An Ode to My Hometown and How It Feels to Go Back After Not Having Lived There Over Three Years

Ann Arbor, Michigan is a place, the place, to which my sense of home is most closely tied. I grew up in Ann Arbor from the day I was born until the age of nineteen, when I moved away to start college in Beloit, Wisconsin. It’s the place where my sense of what home means in general and specifically to me were first developed.

A year after I started college, my family moved away from Ann Arbor to St. Louis, Missouri, and since then, I have not felt whole. I felt extremely connected to Ann Arbor, especially after reevaluating my own relationship to it and my sense of home there following a few exchange programs on which I embarked during high school. The sense of wholeness I felt by living in the place where I grew up my whole childhood and adolescence, the sense of connection it gave me to my past while still cultivating a rich present in the same place, is a giant hole that I have not been able to fill in the intervening time, no matter how hard I try or what I do.
In Ann Arbor, the simplest and most banal of things seem inherently more familiar. The particular cerulean tint of the sky during late spring afternoons when the days grow long. The union of the specific bird species of the surrounding area fusing into a unique, locally crafted melody. The reflections of pale, fluffy clouds over the swiftly moving waters of the Huron River. The color of the freshly grown May leaves and the sweet scent of their blossoms. Even though there’s nothing specific or drastic which truly sets apart the terrain on which the lines between Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, and other adjacent states and neatly defines them into the pockets of division we see on a map, somehow there’s an instant, palpable change that I not only feel, but also see, any time I cross over those state lines while returning to Michigan. To someone who grew up there, it just is, and is plain to see.

Seeing and being are not simple or static actions for me in Ann Arbor. When one returns to a place one lived in for so much of one’s life and formed such a massive part of one’s sense of self, it is not possible to simple see and be. Every action, every movement, every sight, is beset by remembering. The act of remembering is a state of constant navigation through spaces familiar from years of proximity, that have grown alien from just a few of prolonged absence. The familiarity comforts - one is reminded of all that has transpired in the spaces and the happy feelings of the memories and interactions they conjure. But they also estrange and alienate - the unfamiliarity, and the comparatively short period of time in which they have mushroomed into existence serve to sadden, and deepen the gap between the place, and the familiarity of the life left behind. They feed off of each other and work their way back and forth into otherwise ordinary actions and transitions, deepening the feelings of separation from the formerly unchallenged and unobstructed sense of home, and the frustration at the very nature of this disconnect. They accentuate rootlessness.

No matter how badly you may wish to leave in your youth, no matter how limiting, droll, or stifling it may seem at the time for any number of reasons, moving away from the place that you grew up effectively your entire childhood and adolescence is not easy. The very nature of this action necessitates a farewell to a cherished part of life that is more or less permanent, a severance from how unchallenged and permanent one’s sense of home and security used to be, that can never be wholly restored.

I know this is at least the case for me when I visit Ann Arbor. At this point, with my family having moved away over three years ago, I am fully aware of this severance every time I come to visit. I have already been since the first time I returned after we left, as the stark difference made itself clear almost right away. Being a guest at friends’ houses, welcome and relaxed, but ostensibly a visitor to my own hometown, was deeply disorienting, as having to shift my sense of center and direction to their homes instead of my own changed the whole feeling of being back in the first place. Every visit brings different experiences with it - I see many of the same people again, who I’ve known practically all my life, and reconnect or disconnect with them on various different levels. Sometimes I feel truly in my element and being back restores me in a way few other things can; for split seconds I’ll forget that I ever left, and I feel like I have my old life back. Others I feel lonely and utterly disconnected from any sense of my old life, deeply nostalgic for the sense of home and belonging that once fully surrounded me there, and is now gone. Each time I go back, I never know which it will be.

Every time I return, I do my very best to lose myself in Ann Arbor, to search far back in my mind and memories and reconstruct them into a tangible contemporary imitation that I can access and feel like I’m back again. I try to lose myself in downtown, and remember dinners there with my family at our favorite Indian and Middle Eastern restaurants, and wandering around the Summer Fest, once called (and still colloquially known as) “Top of the Park” with my high school friends on cool summer nights. I try to lose myself in the variable seasonal beauty of all my favorite parks - the County Farm, Gallup, Kensington State Park a while further outside of town - and their introspective natural retreats. I try to lose myself in the winding and often confusing streets of Ann Arbor Hills, the neighborhood I grew up in, which have earned it the nickname of “Spaghettiland,” and try to imagine for a moment that I’m back again in the life I once lived, that once again I’m just going for a walk around the block in between lessons or homework assignments or just to do something and get some fresh air out of the house.

Being back is like reassembling the familiar pieces of a beautiful puzzle that have been taken far apart from one another and tainted with some harsh substance. The image is still fundamentally the same, but it’s damaged and pixelated, beautiful in its own right, although it’s different, but irreparably and unmistakably not the same.

And although it may hurt when the washed out, stained elements of the new image override its original beauty, the image is too important and beautiful not to reassemble. I will continue returning to reassemble it for the rest of my life. Sometimes with greater success than others. But always with an earnest and optimistic commitment to remembering and paying tribute to all the places, people, things, and experiences in Ann Arbor that shaped me into who I’ve been, who I am, and who I’ll be.

The Reykjavik Grapevine, September 23, 2019: "Reykjavik Strikes Back: Iceland and the Climate Strike"

Hey, everyone!

I'm working on another post about the first two months of my Fulbright here in Iceland, and some of the biggest events that have taken place therein.

And even though I do intend to go into more detail about this there, I wanted to take a moment to highlight an achievement of mine which is truly special to me.

As I've mentioned a few times, I care deeply and am extremely concerned about the state of the environment and human-caused climate change. I've felt very anxious for over a year now about the urgency of massive, systemic change which is needed to mitigate the worst of its potential effects, and the closing window of opportunity that there is to act sufficiently to prevent massive suffering and environmental breakdown.

It's been one of the main drivers of my awful mental health over the past year (which, thankfully, has improved tremendously over the past two months).

One way in which I've been trying to more productively deal with this anxiety has been participating in climate strikes and other environmentally-focused events. I attended my first global climate strike here in Iceland on the 20th of September. Seeing so many like-minded and concerned people lending their voices, bodies, and presences to the cause was deeply validating and empowering, and made me feel, for one of the first times since I started dealing with all this, like I wasn't alone.

At one point, I was approached by a woman from the Reykjavik Grapevine, the city's English-speaking newspaper, who asked about my homemade sign - which, in a loving tribute to the great Greta Thunberg's now iconic "skolstrejk för klimatet" ("school-strike for the climate") sign, read "loftslagsverkfall fyrir jöklana," meaning "climate strike for the glaciers," meant to call attention to a truly crucial side effect of climate change which is very present here in Iceland: the melting of the country's glaciers. Most notably, the former glacier Okjökull lost its glacial status in 2014 when its ice was no longer able to move, and was recently commemorated with a ceremony earlier this year and a plaque containing a "letter to the future."

The reporter asked if she could interview me, which I of course accepted, answering some questions about my sign, my environmental concerns, what I'm doing here in Iceland, and how I try to live in a more environmentally-friendly way at an individual level in my daily life.

Here is the article, which was later shared by my favorite Icelandic writer, Alda Sigmundsdóttir as well.

I can barely begin to put into words how special this experience was, and how much it means to me. Earlier this year, I spiraled horribly reading about the state of the world and the climate, and began to feel massively guilty about my own contribution to systemic issues far larger than just me or anyone around me, and feeling like I was a burden on the Earth.

In addition to feeling united and bound to the other people around me who attended the strike, it was wonderful for the Grapevine and my interviewer for featuring my voice, and seeing something special in my contribution to the Global Climate Strike. To have this contribution recognized and celebrated in this way is indescribably empowering and validating. I'm honored and humbled. And I hope you all enjoy reading it as well.

