The idea of spending a year of my life in a far away country is one that my family probably ought to have predicted. And yet, my mother is the only member of my family that seems to regard this trip with optimism or excitement. Aside from brief moments of worry remedied by assurances of my handle on the situation, she has decided this will be an extraordinary adventure in personal development, and is eager to visit once I am settled.
My father, in my opinion, has adopted an attitude of resignation, understanding he has little power against my set will. His overt questioning of my decision has been limited to, “Are you sure you want to go for a whole year?” With my assurances, he has not raised concerns since, but has been very helpful with logistics and such.
My step-father regards this whole idea as ludicrous, rather like counting to five when throwing the holy hand grenade of Antioch (Monty Python…). His comments, such as, “It's the only country that still has the plague!” come from a place of parental concern tinged with feelings of imminent doom, and Seinfeld.
My brother has expressed as much interest in this development as he would were I to tell him to say that we bought sponges at the grocery store.
The dogs remain in blissful oblivion.
My feelings towards the trip fluxuate from “nervous about insignificant hypothetical details” (such as, how will I order my first meal?) to “feeling this trip is very far away and nothing to be concerned about.” Sometimes it even stops on “excited to go and have fun!” I remain convinced that everything will work out due mostly to friends and strangers who, when I tell I’m going away to India for a year, respond with, “You are going to have so much fun!” with such conviction that I can not help but to believe it to be true.
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