Acrylic Paint and I have a little battle that needs resolving. It's been too long.
Clockwatching
Why do we have to leave? It seems like everyone is counting down the days until we go. Every day I hear "only ## days left!" I can't go anywhere without a number shoved in my face. But why is everyone so anxious to get back? Yeah, I get it. America. Family. Showers that won't scald you on a moments notice and the luxury of people understanding your every word. But who gives?
This is it. After ## days, I'm out of here, and I won't be coming back. English will no longer be a secret code. Siesta's will be unthinkable. Pretending to understand my roommate's twisted portuguese/spanish, a distant memory. The friends that I've made here, that I've laughed with, shared secrets with, made memories with, even cried with-- well, they will no longer be within my grasp. I think that is the hardest part. Home will always be waiting for me, but this won't. This is now and then no more. I can't understand how everyone is so ready, so willing to get away from it.
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