The Realities of Being an Exchange Student

For the lot of you who don’t know me, you should probably know that I was an exchange student for the year 2019-2020, before you dive into the article. I hadn’t really posted much about it on social media, or now that I come to think of it, nor have I spoken a great deal about it, in fear of TMI or being that exchange student who just hasn’t moved on and is only living in the past. I was always afraid that I’d bore people with stories they couldn’t relate to anyway. It’s been a whole year since I’ve been back, and only now have I realized why most exchange students start a blog during their exchange—it becomes their own space for catharsis. When you experience something so remarkable, you have a yearning to write about it. And so, I’ve decided to go ahead with it and write a compilation of articles comprising my experiences in the series: My RYE Diary.

Back in January 2019, on my 16th birthday, my parents decided to break the news to me.

I WAS GOING TO PORTLAND, USA AS AN EXCHANGE STUDENT!

I was just gripped with excitement! It has been my dream to be a part of the Rotary Youth Exchange Program since I was a pre-teen. I had grown up with students from all ‘round the world who had come to India. My sister had been to France for an exchange year as well. I have always been fascinated by languages and the different cultures of the world and I finally had my shot at it. 

So, what’s an exchange program, you ask me?

In a few words, an exchange program is all about you going to another country, living with host families, fitting in and learning their culture and way of living—learning things one wouldn’t have if they were just on a vacation. (In my case, living the life of a typical American teenager.) A student from another country would come to yours to do the same, hence an ‘exchange’. 

It was August 10th, 2019. I had a flight to catch later that day and reality still hadn’t struck me—the fact that I was leaving my city, all my friends, my family, my comfort AND time zone. I was happy, I was sad, I was nervous, I was exhilarated! I was flooded with emotion. 

It was a long journey and I had to be responsible and attentive throughout. Before I knew it, I landed at PDX (Portland Airport). My host families and a Rotarian had come to receive me with ten thousand hugs, wide smiles, and a ‘welcome’ banner too. I already felt close to them all! 

I stayed with Lorrie, the Rotarian who was in charge of me, for a week, before I moved in with my first host family. It helped make my transition smoother, plus, I got to spend time and bond with her.

Time passed by quickly and I was soon with my first host family, the Pellikaans (pronounced; kAAn). They made my welcome extremely special, by hanging a HUGE Indian flag outside my new home for everyone to see. It genuinely surprised me how much a host family can make you feel like your own. 

Not just my first host family, but I was lucky enough to have all three families be that way. All three of these households were such different experiences and I learnt so much from each family. 

My first host dad was Dutch, and mom was a Texan, so I ended up speaking a lot of Dutch words here and there on a daily basis. I mean, I even spoke more Dutch than Noah, their second son, which is saying something (smh you’re such a disappointment Noah). Oh, they also ruined normal hot chocolate for me by introducing the best ever Dutch hot cocoa.

My second host mom, Tanja (pronounced; Tanya), was Jewish, which was a culture I barely knew anything about. She took me to multiple ‘Shabbat Dinners’ and also to the Synagogue. I even celebrated a few days of Hanukkah with her. It was all so new and interesting and I just wanted to know more. In fact, I was also inspired to join the Jewish club at school, so that I could learn more about the culture. It amazed me that she devoted so much time and effort in learning Hebrew, since she converted to Judaism and wasn’t born into it, which itself sounds so difficult! I had a younger brother here, which was something completely new to me since I’m the youngest in my real (lol) family. 

In my third host family, the Bourgaults (pronounced; Borgo), I was introduced to a whole new blend of cultures. My host dad was French, and mom was a Latino from Venezuela. I would just randomly hear Spanish through the day, sometimes even some French as my younger sister here, Josie, was learning it. I had a brother too, Remy, and every single time someone called out his name, it only reminded me of the movie, ‘Ratatouille.’ 

