A common case of Erasmus angst

It’s 2012.

This year many of you will ‘jet off abroad’ on some kind of Erasmus scheme/more boring equivalent. Your approach to this depends on whether you are person type A or person type B.

Type A: “I’m SO excited about my year abroad..!” Type B: Me. Read on for elaboration.

As a language student, I’ve heard that expression of (naïve?) excitement thousands of times this year and we’re only half way through this academic stint. The reality of the situation is, that come July, we will be forced to fit our lives into a suitcase that you have to pay Ryan Air £30 to be allowed to take, (deffo need more than the ‘free’ hand luggage this once) and pushed onto the plane while our younger siblings wave joyously from Gatwick’s departure lounge. Little Emma (sibling) jumps for joy at the gate, looking forward to 18 months of uninterrupted room-looting, the luxury of regular sleepovers in the remarkably better bedroom and sole-use of the internet (in my ‘home-house’ we remain in the stone age… NO WIRELESS… I know, God forbid).

Dad remains matter of fact “Bye daughter/son, be safe, don’t take drugs,” while Mum runs through a million last minute and frankly unnecessary checks… “Have you got..? Don’t wander off on your own! Oh God, have you got your phrase book?” The truth is Mum, that if I need a phrase book by now, I’m screwed. And then off I’ll trudge to a land of unknown cultures, languages and people. Alone. It’ll be 18 months of constant fear mixed with continual struggle to integrate myself into a remote village in the depths of Deutschland.

All sounds fantastic doesn’t it!? Not only do I have to deal with all of the above, but also the knowledge that while I’m away, all of my best friends in the world will celebrate their 21st birthdays… without me… And I will have to celebrate mine- alone. Toute seule. Ganz allein. Aha.

The majority of my BFFs will graduate and I won’t be there to celebrate at their Final Fling with them (or whatever our crazy union invents next year).

Alongside all of this excitement, I live ‘safe’ in the knowledge that any current boy interests CBA with long distance ridiculousness, so that it is in fact a time bomb waiting to explode, marking the ‘relationship’ even now. Oh wait, it just did.

That is why every time I am forced to consider the year abroad, I don’t get filled with nervous-come-excitable butterflies, but an unwelcome lump appears in my throat that brings its friends The Tears with it.

“Why didn’t I take a standard degree?”

It’s rather lucky for you, little second-year, now quaking in your boots, that I wrote this two years ago, merely months before I fearfully boarded an orange plane destined for Berlin. I was literally terrified; and rightfully so at times. The low point of my year abroad, had to be the moment I was screeched at in the school foyer in front of my pupils by a colleague. I didn’t consider it to be my fault that I didn’t want to move to her offer of accommodation, smack bang in the middle of a Neo-Nazi zone, renowned far and wide in Germany for its right wing tendencies. She disagreed, refusing to see my point of view and then ignored me for the rest of the year. Probably her loss.

But the thing is, to be honest, the year abroad is amazing.

The Erasmus crowd usually meet incredible people, party a lot and go on crazy trips… the teaching assistant crew gain an insight into teaching, live off an insane amount of money for the minimal work required and frolic around their foreign land of choice thanks to more days off than actually at work. But everyone goes on (cheese alert) a journey of self-discovery (blurgh).

You learn to get along on your own; how to tackle loneliness; how to say YES to opportunities you ‘know’ you probably won’t enjoy; how to take the German harshness with a pinch of salt, reminding yourself it’s just ‘the German Way’ and that they honestly mean no offence; how to get along with people you’d never normally choose to socialise with; and how to walk home on your own in the dark.

You go from ‘scraping by’ with your language ability, to something near fluency – what an incredible feeling. You get to travel Europe, jump on the train for a mini-break at nearly any major city in your country because of well-placed friends, and try new food, drink and cultural events.

You could go on a French strike (or 10), or have a thigh slap at Oktoberfest in Lederhosen.

And at the end of all of this, you just feel different. I can’t put my finger on it. But I know I can do anything I want to now.