"It's not too late. We won't give up. Let's fight for a better future."

"Geturðu endurtekið?" An Honest Overview of My Disjointed (But Improving) Icelandic Skills

At this point in my life, I've studied a total of ten languages to some significant beginner level or above. Every single language I've studied has been deeply enriching and life-changing in myriad ways, and opened my mind to new ways of building words and structuring thoughts, new mediums of expression, new music, new literature, myths, folklore, and most of all, new friendships and human connections that I would never have been able to have or access otherwise.

Among all of them, my experience learning Icelandic has been quite unique. Not only because of the unique challenges of learning Icelandic specifically as a language (my favorite Icelandic writer, Alda Sigmundsdóttir, very accurately describes her native language as "a bloody mess grammatically, a nightmarish mishmash of inflected nouns, verbs, adjectives, and pronouns, corresponding to four different cases, three different noun genders, moods, voices, and constructions, plus any number of exceptions that rules that seem completely arbitrary, and very often are,"). But also because of the odd ups-and-downs in my timing learning the language - absorbing lots of it in shorter periods of time, but then having it remain relatively dormant in my everyday life for long periods of time, consuming it passively through movie clips or music at best.

I first started learning Icelandic three years ago. I first found myself fascinated with Icelandic when I was falling in love with languages in general around the age of twelve, watching dubbed Disney songs on YouTube, and spellbound by its unfamiliar sounds and distinctive, old letters. But the language had been hovering at the top of my list of languages of greatest interest after I got greatly interested while I was an exchange student in Egypt in high school, and found myself watching videos by a girl who was on exchange in Iceland the same year and with the same program as me, AFS Intercultural Programs, and spent the year hosted in the tiny community of Seyðisfjörður in the Eastfjords. After hearing about her experience - how beautiful the country was and how comfortable she seemed to be there - I did a lot of research about the country and especially the language, and found myself fascinated by its unique history, its strong literary tradition, its expressive and beautiful way of constructing words for new concepts from existing root words in the language, and its importance to the sense of national identity. Being already interested in Nordic languages because of my American grandmother's Swedish heritage, it became one of my languages of greatest interest. When I entered college, I was awarded a grant from my college to construct a project of some academic or professional importance, and decided to take advantage of the chance to finally go to Iceland and try to pick up a little Icelandic.

I participated in the 2016 A1/A2 Icelandic immersion summer course at the University Center of the Westfjords, which was hosted in Núpur, a former well-known boarding school now turned hotel, on a breathakingly beautiful, isolated farm property on the shores of Dýrafjörður, about a half hour drive away from the 2,000-strong de facto capital of the Westfjords, Ísafjörður.

In the old classrooms in one of the far wings of the main building, with majestic views of rolling steppes home to fluffy, free-roaming sheep, and extinct volcanoes slumbering peacefully above the waters of the fjord in the distance, we all learned to express our first tentative and stumbling thoughts in Icelandic, and about the defining characteristics of the language - its cases and verb classes, its unique and sometimes maddening sounds, and its graceful and beautifully constructed compound words. From simple introductions, we passed to simple conversations. From simple conversations to numbers, then to directions, fruits and vegetables, to telling time, talking about ourselves, and so on. At the end, even though the program had only lasted three weeks, we left with not only incredible memories and pictures of the ethereal places we'd been which could barely begin to do them justice, but with a strong base in one of the world's most beautiful, complex, and oldest languages.

Then two years went by without actively studying Icelandic at all.
I did my best to try to keep my understanding of what I'd learned in the Westfjords alive by absorbing the language in passive ways - watching Icelandic clips and videos on YouTube, listening to Icelandic music, even reading passages and sentences from Icelandic Wikipedia articles, writing them down by hand in my notebooks, and underlining or translating unfamiliar words.
But that was about it.

Two full years and a few exchanges in decidedly non-Icelandic-speaking or Nordic countries later, I found myself back in Iceland, this time in Reykjavik, to study in the month-long summer institute at the Árni Magnússon Institute at the University of Iceland, which I had wanted to do since I was seventeen years old and had seen someone post about it in a language enthusiast Facebook group I was a part of, simply called "Polyglots," recommending it to those interested in learning Icelandic.

For a month, together with my dear Italian friend Sofia I'd met on my first program in the Westfjords, together with a whole bunch of fun and friendly new faces, I spent a month cranking my Icelandic back into overdrive. Having spoken scarcely a word of Icelandic in the two years since I'd been there the first time, I figured I'd be speechless for a few days. But in a few icebreaker activities we got started on the first day, I was struck by how naturally and effortlessly "Hæ, ég heiti Nico, ég er frá Bandaríkjunum," (Hi, I'm Nico, I'm from the USA) rolled off my tongue again.

We spent the month in class in a room tucked into a cozy room on the far corner of the bottom floor of Árnagarður, close to the heart of the University of Iceland campus, learning from a teacher named Gísli, who had been the teacher of the other class on my Westfjords program. Due to a month of intensive practice, thankfully with a particular emphasis on developing our speaking skills through rigorous debates, presentations, in-class discussions, and so on, my skills absolutely skyrocketed over the course of the month. Close to the end of the program, I finally met up with my friend Unnur, a Reykjavik local who my friend Salma met at a Youth Parliament in Vienna and put me in contact with, and we had a lovely, nearly two-hour conversation over coffee in which we barely ever resorted to English. Something which I barely imagined being capable of when I started studying Icelandic, and which seemed like a distant dream even when I'd started the month. But yet, there I was, just kind of...doing it, and managing.

That conversation took place two days after the two-year anniversary of when I landed in Iceland for the first time. And it felt like coming full-circle, in a surreal and amazing way - here I was, two years later, having just finished the program I had set out to participate in to begin with, and capable of having a two-hour conversation in Icelandic with relatively few grammatical errors, and scarcely having to fall back on English.

Then I left, and although I was already at work on my Fulbright application to come back as I have now, once again I didn't practice Icelandic almost at all for a year, as I focused on finishing my final year of my undergraduate degree, and dealing with readjustment issues on campus after returning from my year abroad, heartbreak, depression, anxiety, and just an all-around struggle of a time.

Now, of course, I'm back to do (at least - rain check on posting more on current thoughts re:future plans) the first year of the B.A. program in Icelandic as a second language at the University of Iceland through the Fulbright. I've been in Iceland four days shy of two months, and actively learning the language again for a few days less than that. Over the course of my time here so far, I've already improved my language skills tremendously compared to the day that I stumbled off my flight from Chicago back onto Icelandic soil, cheerily humming "Ég er kominn heim" ("I've come home," a famous Icelandic song about homecoming). But I've also reflected a lot on the evolution of my language skills, and come to realize that beyond the unique challenges Icelandic presents as a language, my own experience learning Icelandic has been quite distinct from learning any other language I've studied.

As mentioned, I've learned Icelandic in quite intense and concentrated bursts, with long periods in between where I barely studied it, perhaps occasionally absorbing it in passive ways. But within all the programs that I've done, most of the Icelandic studying I've done has been in immersive classroom environments where everything is done in Icelandic, including explanations of grammar and syntax, with only occasional deviations to English to compensate for moments of truly dramatic incomprehension, or to quickly clarify unknown grammar terms. Additionally, due to the fact that before I was taking part in shorter term programs where I was housed with and spent most of my time around other foreign Icelandic learners, I've only just started to make Icelandic friends this time, and so before I didn't have many chances to practice my language skills outside of the classroom with my Icelandic teachers, and lacked fluid, or especially more colloquial input from native speakers as a result.

As such, my Icelandic knowledge is full of somewhat bizarre contradictions, and areas of great knowledge and ease, complimented by others of total unfamiliarity, even if they're much more applicable to everyday conversations.

