As promised last week, here is an essay I wrote about my experiences as a Rotary exchange student. This essay was written in 1997 and was originally published in Voices: Reflections from a Community of Writers (The Educators' Journal of the Plymouth Public Schools, Plymouth, MA) in Spring of 1998.

I have evolved as a writer over these last 13 years. Part of me wanted to revise the heck out of this before posting it for the world to read. But, I decided to leave it. It reflects who I was at that time in my life. My usual blog posts reflect me now.

Growing Up

In June of 1985, at age sixteen, I boarded a plane for the first time. Not only was I facing my first plane ride, I was leaving my family and friends for one year. I was beginning the first leg of a trip that would take me half way around the world to the Philippines. I knew nothing about the people, culture or language, yet I knew it was an experience I could not miss. I thought about the fun my high school friends would have without me. I thought about my two younger sisters and the parents who raised me to be open to the journey upon which I was embarking. My father cried as I boarded the plane, but I knew he still wanted me to go. I had to find out what was out there.

Within four months time I was able to engage in simple conversations in Cebuano, the local dialect. At a local function, I even sang a popular song in Tagalog. People told me that they forgot I was an American, despite my blue eyes, fair skin, and light brown hair. They told me I acted and spoke like a Filipina. I felt like I belonged.

Three months later, as tensions grew between Marcos and Aquino, I found myself caring about the oppression that had existed under Martial Law and joined my friends in their cries of “People Power.” I attended rallies, at which Aquino spoke, and supported my friends in their desire to make change. The day Marcos fled the country there was much celebration! “People Power” actually worked! There was no fighting. Peaceful protests and rallies had made a difference.

With Marcos gone, I was able to travel extensively. I took a bus up a winding mountain road to Baguio. I slept under a mosquito net in a nipa hut while a typhoon raged outside and a coconut tree crashed through the roof. I stood on the bamboo drying racks of a seaweed farm house (a building on stilts in the middle of the ocean) as I watched a water spout come straight toward us and then reverse direction as quickly as it came. I listened to my host father speak at a high school graduation in the barrio trying to empower the students to use their sustainable, local resources to provide income for their families.

I learned many things that year, but none was as important as my appreciation for diversity and my willingness to adapt to new situations. I “grew up” in the Philippines. I became and adult who sees the world in a different way. I learned to appreciate the freedoms we have in the United States but also to see the tremendous value in maintaining the local cultures of other nations. United States citizens do not know the only way to do things. My growing up there has guided every decision I have made in my personal life. It has also affected the way I run my classroom, relate to my students and teach them about the world.

Have you been an exchange student? Have your children? Have you hosted an exchange student? Please share your experiences.

Travel Tuesdays: Exchange Students

"Travel has taught me the fun in having my cultural furniture rearranged and my ethnocentric self-assuredness walloped. It has humbled me, enriched my life, and tuned me in to a rapidly changing world."

Rick Steeves, Travel as a Political Act

When I was a kid, my sister's best friend often hosted Rotary exchange students. I most remember Anita from India and Jorge from Mexico. I was fascinated by Anita's musical accent and the anklets that adorned her ankles. I remember Jorge as more reticent, though he was interested in talking to us and sharing Spanish words.

So several years later, when I was a sophomore in high school, I was excited by an announcement on the school's PA system that said the Rotary was seeking host families for future exchange students. I remember this day so clearly- this day that changed my life. For dinner, I sat at my usual seat at our red formica table with chrome edging and asked my parents if we could host a student from another country. I'm not sure why, but I remember being nervous about asking.

My mom looked right at me and asked, "Why don't you go?"
"Go where?" I asked.
"Go to another country. Be an exchange student."
I looked at her dumbfounded. I had never even considered this an option.

In hindsight, I feel like my fate was sealed in that conversation. I got an application the next day, applied, and went through a thorough application process culminating with an interview. I don't remember any questions I was asked except the one that, in my memory, was last.

The interviewers explained that Rotary exchange students could not choose the country they'd visit. They could list preferences, but ultimately they could not choose. "What will you do if you're told you will go to a country you didn't choose."
"I'll go," was my reply.

I think of my response now and wonder, Where did that come from? I had never even been on a plane. I also wonder how my mother had the courage to suggest I be an exchange student in the first place. I was 15. If chosen, I would leave just 2 months after turning 16 and be gone for a whole year. Aside from a road trip to Canada and (I think) one trip to the Bahamas, my parents had never left the country. How does a parent have the courage to suggest such a thing?

Whatever the reason, I'm so thankful my mom made that outrageous suggestion to teenage me. I'm also thankful that my parents had raised me to be secure enough to embark on such an endeavor. And, let me tell you, they had a tough year while I was gone. I'm dating myself, I know, but I ended up going to the Philippines from June of 1985 to June of 1986. Do you remember what happened in the Philippines in February of 1986? Yep. A revolution. Filipinos had been living under the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos for too many years when they rose up with cries of "People Power." (Marcos fled to Guam on February 25th and conceded to Corazon Aquino).

I jumped straight to the most challenging part of my year abroad to make an important point. Despite being scary for my parents at times ("I saw them on TV. They're burning the American flag"), I wouldn't change a thing about my year. As hard as it was for my family, I don't think they'd change it either. Yes, they were scared at times, but guess what? We all survived and are the better for it. I was never afraid and I was never in any real danger. And, my life is so so much richer for having been there.

Come back next Tuesday to read an essay I wrote about my year titled, "Growing Up."

In the meantime, if you're a parent, consider the opportunities that might arise if your child were to be an exchange student. Could YOU say to your child, "Why don't you go?" I know I will.

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