I can distinctly remember the moment when I fell out of love with America. Until this point, I loved my home country so much to the point that I aspired to be a Senator. It was Autumn of 1999, I was fourteen, and on vacation in Egypt with my Aunt. Whilst taking a cruise up the Nile, we ported in Luxor and the only other person my age and I went off on our own to explore the marketplace. We were about three miles from the boat when I felt something sharp strike the back of my knee, and again the same sensation seconds later. The same was happening to the girl I was with. We turn to find four Egyptian men, probably in their twenties, sitting atop a brick wall, hands filled with medium sized pebbles. When it becomes apparent that we’ve noticed them, they jump off the wall, still throwing the rocks at us. Naturally we began to run. We ran, they followed. We made it back to the safety of our ship with a few cuts (which have since turned to scars) and out of breath. Our tour guide, a sweet elderly man named Muhammad, sat both myself and the other girl down and explained how not everyone takes kindly to American tourists, or to females with the freedoms we have.
It may seem like an obvious sentiment to many, but think about the history courses you took in school. We learn that America is the greatest country on Earth; it’s ingrained in us. To have this inherent fact shattered partially broke my heart, but mostly opened my eyes. I now saw it as my mission to understand other cultures, and how other countries view America.
In 2003, I took part in a foreign exchange with a high school in Munich, Germany. It was the height of German hostility towards American politics, and many days I witnessed first hand Anti-American protests. When I would meet strangers they would lecture me on how wrong our government was, as if I had some control over it. I was only 17, couldn’t vote, and just as upset about the outcome as they were. It was then my cynicism reached an all time high.
Since then, I finished university and quickly departed to the country I’ve always felt kinship with, the United Kingdom. I spent the next six months integrating myself, and truly for the first time, feeling at home. Some may say my move from Manhattan to London is not a big difference, but I cannot begin to explain the sense of comfort and stability that overcomes me whenever I get off the plane in the UK. Unfortunately, as an American citizen, I was only able to receive a visa which would allow me to work for six months. After that, it was back Stateside. Just as I began to lose all hope and accept my parting with my Euro life, I received a job offer in Budapest. Not London, no, but still Europe. I returned home, awaiting visa processes when it becomes apparent that it cannot happen due to my American citizenship. Back to square one.
My good friend Jessica came to the rescue and got me a job for a few months in Seattle working on a film. So here I am. About to embark on a 3,000 mile journey coast to coast. I see this trip as not only a job, but as a chance to attempt to reconnect with the country I’ve tried to detach myself from. That is the intent of this journal. An exploration of an ex-expat’s trek to find solace in her life in America. I haven’t given up hope on getting back to Europe, in fact I have some options I am already working on. But, I would like the opportunity to be as happy here if I find there is no return for me.