I remember quite complex terminology that I learned during the intensive speaking-based immersion of my second summer program, like "opinbert tungumál" (official language), "tvítyngdur" (bilingual), or "málvísindi" (linguistics) with great facility and ease. But when I first arrived this time, I found myself completely stumped by far simpler and everyday conversational words like "aðeins" (something like "[just] a little [more]), "klikkaður" ("crazy"), or "skó" (a ubiquitous filler word with no direct English translation which is usually used at the beginning or end of a sentence or thought).

I still remember numerous scathing and creative Icelandic swear words that I learned during an elective afternoon on my first program in the Westfjords three years ago (I'll do without listing or explaining them for now). But I still mix up "þolfall" and "þágufall" (the words for the accusative and dative cases) every single grammar class.

In the first couple of days, as the cogwheels started turning in my brain and my Icelandic knowledge started to come alive again, I found myself suddenly feeling comfortable doing things again very quickly that I never would have been able to access in my mind quickly and easily a few days earlier, when I hadn't been back or practiced in over a year. I suddenly felt quite capable of handling the simple bureaucratic matters I was running around trying to take care of during my first days in the country ("Góðan daginn, ég flutti nýlega til Íslands og þarf að skrá inn heimilisfangið mitt/sækja kortið mitt, o.s.frv." - "Hello, I've recently moved to Iceland and need to register my address/pick up my card, etc...). But I would go to the IT desk at the university for help with getting my router set up in my dorm room (as the building lacks WiFi), and stand in line like a dear in the headlights, with absolutely no idea how to begin talking about what I needed help with (uh...tölva...samband...herbergið mitt... - "uhh...computer...connection...my room....), so much so that I didn't even try, and in those cases allowed myself to just speak English guilt-free.

With constant and insistent practice sitting in the cozy loft space of my dorm, declining noun after noun and adjective after adjective for hours on end while slowly sipping cups of fruit tea, my grammatical accuracy is slowly improving, and the connections between various endings and cases are gradually growing stronger in my mind, and rolling off the tongue naturally and with greater ease. But I only just learned the phrase "að vera skotinn í [einhverjum]," literally "to be shot in [someone], meaning "to be fond of" or "to have a crush on" someone.

As I've started to get more involved in community spaces with locals, such as the University Choir and the AFS volunteer and returnee community, and make friends within them, my Icelandic skills have taken on entirely new dimensions, and I've been proud of what I've been able to contribute to those conversations, albeit often tentatively and with great trepidation. Depending on the context, speed, and speaking style of the locals around me, I find that I'm often able to understand great chunks of what is going on, and also to contribute, to extents that often surprise me. I played a game of "never have I ever" mostly speaking in Icelandic in a hot tub with people from the choir during our recent choir camp. During the AFS volunteer retreat I participated in earlier this month, I contributed a bit of niche knowledge of bizarre time zones in the Pacific Ocean (specifically how American Samoa and Samoa proper are twenty-three hours apart, in spite of being just over a hundred kilometers from one another) to a conversation about geography and the International Date Line. But conversely, there are times when I am barely able to make sense of anything happening, and have to struggle so much to express myself that my budding skills are scarcely given any benefit of a doubt. I spent a lot of time with the three Icelanders and my Icelandic-speaking Danish professor on a trip I recently went on to a conference outside Copenhagen, and did my best to speak Icelandic with them, but for some reason that I can't quite nail down, I just...struggled. To understand them, to get what they were talking about, to join in conversation. At times, when I feel nervous for what ever reason, my tongue rebels and my mind seems to stop working, and my normally decent accent and conversational flow just disintegrate.

Since people here are so used to speaking English with foreigners, they often switch to English without even thinking of it, or really realizing that they are. In the past, this was something that I struggled with a lot, wondering if that meant that my linguistic knowledge was insufficient or holding back efficient communication, and it would always make me feel frustrated. Due to the overwhelming tide of English influence around the world, but especially here in Iceland, I often feel guilty speaking English abroad, especially when I'm somewhere to learn the local language (which is usually the case when I'm living abroad). Since I worked so hard to get back here specifically to learn and study the language, I feel anxious or guilty for feeling like I'm not taking enough advantage of opportunities to practice with locals, or improving fast enough. But through many conversations with people about these very topics, I've gotten some great perspectives, and realized that it's usually something people do without thinking with foreigners around, just because they're so used to it, and it's not (in most cases, at least) anything that reflects badly on my own abilities or knowledge.

I've also learned over the course of my time learning Nordic languages so far in general to prioritize quality and consistency over quantity in interactions. While it might be frustrating sometimes when people switch to English in short, transactional interactions like paying for groceries or ordering coffee, I would so much rather prioritize having regular, dynamic interactions with friends of mine from the AFS community or the choir where I get much more practice in. Even code-switching occasionally to accommodate others in those groups who maybe don't know any Icelandic or aren't learning it as their exclusive priority of everyday life like I am, I've gotten so much practice and so much insider knowledge (aside from lovely conversations getting to know lovely people) in those spaces which I'm so grateful for.

Guilt and anxiety have always followed me a bit in my journey learning languages, and Icelandic is no exception. When traveling and learning languages, I always strive to be the one to immerse myself, to adapt to my surroundings, to work hard to be able to interact and connect with the people around me in their language since I'm in their country. And when I'm not able to do so, I often struggle with feelings of inadequacy, or complacency in English overpowering knowledge of local or native languages around the world (which is obviously a gigantic systemic issue far bigger than me or my own life, and for which I cannot reasonably hold myself personally responsible).

But among all the insecurities, even just in this month and 26 days since I got back to Iceland, I've been given so many beautiful compliments that have meant so much to me on my Icelandic knowledge, and specifically on my bravery in being willing to talk to people and just throw myself headfirst into conversation without worrying so much about speaking with completely correct grammar or vocabulary.

Sometimes I wake up in the morning (now already in the dark) for my 8:20 am grammar class, and feel so overwhelmed by the endless pages of irregular declensions for every word, arbitrary case changes that follow verbs and prepositions, and countless exceptions to every rule that I feel deterred and hopeless, like I'll never be able to learn Icelandic like I want to.

But then I take a moment to realize just how far I've come in less than two months, from barely being able to string a sentence together, to now being more or less back a graceful conversational equivalent to the one I had at the end of my second summer program, back to being able to talk to people, and to do most simple transactional things in Icelandic with no issue. And sometimes even if I do stumble in a way that clearly betrays my foreignness, I get a kind and sympathetic smile in return, as if to say "I see you, I appreciate that you're trying, don't worry because you're doing great."

And even just with those, I have all the motivation I need to keep moving forward, and not give up on trying to realize this eccentric, crazy, and cherished dream of mine.

Þetta reddast.

The Difficulties of Exchange - Switching host families

Hey guys!

So at this point in my life I've been an exchange student seven times in six different countries. Three of those experiences have been homestays, in which I've been hosted by local families. In addition, I've become a proud volunteer and member of alumni communities of multiple programs I've participated in.

As a result, I've gotten to know a great many people who have been exchange students, who have hosted exchange students, volunteered for exchange programs and worked closely with hosted students, or have been closely involved with the exchange world in some way.

Many people that I've gotten to know over the years have had difficulties with their host families, which have at times extended as far as them having to switch host families. At times, it's a simple matter, something which takes place for simple logistical or timing issues which are out of everyone's hands, greatly lamented, and they stay in touch with the original host family in a completely peaceful manner. Sometimes their departures are fraught, dramatic, and at worst even scarring experiences. Sometimes they move down the road or just a few minutes away, and the rest of the exchange life continues relatively undisturbed as usual. Sometimes they end up moving halfway across the host country, and the host family change winds up being a defining and life-changing moment within the exchange itself, spelling a completely new chapter within it where they have to start all over again in a new town, new school, and maybe even a wholly different province or region.

