Pre-departure

The application process for exchange inevitably results in a steady ebbing and flowing of a range of emotions. When you combine the mountain of paper work, the inevitable insecurities about leaving the familiarity of home, the unknown of whether you will in fact be going, you can feel emotionally sapped, a spent force before you have even received your confirmation. This is the state of perpetual uncertainty in which you live until that small envelope arrives, dotted with black ink, which, when you read with a steady eye, informs your future and what will form the next few months of your life. So it was for me, the months of irrational doubt, of questioning my own capacity for exploration were all washed away by a tide of exaltation when I could finally say, with complete and utter conviction, with the most satisfying sincerity, that yes I have been accepted and yes I will be going on exchange to Mexico.

For me, my acceptance came reasonably late, around November and in fact I had already purchased my tickets in a vain of optimism or potential stupidity, call it what you will. Regardless, the last few weeks before departure brought a greater sense of security in that at least I knew where I was going to be and to some extent what I was going to be doing for the next few months. The last few weeks were undeniably different, there was a greater satisfaction in spending time with friends and family, appreciating time together, not taking anything for granted, with the knowledge that the comfort and security of home was soon to be left behind, a speck on horizon. It was as if everything familiar was illuminated in a fresh light and revealed for what it was, truly great. The rhythm of day-to-day life had lost its banality and suddenly life at home seemed harder to leave. But this was no time to feel sentimental, it was time to head off, time to pack away those things that mum tells you that you’ll need and you reject purely on principle and curse yourself later when you’re asking all your friends for a band aid and some antiseptic to treat that strange bite that seems to be infected halfway down your leg. With your pack full and your clothes the cleanest they will be until you step back in the front door some months later, it’s time to head to the airport.

Despite my feelings of independence, of great confidence in what I was about to do, there is nothing that quite prepares you for that moment at the airport, in the shadow of those departure gates, those cold metallic ones that reach from floor to ceiling without pause and swallow you up once you step through them. You make your way by the different groups of families, each group isolated from the next, but inwardly bound by a deep emotion that can often be heard and seen without effort. And so, as I turned to say the inevitable goodbye, there was, unavoidably, the welling of tears in my eyes, but this was the first of many moments that pressure your emotions and sentimentalities, but are an inevitable part of going on an adventure.

I turned, walked through the gates, and was ready for my next stop…Mexico.