, not even knowing what street I was on.
Unlike what I had been told about being a female traveling alone (gasp!), I survived. Impressive, I know. I wasn’t mugged, I wasn’t solicited, and I surprisingly wasn’t yelled at for the ruckus I was creating. I made it to my apartment and was alive and well (relatively speaking). I lost all feeling in my fingers and my hands were rubbed raw, but I did it, all on my own, and that has to count for something right?
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