Back in 2017, I participated in a program in Baku, Azerbaijan with the Critical Language Scholarship, a US State Department-sponsored scholarship whose job it is to send American university students abroad on two-month summer programs to learn critical or less-commonly taught languages, to study Turkish. I mentioned while I was there that about ten days into the program, I wound up switching host families. It was the first time that it had happened to me in three homestay programs and four exchanges total that I had completed at the time. But I only described it in vague and evasive terminology, as at the time it was quite recent and fresh, and I had been pretty shaken up by the whole experience.

Now, I want to tell my story in its entirety, so that it can be helpful and provide context to current or future exchange students on the reality of such occurrences.

When I first arrived in Azerbaijan, I was one of a few students that were hosted in families that consisted of one single, ostensibly widowed woman, whose children were grown and lived on their own. Initially, things seemed quite promising. I was worried that being hosted in a family consisting of only one person would be awkward. But she was extra nice. She treated me in a manner that was welcoming and friendly. She was unbelievably generous, always brewing scaldingly hot Azerbaijani tea and cooking me heaps of tasty food that would give a trucker a run for his money. She had a lot of very interesting perspectives, having been born and raised in Yerevan, Armenia, back when Armenia and Azerbaijan had never been to war, and each hosted large communities of each others' ethnic groups, and would talk a lot about her childhood in Yerevan and Armenian friends and neighbors she used to have when she lived in Baku. I had a lot of space in her house, and felt comfortable and at ease.

But after a few days, strange things started happening.

It became clear to me that the second room upper level of her house, where I was staying, was being essentially rented out. In the first week of my stay, several people came and went, including some that were clearly making use of the space as a sort of love motel.

Then she dropped a bombshell: She was leaving for Turkey for three weeks (almost half the program, mind you) because her daughter lived there and was getting married. She assured me that she would have relatives coming in regularly to check on me, and that she would leave loads of food ready in the fridge for me to heat up. She also advised me not to tell anyone from the program or the Azerbaijan University of Languages where I was taking my Turkish classes, so that she didn't get in trouble.

After my knee-jerk reaction of "am I a cat or something??" I decided to do exactly what she had told me not to. I called my residential director and told her about the situation. As I was taking advantage of a long weekend we had off classes for Bayram (Turkish for Eid, the end of Ramadan) and traveling to a city called Sheki up in the Caucasus Mountains in northern Azerbaijan, she advised me to relax, and that this was actually a big help, so that I could be far away while the problem was dealt with, and wouldn't have to confront her directly.

Although I enjoyed Sheki, the drama of what was going on back in Baku hung over the weekend like a dark shadow. As she was contacted, my host mother changed her story several times, namely changing to length of her trip from three weeks, as she'd originally told me, to ten days, to two weeks, over the course of several times she was contacted. She messaged me on WhatsApp, seeming crazed and frantic in her wording. The gorgeous mountain views and lush forests distracted me, but it was hard to focus.

By the time we were heading back to Baku, I'd already been given the choice between several backup host families, and picked which one I wanted to stay with. I was very open about how stressed I was about having to go back and get my things from my host mother's house, as after everything that had happened and how unpredictable she'd revealed herself to be, I wasn't sure what she was capable of anymore. The whole CLS group that year was very tight-knit and close, and people were very good about checking in, helping me with anything I needed, and assuring me that they would be there for me if I needed any further help. I felt uncertain, I felt afraid, but thanks to both the support of my program-mates and the prompt, swift, professional, and tireless response on the part of my RD and the other American Councils staff in Baku, I never felt like I was fighting that fight alone.

After I got back to Baku, my RD and another staffwoman from American Councils met me at the bus station, accompanied me to my host mother's house, and came with me to help me get my things. I'd been quite nervous the whole trip leading up to that point, and my anxiety skyrocketed once we got close, and was at a wild high when I saw her, and she was acting in a manner I'd never seen her before, as if there was a storm brewing underneath that she was barely able to hold back.

At this point, I didn't even try to maintain any semblance of order or consistency in my packing job. I threw clothes, books, everything that was mine haphazardly into my suitcase with trembling hands, wanting only to expedite the process of getting the heck out of there. The whole time I was frantically packing, she was frantically talking, trying to highlight reasons that I should be allowed to stay with her ("...look at all this space he has, where is he going to get that anywhere else?" "...he hasn't met my daughter yet, she's so amazing, he can talk to her in Turkish, Russian, English, German..."). She did seem genuinely distraught that I was leaving, and seemed to direct most of her anger at the staff for removing me, rather than me for blowing her cover, at least as far as I could tell. Though I tried to remember the logical elements of the situation - she had lied, she had tried to cover her ass, she had violated her contract, which stated that we're supposed to have at least one adult host family member staying there and breakfast and dinner everyday, she had probably only taken an exchange student to benefit from the stipend, which was not a sum to sneeze at when converted into manat, and so on. But it was still hard to think of all that seeing how distraught and desperate she seemed.

The rest was a blur. I waited with my RD in the taxi outside. My host mother was allowed to come out and say goodbye to me, and when she did, she also threw a whole lot of shade at my RD and the American Councils staffwoman. And so we drove off, and I was checked into the same hotel where we'd stayed right after arrival for the night, to then move in with my new family the next day. In spite of still knowing that I was in the right, that I hadn't done anything wrong, that I'd made the right decision by letting people know what was going on and pursuing a host family change, I still felt deeply shaken up sitting in the backseat of that taxi, staring out at the winding streets. This was uncharted territory for me, as I'd been incredibly lucky in my high school homestays and placed in kind and welcoming families that I'd never had any issues with, and I felt even more grateful in that moment that I was dealing with this sort of thing as a 21-year-old with far more experience, knowledge, and far thicker skin, rather than as a teenager far away from home in a wildly different culture for the first time. But it still shook me more deeply than I imagined it would.

My second host family made overcoming all of those difficulties wholly worth it. I stayed with a 75-year-old woman named Valide, an easygoing and kind lady with henna-red hair who cooked buttery kurabiye cookies that were crunchy, but would melt in your mouth after a bite or two, and were absolutely to die for, and her niece Subiye, a warm 25-year old with a warm smile and short, curly brown hair, who had moved in with her aunt to study to become an Azerbaijani teacher, but spoke to me in impressive Turkish. Their apartment was much smaller, but it was so much more homey. I felt welcome, and comfortable, and able to breathe metaphorically in their home, in a way I was never able to in my first Baku residence. The host family change impacted the homestay element of my experience almost universally for the better, and even besides the shadiness of everything that had happened, I felt so much happier and comfortable with them.

The reason that I'm telling this story is because I'm absolutely sure of the fact that there are exchange students out there that need to hear one like this right now, who may be struggling in their experiences, perhaps not feeling so comfortable or at ease in their host families' homes, unsure of how to proceed, and feeling like they've done something wrong. Like their experience is somehow affected or tarnished by not getting along with the family, or made less valid by this struggle. Like they've failed as an exchange student, and can no longer consider themselves wholly at home within that label.

And to let anyone out there feeling that way, that they're wrong.

Switching families is not something which diminishes your experience in any way. To anyone who is thinking of switching, in the midst of switching, or has already switched and feels negatively affected by it, know that you are valid. Rest, self care, and take time to process your feelings in healthy and restorative ways. But remember at all times that if you were reasonable, if you were willing to communicate and make compromises and grow, and it still didn't work for whatever reason, or especially if you were treated badly, it's not your fault.

