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There are some pineapples in the garden of my house.
My mom planted them about two months ago, or maybe 3, I don't know anymore. But I remember that I helped her tear off the pointed leaves that she then put in two pots with a lot of soil.
“Pineapples take a long time to grow… your aunt planted one more than a year ago, and it barely ripened. She is small, but she told me that she came out very rich.”
I've never been much of a gardener, and I'm not the most patient, but that whole scene caused me a certain tenderness. Above all, when my mother with a smile on her face added “these pine cones then, they will be ready until you return from Canada.”
In February of last year I had the opportunity to apply for a one-year exchange in Germany, but I declined because I was preparing for the pre-selection process for the national billet team . My parents didn't see it as very convenient, they felt that I was putting my dreams of youth above my future. But they didn't object, they accepted it, and in the end, they supported me.
February of this year arrives, I find out that I did not make the selection, and I am preparing to start my paperwork to apply, now, for an exchange.
I don't really know why I chose Canada. Well, yes, because of the classes. Of course, for most of us it sounds attractive to go to Spain, Germany, Korea, China, or the most distant country we find, for me too, but honestly I didn't want a vacation, I didn't like any program as much as the one offered by the University of North Island in Vancouver Island, Canada, even though it was 2 hours from the big city, in an area surrounded by trees and cold.
I remember how tired I was of thinking. There was a moment when I didn't even want to go on an exchange anymore. I was terrified of loneliness, the fear of not fitting in, basically my insecurities came together to tie me to a chair, make a PowerPoint presentation and convince me that there was no point in leaving and I should stay.
But after so much doubt, nervousness, and internal battles, I overcame the barrier of fear.
It was a Friday and after many days of indecision, I opted for Canada. I gathered all my papers over the weekend, and on Monday, I handed them in. Then I realized that several more things were missing. Tuesday arrives and when I only had one step left, I see that the University I chose was not registered in the online system and everything turned gray inside me. So much time spent so that in the end, everything was an error on the website of the universities that were available?
I desperately seek support from my coordinator and she realizes that mistake. He contacted the office in charge of the platform, and after hanging up, he informed me that the only person who could resolve my question had already left, he took Wednesday's vacation, and therefore, he knew whether or not I could apply. for Canada, I would know until Thursday.
The last day to deliver everything was Friday.
I know that you will think that if you informed me first thing on Thursday, then I would have everything that day and a part of Friday to deliver everything.
But my brain doesn't work like that. It was Tuesday and I felt the time was ticking, I was sweating from the desperation of knowing if I would have to reanalyze all the available universities, continue printing forms like crazy, killing hundreds of trees, making a thousand copies of papers that I would never see again, or if I could just continue with the plan that, at first, I had a hard time assimilating.
Tuesday night, after being outside all day (because I study in the afternoon and train at night), my mom comforts me in the kitchen when she sees that I am collapsing from stress.
Wednesday morning and things are a little more serene, there is nothing left but to accept and wait.
Early Thursday, I send a message to my coordinator and she doesn't answer. An hour passes, I do the same, but still no response. I do my homework, go to school, go up the stairs to management and realize she's not in her office.
Panic.
Internal voice. “Everything will be fine, it's early, he'll be back any minute.”
About 30 seconds pass and I get desperate because he still hasn't returned.
And in that he appears like a guardian angel in the direction. She could swear wings were growing out of his back. The only thing I thought was that she would have used them to get to her breakfast faster.
We sit down, I remind him of the situation that was leaving me bald. To which she simply replies “Haven't I already warned you? It was a page error. The University is available.”
Ah, so now?
Yeah I know.
Then everything is normal.
Yeah.
Then I have until tomorrow.
Yeah.
Ah. OK. Thank you.
My unassimilated mind that I was constantly thinking about for the last 39 hours had been resolved in a 17 second talk. At that moment a weight lifted off my shoulders and before you think that my problem was that of a privileged white girl, I correct you, my problem is mental, and it does not distinguish between your skin color or socioeconomic level.
Everything went as it should go. Until it stopped being like that.
5 weeks ago I told my parents that there was still hope. 2 years ago (even more, even less, I no longer have a good perception of time) hope died: my exchange, and that of all the students who planned to have the university experience of our lives in the August-December semester, has been officially canceled .
Living through that week of stress when submitting papers was clearly worth it. I learned, again, about myself. Sure, I feel sad, but at the same time relaxed. Maybe, in the future, I will apply for a master's degree abroad with the savings I had for my exchange, or with them I will support myself in another city to do my professional internship, or maybe, and you who read me share this text a lot, I go viral, and I'm going to live in Hawaii.
I can't live stressed about things I can't control. I do what I have to do to the best of my ability, and even then, the result will always be uncertain. You never know when someone will eat a bat, think it tastes great, market it for decades in an exotic food market until suddenly, it sparks a pandemic.
At the moment I'm in my garden, watching the pine cones grow, and wondering if I'll actually try them.
