After all, it was in the airport as I waved my dad and sister goodbye as they watched my transition from security to terminal, more so they could laugh at my horrible attempt to distort my helpless expression into one of excitement, that I dubbed myself an orphan for five months. Parent-less, without siblings and no real family for the duration of my stay down under. Or so I thought.
The first thing that would disprove my premonition was when we sat around in a circle in the terminal and one by one introduced ourselves; name, major hometown, the usual. Some even broke the timid confinements of this sphere to reveal a fun fact about themselves (I have a twin sister is always my go-to). I already knew the majority of the kids in our group, an inescapable side-effect of attending a school of 4,000, but there were some faces I had never seen before. And although the ice breaker was more of a joke to pass the time during our five hour layover before heading to New Zealand, the last stop impeding our final destination to Melbourne, its underlying purpose had been served as we all, through the most obvious and overused method possible, began to know each other a little bit better.
Once we boarded that flight we were anxious. We were excited. We were delirious from overdosing on sleeping pills. But together we upheld the title of "those obnoxious Americans" as (thanks to Alex who brought her ukulele) we provided the makeshift audience that were the passengers on the plane with ipromptu jam seshes with every landing, takeoff and bump on the plane ride. Improvising lyrics, strumming until someone jumped in with a verse, and playing for the sake of a boredom-induced desire to annoy the people around us was the soundtrack for the flights..of course, and much to our audience's pleasure, until the ambien kicked in.
You'd think that after 37 hours of attempted sleep in the awkward positions only an airplane seat can produce, dragging overstuffed carry-ons through terminals and gates, changing time-zones, planes, countries, hemispheres and crossing the date line all the while drifting in and out of a nomadic delirium that the first thing we'd do once we secured a key to our new home for five months was fall into a much deserved sleep. You clearly don't know us very well.
Does a saying exist such as You can take the hound out of college, but you can't take the college out of the hound even if said hounds finds themselves thousands of miles away from York Road? Whether it does or not, the events that ensued from that first night and the following week caused us to collectively question "Is this real life?" due to our inherent desire, as instilled through two and a half years of attending Loyola and taking full advantage of the underage alcoholic outlets it has so generously provided for us, for lack of a better term: rage.
And rage we did. Together..as a -family? I guess this is where the dysfunctional part comes in. We were an overwhelming force of hounds on the loose every place we went leaving innocent pedestrians staring in our wake as the DJ played songs that were iconic to our beloved and dearly departed Craig's. We hugged each other and swayed with each lyric. We sang along like the words were our anthem. We introduced seemingly-choreographed dance routines that had previously' been reserved only for inside the walls of Craig's. And for sure we set the record for the longest Bernie Line ever.
Through these nights of novel euphoria induced both by infatuation and intoxication, family roles became evident. Some secured patriarchal and matriarchal ones. They decided where we were going that night and made sure everyone got home in one piece. They declared family dinner which was always a culturally appropriate barbecue. Others, such as myself can be identified with the role of indifferent child. Sure I'll go there tonight if you guys say so, and even throwing in the occasional whiny are we there yet on our commute from campus to city to bar.
Along the way several other American exchange students have made this dysfunctional family an extended one, hailing from Wisconsin, Connecticut and Arizona to name a few. So sure our Christmas card might show twenty nine of us chugging goon straight from the bag, and our traditions may include belting out "big booty bitches" every time the DJ plays the song but our group, in all its dysfunctional glory, truly make this experience more memorable and enjoyable. If I ever feel homesick I have 28 relics from home that I didn't have to shove into my luggage.
After these five months are up, and all's said and done, I can truly appreciate what I have back at home, the opportunities this trip offers, and most importantly, the people I have alongside me to share it with.
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