If anything, you are brave and admirable to speak up for yourself, and demand the positive and welcoming homestay experience that you deserve like any other exchange student. Don't let this experience fill you with remorse or self-doubt. You are doing the right thing. This will allow you to see other sides of your host community and its environments, ones that will hopefully be far more soothing, welcoming, and supportive for you. Things will work out. This, too, shall pass.

And especially if you feel poorly treated, unsafe, if your host family is not conforming to basic elements of what's expected of them, or expecting you to hide stuff from the program, as happened with me, tell someone. Tell your RD, your counselor, a volunteer you trust, anyone who you feel comfortable telling that will be able to enact real and immediate change and get you into a better living situation as soon as possible.

And if at any point you feel truly down and out, or with no idea of what to do, know that you can always contact me. My comment sections and DM's are always open, and I am ready to listen with an open heart and without judgement.

Much love.

AFS Iceland Volunteer Camp Fall 2019 Padlet Answers

Hi everyone!

Recently, I participated in a volunteer camp with AFS Iceland, which was a fantastic experience (more coming up on that soon). Since I had significant prior experience volunteering, organizing, and being involved in the organization, I participated in the more advanced track of the two that we had, and had to complete a few extra steps and assignments beforehand. Most notably in the form of answering questions about teamwork and vulnerability, which we later used as material for discussion and reflection within our own specific track's activities.

Here are my answers.

• Share and example from fiction (can be a novel, tv show, movie) of good or bad teamwork and explain shortly why. 
  The Chronicles of Narnia (The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe):
  The Pevensie siblings in the first Narnia film are an example of bad teamwork turned good later on. Initially, there is quite a lot of tension and disagreement between them as they navigate the difficulties of being far from home, separated from their mother, and of Edmund and Peter specifically butting heads over Edmund's bad attitude and acting out, and Peter's desire to live up to their mother's wish for him to "look after the others." Up until about halfway through, Edmund is constantly making fun of, snapping out at, and actively trying to prove himself better than his siblings, ultimately culminating with his departure to the White Witch's castle, which leaves his siblings and many Narnians in great danger. After he sees how calculating and evil the White Witch truly is, and realizes the role which his negative attitude and actions contributed to her advancement, his perspective changes greatly. When he returns to his siblings, he is apologetic, but doesn't seek praise for his change of heart. He joins his siblings as a united front, contributing insider knowledge that he has been able to gain about the White Witch's plans, intentions, and army, which is of great help. The Pevensie siblings ultimately are able to defeat the White Witch and fulfill the prophecy they fit, through a combination of Peter and Edmund working to hold off the White Witch's troops, which greatly outnumber their own, and Susan and Lucy rushing to gain reinforcements with Aslan's help (and magical breath).

• Write a few sentences about the term "Teaming" and if you think that describes your experience within AFS.
  Although I do understand the thought process behind it, I'm not sure I agree either with Edmondson's assessment that teams have to be static in order to function properly. Although closeness and mutual understanding can certainly increase greatly over time, in other situations they can stagnate greatly, and new perspectives and beliefs introduced into a space, even just in temporary circumstances, can go a long way to introducing and precipitating substantial change.
  In my AFS experiences, as well as other similar exchanges, I've found that even groups of people I've been a part of for a very short time, such as a week-long Returnee Leadership Summit, or a semester-long exchange, can create very strong bonds and plentiful exchanges of ideas. In many cases, people continue to bring the ideas or information exchanged into places and contexts which they are a part of for a long time afterwards, rendering them highly valuable.

• Put down a few points on when you think teaming can go well vs when it doesn't (can be the same points as in the video or something from you).
  Teaming can go well in situations where people are interested in similar things, open to learning and change, willing to make compromises and sacrifices, and wish to accomplish a common goal. It is much harder without willingness to learn things from other people, as well as to make compromises and sacrifices. In such situations, even when people are interested in similar things, tension can grow and worsen group dynamics, and cause people to remain fixated in their own ways and own knowledge.

• How would you define vulnerability?
  I would define vulnerability as willingness to let down one's guard and openly express one's emotions and thoughts, and being willing to engage with others' emotions and thoughts when they are expressed, even if they may be different from what one is used to (assuming that they are posited in a respectful and non-threatening manner).

• What’s your current comfort level with vulnerability?
  I consider myself quite comfortable with vulnerability, and believe that being able and willing to feel vulnerable is one of my greatest strengths. My willingness to be emotionally open with people has enabled me to connect with many that I hold dear at deep levels that I would likely otherwise not have been able to, and allowed me to open myself to entirely new ways of thinking, approaching problems, and visualizing the world that have been greatly enriching and empowering for me.

• What’s been your best experience with receiving feedback? What about the experience was effective or meaningful? What role did vulnerability and/or openness play in the process?
  Three years ago, I was applying for a scholarship to study Turkish for a summer. As she was applying for the same scholarship (but a different language), I worked very closely with a very close friend of mine, who I had studied in Turkey with the first time we'd been there together. When editing my essays, she pointed out a number of flaws in the writing style I had used in my essays when applying for the scholarship the previous year (being subsequently rejected). Although I was confident in my writing skills from a young age, her blunt, but constructive and supportive feedback enabled me to understand ways in which I was applying writing techniques in these essays that would work in other contexts, but not there. My willingness to understand, process, and integrate her critiques into my essays enabled me to greatly improve my writing skills and taylor specific skills to certain contexts, which enabled me to get into the program and study Turkish the following summer, as well as to get into numerous other programs I have applied to using the same skills.

• If you’ve had a negative feedback experience (either giving or receiving), what didn’t work?
  I have dyscalculia, which is defined as "a mathematical learning disability that impairs an individual's ability represent and process numerical magnitude in some way" (I often refer to it as "dyslexia's math cousin"). Throughout my elementary, middle, and high school education, I often received extra help from tutors, academic support counselors, and an individualized education plan that were theoretically supposed to help me. But rather than investing time and energy into understanding my learning disability in full and making true concessions and compromises in helping me to succeed, I was essentially made to believe that it was an issue of mind over matter: that if I worked hard enough and got enough help, eventually something would click and I'd understand. In high school, I realized that this was not true, and that my learning disability is not something I would ever be able to overcome and change. I felt deeply resentful and angry that I had been fed a false narrative for so long, and that I had spent so many years struggling with insecurity over my disability and feeling stupid for something that is innately part of me and that I cannot change as a result.

• If you compare your answers from these first two questions, what’s the lesson?
  The two occasions described in my answers are quite different in their duration, scope, and implications. But there are important conclusions to be gained from comparing them: unlike many of my educators who largely overlooked my needs and fed me a false narrative from a flawed system they ultimately refused to deviate from, my friend Gianna, when reading my essays, processed everything she was reading calmly, comprehensively, and in context. She reflected upon it, and in a way that was respectful and thoughtful, mentioned what was strong, what needed improvement, and what aspects of my writing were strong in and of themselves, but would be better to use in different contexts of writing.So my conclusion from comparing the two would be that it is necessary to look into things thoughtfully and carefully based on their context and where they come from, in order to make a fair and determined assessment that will be constructive and not destructive.

• Have you experienced receiving a giving feedback with people from another cultures? How have those experienced been to you?
  I have been able to learn from and interact with people from many different cultures and countries from my exchange experiences and language classes. These experiences have varied greatly, as there is a great variety of technique and approach in giving feedback at individual. contextual, and generational levels, in addition to at cultural and national ones. But many of them have been greatly enriching and interesting, as they have revealed different tendencies and cultural conceptualizations of various things. For instance, in my experiences as an exchange student in Iceland and Finland, I have found Nordic people to be generally quite direct and straightforward when communicating about most things, in ways that are, to an even slightly experienced eye, very well-intentioned, but that to many from other cultures could be perceived as abrasive or even rude. In contrast, when taking Japanese in my final year of college in the United States, I noticed that the way my professor and her teaching assistants communicated, particularly with each other within the expectations of their own culture, was often more indirect, and relied on numerous implications through intonation, changes in language or vocabulary, or unspoken cultural norms of interaction.

