He has herpes!?

Visiting the states, or even watching American TV shows back at home, you come to realise that we often have different ways of saying things – whether that be the accent, or because we use completely different words. Of course, we all know the obvious ones – trousers are pants (hilarious), petrol is gas, queue is a line and route is pronounced ‘rowt.’

However since my time here (2 months so far, only 1 month to go!) there have been a few little awkward mishaps, ones that nobody prepared me for, regarding the British / American differences…

Take a dinner party the other week… Now I know that a ‘Pot Luck’ party is where you each bring a dish without conferring, so it will be ‘pot luck’ what you end up eating for dinner. My British ears, however, instead of hearing ‘Pot Luck Party’ heard, ‘Padlock Party.’ My mind was going mad, confused by the concept, worried about being locked up.

Things got worse the other day… I’ve been helping out at Kids’ Summer Adventure Camp for the last month, and the other day, little Landon and I share a special moment. Landon is five years old.

Landon sits next to Kelsie and he shouts, “I’m going to give her herpes!!!”

My eyes widen.

“Excuse me, Landon! What did you say!?” I yell back, horrified.

“I’m going to give her herpes!” he repeats.

Oh. Her piece. 

 He was referring to the biscuit. Or should I say, ‘cookie.’

How amusing. I have enjoyed spending lots of my time with the little ones, more than I thought I would. Before, (in all honesty) I didn’t hate little kids, but I didn’t really like them much either. How things have changed. Now, I’m fascinated.

The conversations you have with them can be comedy gold. Take Sylvie (5): little Sylvie who resembles a miniature Lindsay Lohan (Parent Trap Movie) intelligently picks up that I speak with a different accent. “So where are you from?” she asks.

“I’m from England.”

To which she goes, “Oh! My Aunty Sue is from England. We’ve been to visit her before. Her name is Aunty Sue but, but, but, her friends just call her Sue. Do you know her?”

“Well where in England is she from?”

“She’s from England.”

“Ok…”

“Did you know that we went to England and Bristol and then back to England again.”

“Sylvie, Bristol is in England.”

“We went to both.”

“Just like California is in America, Bristol is in England.”

“No, you weren’t there. We went to both.”

“Ok.”

 

Or I love how they speak about the past sometimes. Here, Landon features again.

“A long time ago, when I was really little. I was really small. I tripped over a soccer ball and I hurted my knee. I was only 4 years old.”

“Really little, huh? How old are old are you now, Landon?”

“Oh, now I’m 5. In three months I’ll be 5 and a half.”

 

Oh hi there England

‘What the hell just happened?’

This sentence goes over and over in my head whilst I sip on my jasmine tea from Hong Kong.

I’m not in Hong Kong. I’m in England, North Yorkshire, Dishforth village, parents’ house, kitchen. I’m sat on one of the six wooden chairs around the wooden table that we’ve had for as long as I can remember.

I stare out of the window. The window to the right of the home-phone and the drawer with the address book in. It’s the same window that I used to stare out of to see if I needed to wear a coat to school. The same window that Dad bangs on to scare away the cat from eating the bird food.

I stare at the bird-feeder (which is the same). I stare beyond the bird-feeder and my pupils absorb a collage of greenery – the fields and hedges merge into one (possibly due to the dizziness, due to the jet lag).

My flight went OK, thanks for asking. Hong Kong > Bangkok > Dubai > Manchester. 21 hours in total. Easy breezy. Lots of things seem easy now, which is nice. I mean, I had to get home and so I had to take a long flight. What good would complaining do? Just get on with it and try to enjoy.

I thought it would be different though (the flight, that is). I thought I would end up speaking to somebody about my trip and get all emotional looking back on it. Or I envisioned myself, sitting there in silence, listening to music and welling up at the incredible, life-changing moments…

Neither of those happened. It was just a flight. I think actually I was trying too hard. I was trying too hard to feel something, I just felt numb.

I slowly sip on the jasmine tea and I still feel a bit numb.

‘I’m unemployed.’ That sentence rolls around in my head a lot. For those that know me, I can’t sit still for 2 minutes. I’m hooked on doing new things and achieving new goals and so that word ‘unemployed’ makes me feel a little bit sicky. Over the past 4 months there has been 14 flights and each time on the immigration form when they ask for ‘occupation’ I put ‘Writer’ as my pride can’t quite take ticking the unemployed box. I was going to write ‘Astronaut’ once because, well, that would amuse me. Even better, ‘Body Builder.’

I think in the next few days, things will sink in more. I’ll meet up with friends, eat lots of Mum’s home cooking and I’ll embrace the job hunt.

I’m determined not to be sad, but to think fondly of the trip. Although right now, even that’s a struggle because I can’t seem to digest that it even happened. Already, it feels like a dream.

14 flights, 22 boats, 4 sleeper trains, 52 buses. A huge cluster of cars, metros, tuk tuks and scooters. A long list of adrenaline activities, breathtaking scenery and strange foods, delicious foods, seeing people with no food. A concoction of paradise and poverty. Swinging from silk blankets and room service to dirty sheets, no sheets, sleeping on the floor. Being so hot, your scalp is a fountain and not an inch of your body is dry. Feeling true exhaustion. Feeling every amplified emotion under the sun: excitement, hope, anxiety, fear, love, sadness and complete joy. Speaking of sun, I am now a different race. 4 and a half months of backpacking have seen countless memories, mosquito bites and life-long friends. THANK YOU to everyone who has made my trip so very special.

I’d also like to thank people who have kept up with my travels via the blog, and thank you so much for all of your kind comments, it really means a lot.

I plan to keep this blog and do some more posts (tips for first-time travellers, why solo travel is the way forward, etc…)

As for now, it’s time to inhale a roast dinner (and then probably sleep for 24 hours straight). IN MY OWN BED!!! How can I be sad when home luxuries are so incredible? And when I say luxuries I mean – toilet paper, being able to drink out of the tap, having various clothes to choose from, a fridge full of food, tight cuddles, dog slobber from an excited Syd…

Something that stuck with me when I was away and feeling homesick was, “It’s good that you’re missing home. It means you’re lucky. It means you have something that’s worth missing.”