I’m home, and being home feels strange. It feels strange because it feels like nothing has changed. I feel like I have just finished an incredibly moving book, but no one else understands the emotions I feel or the experience I’ve had.
I have had trouble expressing how my experience was because people always ask, “How was it?”. It was great. I loved being there, but that doesn’t describe my experience at all. It doesn’t describe what I did each day, what I learned, or the people I met. I would need hours to talk about everything I would want to, and even then I don’t think anyone would understand.
The only people who do understand are the other volunteers I met. Because of that connection, I’ve been talking to them nearly every day through Facebook. Whenever they talk about what’s happening, I get a little sad because I wish I was with them.
However, I have missed being home, and I especially missed my family and friends. Even though my life is suddenly back to normal, every time I do something I am reminded of my experience. When I open the refrigerator and notice it doesn’t smell like rotting food I am thankful. When I see a little kid, it reminds me of all the great ones I met. I hope I always remember my experience like I am now.