Every Breath You Take

It all feels a bit surreal. 

The clock on the dashboard reads 6:08am. I’m sitting in the backseat of a taxi watching green farmland dotted with small French houses out my window, as we drive down a nearly deserted highway road, the driver bobbing his head along to “Every Breath You Take,” which streams out softly from the radio.

I didn’t cry when I said goodbye to my host parents, but it’s here, in this anonymous taxi with American 80s music playing, that it suddenly sinks in: I’m leaving Europe. This trip is over. This will be my last memory of the 5 months I spent in Europe (cause airports don’t count) and the soundtrack is a Police song. My vision starts to blur just a little, and I blink, fighting the water behind my eyes. 

I’m not so much sad as I am in disbelief. I’ve reached the end of my semester; I traveled for three weeks after, came back and said my goodbyes to Strasbourg, but I’m not ready to be done. It’s a bittersweet, private moment of reflection I have in the back of that taxi (the driver was happily staring out the window, tapping his hand to the music), and by the time we reach the airport at the end of the 15 minute ride, my eyes are dry again and I know that I’l be back in Europe, sooner rather than later. The thought brings a slight smile to my lips. As we pull up to the departures terminal the song switches to “Disturbia.” 

Yep, I’m headed home.