I'm no psychologist but, pardon me while I step on my soap box

What phase of culture shock is being sick of everything where you are?
Unlike many of my colleagues who are tempted to spiral into conversations about what we miss from home. I miss the beach. I miss my car. I miss my dog. I miss Mexican food. I am dying for Taco Bell.
Fine, I miss all those things.

But really, what I am is sick of the nonsense of London.
I'm over the food here. Eating is a chore, its something that is simply done because it's the time of the day to eat and you should eat something because humans eat three times a day. There is no joy in the food, no enJOYment of the food. No good sushi, no fresh salads or vegetables. No real kitchen or oven to make healthy or delicious food.
I'm OVER the prices. Everything is SO expensive. $6 for a coffee? Is that serious? An extra 20% charge if I want to eat it here instead of carrying it out of the restaurant for it to get luke warm and then taste even more mediocre? Um, no thank you.
The rain? Over it.
The puddles that get splashed all over you by the cars whizzing by when it rains? YUCK.
Doing laundry in the worst dryer in the history of mankind- over it.
All of the clothes that I brought here? I hate 'em all.
Watching the football games on my computer with interrupted internet connections at 3 in the morning? Yep, ready to be back on a US time zone.
Requiring I dress modestly at all hours of the day because I have two roommates and no actual doors in my loft flat? Nope.
Saying, "Can you hear me?" "helloooo" about 30 times a day trying to get a decent connection on the phone with my boyfriend? No patience for that.
Falling asleep to a symphony of sirens? I've had enough of that.
Twin size bed? Obviously not my preference.
Going to church and only recognizing one song that we sing? Na, I'm longing for the oldies but goodies that I love.
The plastic chair that sits at my desk in my apartment? Ready to throw it out the window.

Of course all of these thoughts are extreme "First World Problems" and I recognize that. Additionally, each of these can easily be translated into me missing all things home. A few of these things have also carried over because, let me remind you - I have really been away from home since May. I haven't seen the things I left in storage since May. My car, my Keurig, my TV, my beautiful large computer screen. My bed, my clothes, my mother's rings. My stuff that I feel I need.

It also goes without being said that it is November 26, my first final is in less than a week, I am dreaming of law school in the few hours I get to sleep… and it's just a general trend that I currently hate almost everything.

I post this not because I need pity, but to make you laugh and be reminded that the life of a gypsy isn't nearly as glamourous as we'd all like to think. And sure, I'm no psychologist but I just don't believe the stages of culture shock go in some chronological order. They spiral around like a roller coaster. One day you go to bed thinking you're fully integrated and the next day you wake up feeling like everything you thought you'd become acCUSTOMed to, you actually resent. And then the next day you wake up feeling fine. In all moments, attitude and outlook is critical. In these moments, you have to be honest with these thoughts then move onto focusing your mind on something else.
It's not like you pass stage 3 and never look back.
That's just not how it works.
Abroad, or anywhere.
Fellow expats and travel lovers, care to chime in?

here it comes, the big parade

This is my biannual post asking for your prayers during an incredibly stressful time- law school finals. I'll paint the picture for you. 

My first final is in T minus 8 days and my last final is in 17 days. The next three weeks of my life will look like this (if they are anything like last year with added info from this round of Russian Roulette):

I will wake up after getting 6-8 hours of sleep, have my first cup of coffee and go to school. 

I will take over a table in the library or in one of the classrooms where I will sit for about ten hours reading, making notecards, reviewing, highlighting, and typing. After compiling all my notes from the semester, I will put those into an outline form that ends up being about 50 pages for each class. I will virtually memorize this 50 page document. 

In order to prepare appropriately, I will take "practice tests" which are the professors previous years exams. Each practice test is 2-3 hours. Ideally, I will take about eight total. 

These exams are 100% of my grade. Unlike last year when a multiple choice was 1/3 of my grade and essays were 2/3, this semester all of exams are only essays except for one. I'm not sure how this will turn out, but hopefully it helps me. 

As Thanksgiving is approaching, I have millions of things to be thankful for. After reading 1000 Gifts (great book, highly recommended), I've integrated extreme thankfulness into every day. I have a wonderful support system, which includes many of you readers. I do not appreciate you often enough, even though I am much more negligent about posting than I should be. 

The best thing about stress is, as soon as you trudge through it, it's over ! 

On December 12, it will be over ! AND I'll be HALF way done with law school !!!