Hope you enjoyed!


Nico

"Glee"'s Kurt Hummel and the Power of Representation

Picture this: the year is 2009.

Young Nico is 12, soon to turn 13, years old, in the midst of his sixth grade year, still relatively enjoying the novelty of being in a new, bigger middle school environment alongside new faces from other elementary schools in the Ann Arbor district, still not stressed and overwhelmed by the anxiety, sleep deprivation, and social toxicity that will mushroom the following year.

Barack Obama has just become the forty-forth president of the United States. Iceland has just experienced its intense and dramatic economic collapse in the midst of the Great Recession, and newly elected Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir, the world's first openly lesbian head of state, as prime minister. Michael Jackson's passing has fans the world over in mourning. Velvet tracksuits, multicolored tights, and leggings as pants are all the rage in fashion. Owl City's "Fireflies," the Black Eyed Peas' "I Gotta Feeling," Miley Cyrus' "Party in the U.S.A.," Jason Mraz's "I'm Yours," and Beyonce's "Single Ladies" hover at the top of the hot 100 charts and reverberate on radios anywhere.

And the first season of the hit TV show Glee has just started airing.

For the uninitiated, Glee is a musical comedy-drama series which aired on the Fox network for six seasons from 2009 to 2015, focusing on the adventures, triumphs, struggles, and close bond of the members of the show choir New Directions at the fictional William McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio. It follows the evolution of the group and its original members from a shaky beginning as a newly formed, rag-tag little bunch of misfits, which the school's cheer coach Sue Sylvester constantly tries to have disbanded, to a strongly competitive, talented, and high-energy powerhouse of excellent covers. The show features and covers numerous social issues in American society through the experiences of the characters and their relationships to one another, in ways which sometimes reflect the clumsier nature of social issues and how they were understood ten years ago - but always with a lot of heart, affection, good intention, and genuine desire for greater understanding and harmony among all people.

Many such examples are to be found with Kurt Hummel - talented member of the New Directions' original founding members, a consummate fashionista, and for much of the show, McKinley High's only openly gay student.

From coming out for the first time to good friend and fellow New Directioner Mercedes Jones, opening up about his sexuality to his quite traditionally masculine father Burt (to great acceptance - Burt later goes on to go out of his way to educate himself on gay issues and sexuality so that his son can come to him with questions like any straight boy could), and never being afraid to sing music, wear clothes, and experiment with forms of expression deemed traditionally feminine, to overcoming vicious bullying issues, and eventually finding a loving relationship with his first boyfriend Blaine Anderson, the other half of the iconic duo dubbed "Klaine" by many fans and shippers, Kurt's role in the show and gay representation in the media is not to be understated.

In the summer of 2018, a Klaine video popped up in my YouTube "recommended" list after I had just returned from my junior year of college studying abroad in Moscow, Russia and Turku, Finland. My curiosity piqued, I then spent the month I had at home before leaving for a summer program in Reykjavik, Iceland watching the first three seasons of Glee. The latter two for the first time. But I was surprised to find that the first season felt almost wholly familiar, like I was rewatching it, even though I didn't feel like I had watched it that closely when it was coming out.

Flashing back to 2009: At the time I had just received my first little netbook laptop as a Christmas present. But in spite of the greater mobility it offered to sit on my oversized beanbag in the quiet comfort of my own room, I still often preferred to spend my long sessions of perusing my new Facebook page on the computer in our living room, and often wound up at least peripherally watching whatever my sister was watching on TV as a result. Case in point with Glee. 

At the time, she was closely following Season 1. And even though I seldom actually sat down on the couch across from her to watch it together, it looked and sounded nice enough to capture my attention and get me to rotate the swivel chair at my parents' desk where the computer stood to pay attention for a while. Perhaps no more so than when Kurt was on screen.

At the time, I had barely even begun to realize that I was gay. I knew very little about what it meant to be gay, or the history and community behind the label, and was not self-aware enough to realize that the feelings I was struggling with were closely tied to feeling uncomfortable in my own body, not understanding the feelings that I couldn't control that so much of society was telling me were wrong, and feeling out of place and unrepresented in such a straight world. But among all the other tensions of feeling lonely, weird, and not enough in the socially cutthroat environment of Tappan Middle School, my baby gay angst and anxiety were some of the top causes of the stress I was undergoing. Even without an exact handle on that being a big source of my confusion and issues, even thinking that my stress and loneliness were exclusively products of the social environment and how I fit into it, I couldn't help but feel like something was deeply, fundamentally different about me compared to many others around me, far beyond the unique interests and habits that had defined me growing up, which often differed from those of the other kids, especially the other boys, around me.

"Gay" at that time was not a word with a pleasant connotation, usually either used as a general synonym of "bad" or "sucky" ("that's so gay") which has thankfully greatly decreased over the years, or to refer to what it actually describes - homosexuality - but in a greatly overstereotyped and disdainful way. Even though I wasn't yet aware of my own sexual orientation, every time I heard the word, or so many other hurtful and nasty ones associated with it, echo down my middle school hallways, my chest would clench and I would go numb with fear.

When I turned in that swivel chair from the ever-important business of making copious amounts of Facebook statuses with positively atrocious spelling and syntactical construction of all sorts (because for some reason I had it in my head at the time that proper spelling and grammar online was not cool), it was for a reason.

I was captivated and mesmerized by Kurt. I loved his energy. I loved his extravagant and innovative style, his fearless desire to push aesthetic boundaries, his refusal to let himself or anything he loved be defined by meaningless and trite expectations of gender norms. I loved his powerful singing voice and how it seemed to soar effortlessly into alto high notes. I loved his covers and how he brought who he was and his heart and soul into all of what he sang (perhaps nowhere else more so than his cover of "Defying Gravity," which I listened to for years, mesmerized by his beautiful voice and empowered of his rendition of a traditionally feminine song, especially before important turning points and new chapters of my life, like when I went to Italy in middle school for six months, before high school, and as I was getting ready for my high school exchange year in Egypt that I'd dreamed of for years, imagining myself soaring high above the Pyramids of Giza as he hit his high notes - I still listen to it lovingly as a reminder of my periods of greatest drive and determination in life, as well as to find new inspiration). I loved his high-pitched, softer-spoken speaking voice, how relaxing and soothing it was to listen to. I loved how even though sometimes he felt alone, afraid, mistreated, or ignored, he never let himself be walked over, and always called people out on their bullshit and didn't let them stifle him. I loved how bright, optimistic, effervescent, gentle, loving and kind he was. Any time I saw him on screen, I would light up and be mesmerized without quite knowing why. As I was only just beginning to understand at the time, I saw myself in him, I related to him, and I felt connected to him.

I think it's important to acknowledge the fact that there certainly were moments on Glee when various issues were handled clumsily or even in very insensitive ways, or where there were humorous references to things that shouldn't ever be joked about. I will be clear in saying that I don't overlook or play those down. It's definitely important to keep them in mind (in a way, it's also kind of helpful and reassuring to see how far we've come in terms of perceiving those things in just a few years). But conversely, I don't think it makes sense to write off the show completely as being problematic and overlook all the things it got right for those missteps. There are also numerous instances of very important issues, relationships, conversations, and representation that the show absolutely nailed, and as many of those moments and relationships are deeply important to many people, they deserve to be wholeheartedly celebrated.

