The Lore of the Year Abroad

The Lore of the Year Abroad

By Joda Amankrah

The Year Abroad: The curse of the four-year course…

If you're not excited about it, that's perfectly fine. I certainly wasn’t, and why would I be? When I returned, all of my friends would have graduated, I’d have to watch their lives on BeReal, hoping they’d get it on time so I could live vicariously through them in the three swipes.

I cried so much during the summer leading up to it: September 23rd, the dreaded day I’d board BA0422 from London Heathrow to Valencia Airport.

I had a pre-planned playlist that I intended to listen to during take-off, with the first song being I Left My Heart by Lucy Blue.

While I was ready to cry and cry and cry, when September 23rd finally came, I didn’t cry when my mum smothered me with kisses, I didn’t cry when my dad waved goodbye after helping me check in my bags, nor did I cry during take-off, landing, or even on my first night in the single bed (which I’d been given because I was the only single girl in our apartment of three).

My first cry came almost two weeks into my year abroad when I realised I wasn’t particularly thrilled about being a stone’s throw away from the beach or, in fact, about being in Spain at all. I didn’t enjoy speaking Spanish and, despite being told by our lecturers throughout the entirety of my second year to "immerse ourselves in the culture," the only "culture" I immersed myself in was the equivalent of a uni Freshers group chat: I only had British friends.

I didn’t start properly enjoying myself until October.

You may think that as soon as you touch down in a country where the forecast predicts nothing but blue skies and 30-degree heat, you’ll be the happiest person alive. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work like that (at least, not for me).

I put so much pressure on myself to like it (love it, even) because everyone raved about how amazing the year would be, and how jealous they were that I was sitting on the beach while they huddled together in the Nottingham winter, in their mouldy student living room watching Grey’s Anatomy.

This was supposed to be the best year of my life, so why was I so jealous of them?

Here’s what I learnt: You need to take the pressure off yourself and allow yourself to settle in.

Yes, you’ll want to post that Instagram story of the beach with a location tag: SPAIN, FRANCE, BRAZIL, just to let your followers know you’re about to embark on a new adventure. Yes, you might want to put "VLC," "BCN," or "FRA" in your bio (which is a bit odd, to be fair), but instead of proving to your  followers that you're having a good time, you need to prove it to yourself.

It’s a slow start. It takes time to find your people, but once you do, everything falls into place.

I’ll admit, I still cried to Fine Line by Harry Styles every time I left British soil, and I also became painfully patriotic (I bought a pair of Union Jack socks and wore them almost too much).

The tears that uniformly flowed every time I boarded a plane to Spain, eventually stopped when I flew back to Valencia after Christmas. Though I left my family behind, I was flying straight into the arms of the family I’d found abroad.

The last time I listened to Fine Line, I was departing Seville Airport in floods of tears because I was leaving behind the people I had come to cherish.

When you start enjoying it, when you finally settle, time speeds up, and before you know it, you're waving goodbye to a country you once claimed to "hate."

For me, it wasn’t so much about the country as it was about the people. Yes, Spain is amazing and beautiful, but would it hold such a sacred place in my heart if it weren’t for the girls who rushed over to our apartment when I had boy troubles, the people I learnt to flamenco dance with, those I never spoke Spanish with, and those I did?

I’ll give you the easy answer: no.

I began my year abroad with Lucy Blue’s I Left My Heart, but by the end of it, I realised my heart was now scattered across Europe, left behind in the friendships that I had made. From France, Belgium, Spain, and Germany to places closer to home like Manchester, London, and Scotland, each holds a piece of my heart.

It’s your year abroad, and yes, it is supposed to be amazing and life-changing, but it won’t feel that way from the start. It’s sort of like a plane ride: the take-off is a little shaky, you’ve got a bit of a tummy ache, the man next to you is pressing his leg too close to your own, and the child in front of you has just wiped his snot on the window.

But then you take off, and it’s okay because the child’s mother has given him enough meds to knock out a small army, the man beside you has suddenly learnt about personal space, and you press your head against the window, marvelling at the fact that you're soaring above it all.

I marvelled at my life during my year abroad. I marvelled at how lucky I was to have found the people I did, and I’m sure they marvel at the fact that, unfortunately for them, they’re stuck with me forever.

You will have that too. Just let the plane take off. Breathe a little and give yourself the space to adjust.

You’ve got this, girl xx