We did it. We're done. Absolutely, finally, definitely, although unfortunately, done. Our EF exchange year is officially over.
The majority of exchange students spent the last weekend of their exchange year in what I believe must be one of England's most beautiful and exceptionally British cities. We didn't get to see much of Winchester, and if I'm honest, it was a bit of a shame that we didn't get the chance to walk past all the spots where we made our first British memories 10 months ago, because believe it or not, magical things can happen at McDonald's. Seeing everyone again after so many months of contact that was limited by distance, money and time, with Snapchat only giving us a taste of what it would feel like to enthusiastically report our stories to each other over coffee or a cup of tea or two (most likely two, just to signify that we've actually been living in England). Although we've all had different experiences, catching up did still involve feeling a sense of relatability, whether it'd be about what it has been like to live with our host families, make friends or adapt to British culture and their endless list of slang words (It's been a piff year, guys).
When we finally arrived in Winchester and grabbed our slices of pizza, I realised that the four hours long drive had ultimately been worth it in the end. There was not, and never will be, enough time to talk about our experiences, our ups and downs that were saved by fantastic encouragements embedded in EF's regular e-mail updates, but I suppose we could all conclude that it's been a rollercoaster (insert winking face emoji here). Luckily not the one where you throw up after having been a breath and a Final Destination 3 scene away from death, but the mixture of fear and excitement in the beginning does still somehow apply to what it all felt like at the very beginning of our exchange year. The well-prepared speeches by two exchange students we got to listen to during the graduation ceremony pretty much summed up everything that I could mention about the challenges and positives, as well as the relatable, obligatory jokes about British stereotypes, so I'll spare you that part. Hats off to the two girls that performed their speeches. I hope we all looked good naked.
The emotional speeches, reminiscion and awkward but surprisingly fun receivement of our graduation certificates were followed by glasses of what we hoped to be the alcoholic kind of sparkling water (pretty sure it was apple juice) and the traditional throwing hats up in the air.
After having been all pretty and dressed up for the ceremony, we stormed to the dining hall for our last supper - wouldn't have surprised me if Jesus joined us for this one, too, the tables were all covered in what can't be described any differently than having been a cake and pudding extravaganza. Of course they would serve lasagna, I remember thinking, after all, it had almost felt like I'd been on exchange in Italy. Shoutout to all the amazing and pasta-enthusiastic Italians I have met, and thanks for enlightening me about the true cruelty that lies in putting ketchup on pasta. I will forever be a defeater of such a crime.
(Thank you for the picture, Anna. I know many others have been taken, but this one was perhaps the only fully appropriate one. They make a good screensaver, by the way.)
Now that our bellies were full of wonderful food and unregrettable slices of cake, it only seemed natural to do what we've been told: to dance the night away (seriously, where are my winking face emojies, a man needs his sarcasm). Despite the fact that the DJ played classics from the most unfortunate century for music, I must admit that dancing with my friends and the Queen (yes, the Queen) while only half ironically screaming the lyrics to classics such as JB's 'Baby', was probably the best way to end everything on a high note, despite the harsh realisation that this actually meant goodbye. I know I'm handing out my shoutouts in this blog post like there's no tomorrow, but SHOUTOUT to the DJ who played Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody for us at the end, you're f-ing ledge.
A wise man once said
"It's not a year in a life. It's a life in a year."
Which is obviously B.S.
But, hell, has it been a good one.