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Memories lay scattered around my room. Here lay a photo, there some loose coins stamped with a kiwi, over there half a dozen plane ticket stubs. Normally, I’m a fairly tidy person, but for some reason, I could not bear to gather the remnants of my abroad experience until some not-so-subtle prompting from my parents. Some things, I thought with a smirk, will never, ever change.

Still though, it was a difficult process to sort everything into neat(er) piles, put them away. It seemed wrong in a sense; how was it possible to take these things, this proof that I had lived, and put it into a corner, a shelf, a drawer to quietly gather dust? Was it denying that New Zealand had never happened, relegating its place as once more just a dream? Was I supposed to go on with my life normally, now that “Visit New Zealand” was checked off my To Do list?

Days drifted past. My brother went back to Rice for one last week of classes and then finals. I kept myself busy by doing those little jobs around the house that always needed doing, but no one ever had time to do. It was in washing the windows, weeding my mom’s many gardens, cleaning out the barn that I was able to find answers to my questions. New Zealand had clearly happened, and was much more to me than simply an item from a checklist. I had refined my life’s direction on a bike trail, appreciated determination at the top of a mountain, encountered passion at a rugby game, discovered a new kind of culture in the classroom, and learned the value and beauty of nature while strolling the streets and pastures of a country far, far, away. These events and emotions had really shaped the Jon That Is, and there could be no denying that.

I also found myself struggling with those common re-entry problems that most people endure, such as how to answer that much-dreaded question: “How was New Zealand?” (Actually, I had to deal with “How was Australia?” more often, as a surprising number of people thought New Zealand was in, or at least a part of, Australia. No offense meant to any Aussies out there, but I believe I speak for most New Zealanders when I say, “Hmph!”)The classic quandary: how to summarize five months of…everything into the two or three sentences that most people wanted? I managed to finally come up with an answer or two I could live with, which was, “Oh, it was definitely one of the best experiences of my life” or, “It was basically a five-month vacation [insert chuckle or sheepish grin here].” There was also the stereotypical problem of incessantly talking about what they do/have/say in New Zealand to anyone who would even look in my direction for more than a moment, though since I’ve been on the receiving end of this sort of behavior, I’m quickly learning to keep the reins in on my mouth. And of course, there’s always the looking at the thousands of pictures and short movies on my computer, and thinking about how fun this was, or how I actually miss my flatmates and their bizarre ways, like Dan’s inability to wink or Hayley’s jigs.

There have also been some unexpected issues with being back, like the fact that I haven’t tried driving on the left side of the road or anything like that, or how strange it is to hear “zee” as the twenty-sixth letter of the alphabet as opposed to “zed.” Perhaps the strangest side effect of being back is the fact that it has become very difficult for me to understand thick Texan accents without unwavering concentration. My brother and I once had a conversation with an elderly gentleman and I spent the whole time thinking he was talking about boxes or building something until my brother, unable to contain his laughter, informed me later that he had been talking about a delicious meal that he had had that day.

Thus, what I’ve realized is that there is no need to keep separate the world that I experienced in New Zealand with the world that’s back here in Ben Wheeler. Though one place connotes excitement while the other is named after the first postmaster in Van Zandt County, both are now an integral part of who I am. It is not a matter of putting something away and forgetting about it, but rather it is continually moving forward, dreaming up, establishing, and overcoming the next challenge. For me, the next semester awaits back in Houston, and thanks to my time in New Zealand, my life and my mind is chock-full of new dreams which I intend to see through into reality.

But enough of that now. I believe some of that good old fashioned Blue Bell ice cream calls my name.

 

The view outside of my window. Though it’s the same as it has been for years, it is only now that I can fully realize how beautiful it is, and how nice it can be to be home again.