Was Kurt, for instance, a bit stereotypical? Oh yeah, no doubt about it. But even rewatching the show today, I often find myself forgetting it. Because he's so confident and fearless and self-assured of who he is that he doesn't let the stereotypes define him. He always brings his own unique perspectives, experiences, and approaches to everything that the does, and does everything that he loves with immeasurable passion. He is fiercely devoted to the people that he cares about. He is brave and determined in everything that he does. He is committed to growing, to fulfilling his dreams, to doing what he believes is best. But, in spite of all the pain and hardship of growing up as a feminine, openly gay man in a small Midwestern town, he also remains strongly connected to the place he comes from and conscious of his sentimental connection to it and how it's shaped him, as well as to making Lima and all the places that matter most to him there better. He's an unapologetic hopeless romantic, both in love and life goals. He knows who he is, and he shares that with his loved ones and the whole world in absolutely beautiful ways. He sang with drive and passion, bringing all of who he was and what he had lived into gorgeous covers of iconic songs.

The issue of representation for marginalized people remains a critically important one for this reason. Looking back on how I felt watching the first season of Glee as a twelve and later thirteen-year-old, I am conscious of how important it was to have a character like Kurt on-screen that I could look up to. Seeing him being who he was openly and fearlessly was deeply, deeply validating and empowering. Even not being fully conscious of who I was just yet, I looked at him and I felt calm. Seen. Heard. And like I had a future. Like I could hope for growth and love and community and pursuing my dreams just like anyone else around me.

And for that reason, I will always be deeply grateful to Glee and to Chris Colfer, the amazing actor and singer (and now best-selling writer of the Land of Stories series!) behind Kurt, for allowing me to come into my own as a young gay boy looking up to such a beautiful and inspiring character.

The last year of life

Hi, everyone.

Although I have occasionally put out some posts, mainly of general reflections and some original written pieces of mine, I've recently realized that it's been just about a year since I properly updated my blog with actual events, comings, and goings of my day-to-day life. And that's far too long.

It's hard to sum up such a long period of time in all its multifaceted complexities, especially in retrospect. But I'm going to do my best to summarize and get across an impression of this last year of my life, and some of the most important things that have happened in that time.

Senior year of college:

From August of last year until May of this year, I moved back to Beloit, Wisconsin to finish the last year of my undergraduate degree at Beloit College. The first semester was incredibly difficult, as a number of trivial and not so trivial matters all came to a head at once: not feeling at home anymore on campus because it had changed so much and there was such a disconnect between my first two years on campus and my senior year; getting my heart broken; dealing with intense culture shock while readjusting after my time in the Nordic countries; having to really come to terms and deal with my depression; dealing with a lot of academic pressure; and so on. Some adjustments and changes were made: I dropped my international relations major, as I knew that taking all the classes I would have had to in order to finish it, while possible, was not feasible with my mental health issues. I gave a symposium on what I'd learned during my experience on my second language program in Iceland the previous summer. I got involved with a Sustained Dialogue group as a means of having deep and important conversations with people about critical issues, and getting to know some people from the two new classes that had come to campus in my time away (which was easy, given that I was the only senior in my group). Already scheming my way back to the Nordic world I missed so much, I submitted my application for a Fulbright fellowship to participate in an Icelandic as a second language program at the University of Iceland in Reykjavik. I found an amazing, cozy, and deeply important place among the community and friend group I gained by living in the Sexuality and Gender Alliance (SAGA) house, who truly took me under their wing and made me feel so welcome in such a difficult time of my life. We even spent Thanksgiving at my friend Sloane's house, taking advantage of a much-needed chance to get off campus and just chill, talk, and watch movies before finals. After working very hard to put down roots again and get involved with different groups and initiatives on campus, I thankfully finished my rather awful first semester finally starting to feel like I was getting settled and regaining a sense of place on campus again.


I spent winter break in my hometown of Ann Arbor, and in St Louis, where my family lived until recently. At around three weeks, it was the longest period of time I'd spent in Ann Arbor since my family moved away from my childhood home a little over three years ago, and after such an emotionally and mentally difficult few months, it was deeply soothing and nourishing to spend such a solid amount of time in the place I come from, to make it feel like home again a little bit, and to spend time with loved ones and family friends I've known and cared about my whole life - at Christmastime, no less. I originally feared my time in St. Louis would be greatly boring, as I've never managed to make a lot of friends there, due to the fact that my family moved there after I started college and I was only ever there for college breaks. But it actually turned out to be quite a lovely and relaxing time - my mental health improved greatly, and I was able to take a bit of time for myself and work on some little personal projects, like watching movies and catching up on shows I'd wanted to for a long time, and reading a bit for fun (I finished three books and started a fourth in just three weeks!) before returning to campus for my final semester of college.

My final semester was in some ways better and in some ways worse than the previous one. On the one hand, I felt comparatively much more settled, and was able to benefit from the structures I'd built during the first semester that helped me feel more at home and settled in. And I felt far less depressed. But unfortunately I struggled with far worse anxiety, and had some pretty tough, full academic schedule to work with on top of writing my thesis. I struggled with intense burnout, and at times really struggled to move forward.
But overall, it was quite nice in other ways. I solidified my place among the SAGA friend group and community, and the house environment changed nicely when some friendly new faces moved in. I wrote my thirty-page thesis about reciprocal linguistic influence between Russian and the Turkic languages, and gave a symposium about my thesis research halfway through the semester. I continued working my job as a student manager of the call center. I made some great new friends. I took chances and went all out, performing three times. I attended some great events on campus that showcased queer ball culture beautifully. And had a lot of fun.
Perhaps most triumphantly, I was chosen for the Fulbright fellowship I'd applied for, which was an intensely proud moment for me, a culmination of my previous Icelandic language studies, and a testament to my now solidified Nordic passions and life trajectory.
In May, I enjoyed all the great events during Senior Week - the Senior Gala, Party, visits from friends, and an excellent graduation ceremony - and walked across the stage in front of my advisor Donna Oliver to shake President Scott Bierman's hand, proudly holding my Bachelor of Arts in Russian as four intense years of learning, growth, experiences, trial, error, friendship, love, and struggles finally came to a close.

Spring Break in New Jersey and New York

When I had my spring break in March, I traveled to my dad's hometown of New Brunswick, New Jersey to meet him there at my grandmother's house and stay with her for the week. We spent lots of time with my grandmom, eating out at some of the great local restaurants. We visited a few of my aunts and uncles who live in the area, making the short drives out to Long Valley in the inland hills to visit my Uncle Rob and Aunt Carol, and to Point Pleasant Boro to visit my Uncle Bill, Aunt Jane, and their dog Molly, and go for a great walk along the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. I went into New York City two different days of the week, once to catch up with my good friend Sikander over a Sri Lankan lunch and a delicious, authentic Pakistani chai, and do a bit of wandering on my own before and after, and a second time with my dad to explore the city while he had a meeting.
I had a lot of fun everywhere I went and spent time during the week - New York is one of my favorite cities on the planet, and I greatly enjoy every visit. But I truly enjoyed everywhere we went - the variety of the different places, the coziness of spending time with relatives, and the beautiful feeling of being able to easily and quickly access authentic spaces of diverse communities. It was a much-needed escape from the Midwest and the day-to-day stresses of college life.

Summer 2019 in Italy and the Midwest

After graduating, I went back to St. Louis with my parents, and just managed to have a late dinner with my sister the evening we got there before she flew out the next morning to work an intense and exceptional position as a worker at a refugee welcome center in Austin, Texas. The rest of the six days I spent in St. Louis were devoid of any noteworthy activity, since I got all four of my wisdom teeth out at once the second day and was down and out for the count for several days thereafter.

