Today is Thursday September 15th. It’s been almost two weeks now since my feet touched the soil of a different country for the first time in my life. It’s currently 7:33pm, and I’m lying in my bed in my Spanish homestay with no intentions of leaving any time soon.

She lives 4,489 miles away, but fate told me we would meet. — Her nature is a calming green, the shade of clovers you only see deep in the woods. I am lucky, blessed to be in her presence, and I will be with her until the luke-warm December arrives. When I leave she could turn cold like the white snowcapped Alps which are a part of her being. She tells me "even from the summit, you can't see everything I have to offer." I take her words as a challenge: take it all in -- every sight, scent, taste, sound, and feeling.

Bonjour from France! It's been an incredible two weeks, and still feels vaguely unreal. Last weekend’s trip to Vannes helped that feeling, but I know that the more time I spend in Nantes, the more I'm going to realize that this is actually my place now. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been here for months, but the ripples of culture shock and homesickness prove that’s not true.

What is home? Where is home? What defines home? For me the concept of home has been very hard to define. Ever since I was a kid, I have been constantly moving to a new city or country. Though I have strong associations with my country of origin, I do not think it can be defined as my “home.” Is home where your family is? Maybe. But I can’t tell you what home is for you. The idea of home is something I have been contemplating recently. I have come to the conclusion that home is not a concrete place; it’s a bit more abstract in my opinion.

Hey everyone! I’m just about to finish my very first week at school and I’m ready to knock out for the next ten thousand years.

Hi everyone! 

Sorry it's been a while, I've been quite busy with schoolwork and because my parents have been in town! I was lucky enough to have them visit me all the way across the world. 

It’s only been a few short weeks since arriving in Morocco, and I can’t help but think of what season of “Parenthood” I would be on if it were available on Moroccan Netflix. Luckily, the views of Rabat, Meknes, and Fez are more than enough to keep me distracted.

I don't know how I got it in my head that I wouldn't experience much culture shock coming here. I suppose that idea stemmed from thinking that Paris is a very westernized area for Europe. It's not a giant change of scenery in the way it would have been if I went to live in a place like China or Africa. People here look similar, dress similar, do similar hobbies, and have similar things as people back home. As strange as it sounds, the similarities are what makes this adjustment even more difficult and frustrating.