(Post Title: The Lumineers, The Big Parade - song on repeat)

The California Effect

After a year of living in California, I am heightened to seeing it absolutely everywhere while I am abroad. I see t-shirts walk past me with a colorful sketch and cursive Malibu letters and think, "I go to school there." Tshirts from UCLA or Santa Monica are common too. 

Yesterday, I was on the treadmill at the gym and I observed a student walk onto the treadmill next to me, and select "Los Angeles Run" on her screen as she put her headphones into her ears. I couldn't help but glance over as she was running next to me to see her screen lighting up with images of Palm trees, Venice beach, the Hollywood sign, sidewalk with stars... Incredible! 

It's challenging for people other than Americans to understand that Americans can be from all over the place. So when strangers or new friends ask a group of us (Pepperdine students), "Where are you from?" instead of participating in an ordeal of "I'm from Atlanta, he's from Boston, she's from Michigan, he's from Pittsburg and she's from California... but we all live and go to school in California now." We have deduced this process to "we are from California." One reaction was particularly remarkable when he swooned as if Angelina Jolie had just given him a kiss on the cheek. This is the California effect. Igniting envy in a stranger at the very words- I live in California. Yes, the same one in the movies. THAT Los Angeles. Yes.

Indeed, by many definitions of the word "from," we are from California. I've always battled this question. Where did I come from, as in where was I before London- Rwanda. Some people answer this question with where they were born. Texas. Where have you lived the most amount of time? Georgia. Where do you live now? London. Where am I going back to after London? California. 

Where do you call home? All of these places. 

This is always the time of year that I get homesick. And by homesick, I mean sick for HOME. Interestingly, more and more that seems to be some place between Atlanta and York, Alabama. It's very much both of those places. And it's very much where the people that I hold dearest to me are- which these days is just about all over the world. This only becomes challenging when they gather in one place and I have the worst "fear of missing out" pain in my chest, just burning to be there, with them, at home. As this past weekend was the LSU game in Tuscaloosa, many of my favorite people in the world were in some of my favorite places in the world. And I wanted more than anything to be right there with them. 

But this is the best part about being so far- when I do come home (to any of those homes) to those people, it's going to be the sweetest. It's going to be the best. It's a reunion that makes all the distance and time dissipate completely, and it will be a long series of the tightest of embraces. And for one second I just may whisper that I will not leave again. Although I know that this is something I incessantly chase- and to get it, to truly learn and to discover more of yourself, you just absolutely have to leave home. 

37 days. 

A love letter to Rome

All week I looked forward to Rome. This was my fourth trip here. Indeed, I know, I am a spoiled brat. Rome is certainly one of my favorite cities in the entire world. There is just no where like it. No where. 

One day, we went to meet up with a few other friends in the London program doing the opposite of our trip (from Naples to Cinque Terre) to explore the creepy corriders of the Vatican, the impressive wonders of the Sistene Chapel and the extravagant St. Peter's Basilica. I left the Vatican with more questions than I had answers, and wishing I had endless hours to be able to read a biography on Michaelangelo, books on religious history and to brush up on my Roman/Biblical history. This is why traveling never gets old, even revisiting places. Every time you go something new strikes you, you learn something you didn't know and you're captivated by something different. 

Our second day in Rome, I had the opportunity to go to school with one of my coworkers from Madrid, Melania. Many of you will remember how much I love this woman- she is like a sister to me. Walking into her new school in Rome, I was transported to the "Profe" that I was in 2011-2012. She had asked me to give a presentation on American culture, and of course I said yes.
         It was so much fun to be asked so many questions about American culture. They were so curious about so many things. Melania said I was like a circus animal to them! A few of my favorites:

How is the American prom?

What do you think of the White House and Michelle and Barak Obama?

What about the MBA?

What is the Superbowl like?

Which city in the US is the most fashionable?

Do you know OneDirection?

Have you been to Naples? 

What is the pasta like in the US? This was a question from a professor, and when I answered that we had boxes of pasta that we boiled on the stove, he was sincerely horrified. Melania had to talk to him for several straight minutes in Italian to calm him down. Then she told me, "He is worried about you. And what you are eating. That you are not eating well enough." 

Italy is a beautiful yet broken country. Although it's tourism is alive, many Italians are struggling. In many of the cities, chaos rules. In other sleepy towns, the lifestyle is slow and low key. As Melania kept repeating, one thing Italians can do is cook. And boy can they cook.