After about six days back in St. Louis, I left for Ann Arbor with my parents. As usual, I had a great visit and a lovely time being back. I didn't do too many specific things; I made my rounds of my favorite restaurants and parks in town, visited some old haunts, got to catch up with a couple of my closest high school friends, and had a lovely college grad party which was attended by many of my dearest family friends and loved ones in town.
Every time I go back to Ann Arbor, I struggle a little bit emotionally, as returning to the place where I grew up, which I miss so much, as a visitor is still something that I struggle to adjust to and makes me feel detached from my past. But this time just like being back last winter, I felt more relaxed and at home than I had pretty much anywhere else previously for a long time.

After a week in Ann Arbor, my parents dropped me off at Chicago O'Hare on their way back to St. Louis, and I left for a six-week-trip to Italy.
I applied for a couple of summer programs, but didn't get in for the one that I wanted the most, the ARIT fellowship to study Turkish for six weeks at Boğaziçi University. As I studied elementary Japanese both semesters of my senior year of college, I looked into doing a summer program at Akita International University in Akita, Japan, but unfortunately didn't qualify to apply since I was going to be graduating. Realizing that I wasn't exactly desperate to rush into another academic program, especially given the fact that I was going to be on one during my Fulbright too, and that it had been a while (nearly a year and a half) since the last time I'd been in Italy, I decided to spend a large chunk of time visiting my friends and relatives in Italy.
I'll be honest in saying that the trip was something of a mixed bag. Being in Italy was, of course, amazing. As a place that I feel extremely connected to and at home in, it felt amazing to be back, and I felt so happy to catch up with all my loved ones there. I spent some relaxing afternoons swimming at the local pool to escape the intense, oppressive heat and humidity. I got to spend some amazing quality time with my relatives, close family friends, friends my own age, and even some AFS exchange students and volunteers that my friend Alex knew from volunteering in the local Intercultura Mantova chapter. I traveled to some lovely places - to Milan, to Rome, to my mom's close childhood friends' new house in the Apennine hills near Parma, to the beach at Marina di Carrara in Tuscany. I went on some lovely day trips and to an incredible falconry show with my aunt and uncle. And I got a rare chance to just relax, soak it all in, and catch up on some personal projects, like reading and writing for fun, perhaps most notably the piece on my identity, which I've since titled Everywhere Boy, inspired by the memories of my cherished childhood summer visits to Italy, reawakened in my mind by the feelings and sensations of being back in Viadana over the summer for the first time in eight years.
But the time period I chose to be there, as I found, just sort of happened to be a bad time for pretty much everyone that I was there to visit. My relatives were all working. My few friends my own age in Viadana that I remain close to were all studying for exams and had little free time, because the Italian university system is terrible in that exams are scheduled and sprinkled all throughout the year. My good friends that live further afield were also all either still studying or working. And so there were long stretches of time where I wasn't doing much of anything, repeating the same monotonous routine of waking up, going for a bike ride in the morning before it got too hot, avoiding the worst part of the day indoors, and then going to the pool in the afternoon. And so I was often left alone with my thoughts. 

I unfortunately spiraled in terms of mental health and got to some very dark thoughts and places, mainly on account of the constant body shame I was getting from my grandmother and the intense anxiety and depressive symptoms I had, which were being greatly aggravated by concerns about the news, reports, comments, and online rabbit holes I fell down relating to climate change and ecological breakdown. 

(As a side note, it's still something that I'm extremely concerned about and am doing my best to spread awareness about and fight for systemic change against in my daily life, but thankfully I haven't been constantly fighting depressed thoughts and anxiety attacks related to it for a while now).
In spite of the intense issues I dealt with over the course of the summer, it was still a great time full of some fun and important memories which I'm hugely grateful for, and it felt almost like coming full-circle in a way, being back for a long visit at the same time of year I always used to visit as a child, and reliving all those beautiful and important memories having just graduated college.

I left Italy on July 25th, and after arriving back in Chicago, I took the Van Galder bus up to Madison, Wisconsin, where my parents just recently moved to from St. Louis. The month I spent in Madison was honestly fantastic. Although I was still dealing with my eco anxiety, Madison was a very soothing place to be in - it reminds me a lot of Ann Arbor, as it has similar vibes as a college town with a similarly sized university. It's also a familiar place, since I spent a fair amount of time there with my parents while I was at Beloit, and Wisconsin in general feels quite homey to me after having lived there for the last three of the years I've lived in the States. I fell in love with Madison more deeply this time, exploring the downtown, the shops and restaurants, and the lovely beaches along Lake Monona and Mendota which surround the isthmus on which the city is built. It was deeply relaxing and fun. I also had a chance to hang out with two friends I met at Beloit. I also visited Chicago for a couple of days, staying at my lovely Beloit friend Julia's house, and meeting up with a few friends in town: Ri, who was our teaching assistant in freshman year Russian, and Miki and Chloe, Julia's roommate from last year and her sister. I also got a chance to see my dear, dear friend Paula for an afternoon, which was so fun and deeply restorative.

In the last week before leaving for Iceland, I went down to St. Louis with my mom, as most of my stuff was there and I had to pack. I got to hang out a bit with my sister as she arrived from a three-week visit to Italy, having arrived just days after me. I spent a lot of time going through my old journals, memory boxes, and school notebooks. And went for a few bike rides in Forest Park.

After returning to Wisconsin, I spent the afternoon of my final full day in the U.S. visiting my alma mater for a few hours, making the short drive down to Beloit to catch up with some friends, who had just returned to campus for the start of the semester the next day. I barely processed the fact that I was back due to lack of sleep and stress for the preceding few days. But it was nice to see everyone for a second nonetheless.


Iceland so far

As of publishing this, I've been in Iceland for just over three weeks. And so far, it's been a truly lovely experience.
I left Wisconsin on the 26th of August with a sense of surreal disbelief, and admittedly great anxiety, mostly just related to the stress of moving abroad alone again to a place where I don't have as many support systems. I had a fairly relaxing and uneventful trip to Reykjavik, and spent two days staying at a hostel before moving into my University of Iceland dorm, Gamli Garður (which means "old garden"). Since arrival, I've met the other Fulbrighters in Iceland during our orientation day, who are a dynamic bunch doing everything from research on Arctic fish stocks and glacial reconstruction to teaching Old English at the University. I've gotten a whole bunch of bureaucratic stuff sorted out, and now feel much more settled. I've been out a couple of times to events organized by the University and with new Italian, Catalan, and Swiss friends I've made in my University. I tried out for and got into the Háskólakórinn, the University of Iceland choir, which has proven an excellent space to practice Icelandic with the Icelandic choir members and through the music we sing, as well as a lovely return to singing, which is something that has always brought me great comfort and happiness (I sang in choirs throughout most of middle and high school). I've started classes at the University in the first year level of its Icelandic as a second language bachelor of arts, and although I do have difficulties at times, I've already improved greatly in Icelandic compared to when I arrived. And I've done my best to settle into a routine here, going to the pool often, of course (this time so far mostly to Vesturbæjarlaug, the closest pool to campus), for walks along the pond in the center of town, Tjörnin, when the sun is shining, and doing work at Kaffihús Vesturbæjar, a cafe near the pool, and at Háma, the university cafe.
This being my third time in Iceland, everything feels a lot more familiar and homey compared to other experiences I've been on like this in the past. It's almost felt like coming home, in a way. Since I got to Iceland, I've felt happier, more fulfilled, and like my life has more direction and purpose, more so than I've felt in a long time. And I couldn't be more thankful for that.

Thank you for reading. Going forward I'll do my best to keep blogging at at least fairly regular intervals. I've got some great ideas and drafts for posts keyed up, and I fully intend to publish them as much as I can going forward. And on top of that, I intend to blog at regular intervals, perhaps every month or so, about what and how I'm doing here on my Fulbright.

Heyrumst!
Nico

A beautiful fall song that I've been listening to a lot lately which reminds me of my childhood.