It would seem this blog is off to a positively roaring start. (Sigh.)
The weeks before my departure are flying by, much to my horror. With only 53 days until my flight out of the US, I thought I'd have more time to prepare, more time to pack, more time to say goodbye. I'm finding that as D-day nears, I'm becoming increasingly ambivalent about leaving. The excitement that permeated much of this spring semester has given way to fear and doubt. What if this is a colossal waste of money? What if my Master's project, which will be pushed to the back burner for the next six months, goes belly up in my absence? What if my mother's right, and I'll be mugged/raped/murdered/sold into sex slavery the instant I set foot on Scottish soil? Surely these are all legitimate concerns.
I've also been battling the urge to wax sentimental about my time here at the University. It's certainly no secret, my complete and utter disdain for this institution. While I've met wonderful people and been offered myriad opportunities for advancement in my chosen fields of study, my success here has done little to change the fact that I'm miserable. And yet, despite my contempt for this backwards state and its equally backwards flagship university, I'll miss it. Honestly, it's a charming little slice of Americana...if you can block out 95% of the city's residents (many of whom are, admittedly, fellow college students.) Though I'm not leaving for good, as I have a semester until I earn my B.S. and another year to finish my Master's, an extended vacation will certainly be to my benefit.
My eagerness to leave behind my university does not, however, extend to my hometown. A year to the day after Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans, I will be flying over the Atlantic, leaving behind a city that is still struggling to recover. Part of me welcomes this trip as a way to distance myself from the ongoing recovery effort. (Make no mistake: it is still a recovery effort.) I won't kid myself, though. I know my leaving is a feeble attempt to push the tragedy from my mind; by avoiding the city for as long as possible, I can retain the memories of my childhood. Memories of a city that, for all its poverty, debauchery, and corruption, managed to steal my heart. I'll leave with the hope that the city will see some progress in my five months abroad. It's a vain hope, really, as this past year has failed to deliver.
Here's to a kinder future, New Orleans. For now, I'll just remember you as you were.
The weeks before my departure are flying by, much to my horror. With only 53 days until my flight out of the US, I thought I'd have more time to prepare, more time to pack, more time to say goodbye. I'm finding that as D-day nears, I'm becoming increasingly ambivalent about leaving. The excitement that permeated much of this spring semester has given way to fear and doubt. What if this is a colossal waste of money? What if my Master's project, which will be pushed to the back burner for the next six months, goes belly up in my absence? What if my mother's right, and I'll be mugged/raped/murdered/sold into sex slavery the instant I set foot on Scottish soil? Surely these are all legitimate concerns.
I've also been battling the urge to wax sentimental about my time here at the University. It's certainly no secret, my complete and utter disdain for this institution. While I've met wonderful people and been offered myriad opportunities for advancement in my chosen fields of study, my success here has done little to change the fact that I'm miserable. And yet, despite my contempt for this backwards state and its equally backwards flagship university, I'll miss it. Honestly, it's a charming little slice of Americana...if you can block out 95% of the city's residents (many of whom are, admittedly, fellow college students.) Though I'm not leaving for good, as I have a semester until I earn my B.S. and another year to finish my Master's, an extended vacation will certainly be to my benefit.
My eagerness to leave behind my university does not, however, extend to my hometown. A year to the day after Hurricane Katrina destroyed New Orleans, I will be flying over the Atlantic, leaving behind a city that is still struggling to recover. Part of me welcomes this trip as a way to distance myself from the ongoing recovery effort. (Make no mistake: it is still a recovery effort.) I won't kid myself, though. I know my leaving is a feeble attempt to push the tragedy from my mind; by avoiding the city for as long as possible, I can retain the memories of my childhood. Memories of a city that, for all its poverty, debauchery, and corruption, managed to steal my heart. I'll leave with the hope that the city will see some progress in my five months abroad. It's a vain hope, really, as this past year has failed to deliver.
Here's to a kinder future, New Orleans. For now, I'll just remember you as you were.
(Photo by Jerry Lodriguss, a renown photojournalist, astrophotographer, and New Orleans native.)
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