Moreover, my exchange student-friends were all from different countries in either Europe or South America (even other countries in Asia) which just made it all the more exciting for me. I was kinda obsessed (still am) with Brazilian culture since the day I met Ana, one of my closest friends now. I constantly kept learning Portuguese by trying to speak it with her. I also had a go at learning tit-bits of French and German. I mean, if you have me on Apple music and go through my playlists, you’ll find so much of Brazilian funk and Portuguese mellow and French rap and French mellow. That was the easiest way to learn the language, to be honest—through music. Through the year, some of the exchange students and I became a tight-knit group, even though we lived all over the state and couldn't meet all the time. Every time they were in town, they would stay with me for a whole week, which was good enough for me because luckily I still had Ana and Pia (the Austrian exchange student) in the same city as me :)

Now, getting to one of the biggest realities of any exchange student—High School.

School was tough. The curriculum and how strictly you’re supposed to follow it? Yes, for sure. But also, one of THE most difficult things I had to tackle was making friends. It was way harder than I thought it would be. The thing is, no one really looks for making new friends when you’re a senior in high school (I was a senior i.e. twelfth grade). Everybody already has their own group of friends and doesn’t really want to befriend or interact with anyone new and random, no matter how hard you try. People never wanted to have a conversation that lasted for more than two minutes or anything more than just small talk about “how cool it is that I’m from India” or “how cool it is that I'm an exchange student!” 

Of course, I did make a good bunch of friends, but they weren’t in the same classes as mine throughout the day and I used to meet them only for lunch, which kind of started becoming the highlight of my day. Soon enough I hated attending classes, no matter how much fun and excitement they offered. I would either just be on my phone or listen to music during them. I did try my best nonetheless, but most of the time, it's usually just us working on our individual projects, and the entire class would have someone to goof around with, except me. I would almost feel helpless. Or better yet, invisible. It just demotivated me. Lunch became the only reason why I would wanna go to school anymore so that I could meet my friends and chill. There’s no denying that I got to have the typical American high school experience, but at what cost? 

Another one of the realities I faced was the climate. 

Being a person who is a huge fan of winters, I found it funny how living in Portland was a whole other extreme to get used to. There was one constant weather throughout the year. It would just either be cold+rainy (which was the absolute worst ever. I mean, imagine it raining cats and dogs at minus degree Celsius temperature), or cold+sunny (which was my favourite. Still cold nevertheless) or even cold+windy (which was bad too.) The fact that I went from a 40° Celsius (104°F) weather in Nagpur to a 40° Fahrenheit (4°C) weather in Portland, messed with me at the beginning. It was amusing how by the end of my time there, I was up and about wearing a tank top and shorts. A True Portlander.

Being on exchange really forced me to develop a sense of maturity and responsibility—doing things for myself, like going to the bank, getting an account and a card made for and by myself, being in charge of when and where I go. I had utmost freedom in a city I had never been to before. I had to figure out how to travel by myself using public transport, in, out and around the city. Sure, I used to get lost from time to time, but after the first two-three times, the panic settled and it actually became kinda fun—not knowing exactly where you were. I even stopped using Google Maps to try and find out. I would wander aimlessly, with (or sometimes even without) music in my ears… Just walking through each neighborhood, each section, and each part of the city, discovering new quaint cafes or fancy ice cream places with the most random flavours, every single day. 

Now that I’m jotting this down, yes, it may sound alarming, walking around a big city, getting lost and all that. But very honestly it wasn’t. (All my Moms and Dads, if you’re reading this, I swear I was responsibly lost).

I started recognising Portland as my second home and in addition, the mystery made it all the more exciting. Soon enough I knew all the bridges, all the areas, and most of the directions like the back of my hand (I don’t even know Nagpur so well!), and I wouldn't have been able to do so if I were dependent on GPS or my host families. 

It was incredible to see myself grow so much over the span of just one year. Stepping out of my hometown gave me a whole new outlook on life and its many oddities. It was a new environment to breathe in—a fast-paced city. I was introduced to so many new people and an entirely different mindset. Having experienced things I wouldn’t have otherwise (till maybe, college) redefined how I perceived and reacted to things. I no longer dwelled on situations that held me back, which wouldn't even matter much at the end of the day. I now see myself enjoying the simplest of simple pleasures in life. Most importantly, it gave me confidence. I was more put-together rather than all-over-the-place. I became less dependent and started loving myself for who I am. 

I’m eternally grateful to my family for giving me the best gift—the one year that I needed more than I thought I did.