I heaved a sigh and stared down at the unbearable classwork. It was the last class of the day, so none of us Americans were paying attention. Maybe the brainiac of the group was trying to decipher the teacher’s German words, but the rest of us had turned off for the day. We just wanted to go home. For the other three, I assumed home meant their host families houses. For me, it meant America. I felt alone in my homesickness, but I had learned to grin and bear it. After all, I was only in the third month of my nine month long year studying abroad. The bell rang loud and clear and I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I shoved the sheet of paper into my backpack and slung it over my shoulder, getting out of the starkly adorned classroom as fast as I could. I walked through the white halls and put my headphones over my ears, playing whatever decided to come up on Apple Music. Just before I reached the bottom floor, I was stopped by my math teacher. We had a nice chat, my grades being good and my work being thorough. After we bid each other farewell, I booked it for the bus stop. I made it just in time, swinging myself into the seat right behind the driver. Bus rides were the only times I had to listen to music. My host family wasn’t very musical. I selected Jagged Little Pill on my phone and melted into the cushions, savoring my only time to myself that day. Today was a birthday in my host family, meaning aunts, uncles, cousins, and everyone in between would be at the house. I wasn’t excited.

When the bus screeched to a halt at my stop, I pushed myself from the seat and thanked the bus driver. He smiled and waved. Though we only exchanged a few words a day, he was a better friend to me than most. I trudged through the mud, to my host family’s house and made my way up to my host sister’s room, where I was staying. I laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I shut my eyes.

When I opened them again, I cold hear bustling from downstairs. Guests had arrived. Bruno’s wild barking hurt my ears as I psyched myself up to enter the fray. I slowly made my way down the stairs and painted a smile across my face. I greeted everyone and sat down at the table.

As the evening went on, I had a few conversations with people, but was mostly just ignored. I didn’t mind. Suddenly, something shoved against my arm and my plate clattered on the table. The dog had stolen my food. The room exploded with chaos. Bruno ran across the floor, scarfing down the bread as fast as he could. “You have to pay attention!” one of my host sisters yelled at me. “Why weren’t you watching? You have to watch him!”

The youngest of the three host sisters pulled the soggy bread from his mouth and wrapped her arms around him, whispering comforting words into his ear. I don’t know if it was the accusatory words spilling from my host sister’s mouth, the yelling and chaos, or just the overwhelming sense of homesickness swirling in my head, but on the spot, I started to cry. First, the backs of my eyes stung, then my lower lip began to quiver. I tried to will the tears back into my eyes, but it was futile. I stood from my seat and walked upstairs. The moment I was alone, I broke down. After few moments, I heard a soft knock at the door. I watched it open. It was my host Oma. She looked worried as ever. She hurried over to me and gave me a big hug. I let her, a rare occasion for me. We stayed like that for a long while as I cried. When we finally broke apart, the sobs had been reduced to sniffles and I smiled. She reciprocated. At the end of the night, I bid everyone goodbye and returned to bed. I took deep breaths, recounting the events of the day. It all seemed like a blur, but so was every day. I closed my eyes and conjured up an image, however blurry. It may have looked like the mountains of Austria to anyone else, but to me it was a day. A day of ups and downs. And everything was going to be okay.