6 Months (from February 2021)

            I experienced my first move at 2 years old, though -due to my literally nonexistent recollection of Kansas- I like to give the title of that milestone to my slightly more aware 4-year-old self. Memories of the small German town inhabit my mind like a severely battered tape; skipping scenes, details skewed, leaving only the shell of those times littered on a shelf in the back of my mind. Virginia -which thanks to the flock of birds that tracked our every move, we nicknamed Bird-ginia- was our next stop. A princess-themed birthday party and the lyrics to more preschool songs than I’d like to admit remain in the file reserved for that year-and-a-half timeframe, alongside my first crush, Diego (who due to my huge Dora obsession, was not a surprising first victim). The next move from bird-poop-infested Bird-ginia back to gorgeous Germany wasn’t the hardest, especially for a barely-7-year-old Desi (well, other than the Under The Sea play our kindergarten was going to hold later that year, that I was absolutely stoked to be a part of; I was supposed to be a seahorse). A new adventure lay before me, named Patrick Henry Village, a positive contrast to the likes of America (though I will say the school lunch they served back in Fort Belvoir was a proud victor in comparison to the chicken alfredo I still have nightmares about from the PHES cafeteria) and to this day I still crown those 4-5 years as some of the best in my 18 years of living. Did I just admit to peaking in elementary school? Damn… Unfortunately, the magical time had to come to a close, just as Patrick Henry Village did. 2013 marks the year 10-year-old Desi transferred to Kaiserslautern, yet another change in scenery. This one was a lot less exciting; parting ways with all my closest friends (of which only a few remain today; shoutout to yall), I stepped into the new school crowded with big-eyed, curious 5th graders ready to annoy peers with their self-made songs (guilty!), impress crushes in the Christmas performance (whoops…) and experience their first, unofficial but wholesome relationship (the one thing I was not a part of). Priorities began shifting as we progressed through middle school (though I can’t say much changed on the topic of crushes, considering this is when the beginning of my almost-6-year-long infatuation for a certain shaggy-haired, green-eyed individual began) and soon enough high school welcomed us with not-so-open arms… well that’s an exaggeration; the only less-than-ideal factor was that my best friend and the aforementioned first-love moved back to America, and I was left in solitude, trying to find comfort in the superficial teenagers whose only goal was to lose their virginity before they turned 16. Definitely not ideal, but I will say, self-discovery really flourished in those times, and that’s when I came up with the wild idea. 

Move to Korea. Huh? Why? What compelled that arbitrary thought from entering your head? Well, it’d be a lie to say the music didn’t seduce me. Growing up with a musically-diverse, Louisiana-blooded father, and a surprising rhythm-inclined, tonesmart German mother, music pretty much raised me. No surprise when I picked up the flute in 6th grade after my siblings’ own discovery with instruments. RnB. Rock. Hip Hop. Soul. Pop. Jazz. Everything in between and beyond. And language? You thought that’d be a barrier? Growing up bi-lingual in the diverse upbringing that the military promises, language was the least of my worries. So when my now-regretting brothers introduced my eager sister and I to the wonders of Dean and BTS, I was not one to complain. The beautiful language sang to me (literally) and soon enough I found myself neck-deep in the Korean music scene with a Talk to Me in Korean textbook pressed up to my face. So when it came time to debate futures, careers, dreams, and goals, well the natural instinct was to indulge in my now multi-year-long obsession. Though the idea of majoring in Korean language or culture just didn’t really suit the academic side of me (which, if you couldn’t tell already, the English language surprisingly came on top), I still wanted to include it in my future somehow. So when I was, for a lack of better words, forced more or less to skip a grade (junior year at that; “the most important year”), I had to think a plan through… and quick. Truthfully, it wasn’t supposed to make it to this extent. I was thinking more along the lines of language study (max 1 year) or perhaps semester exchange to Seoul. But both of those options required me to find a university outside of Seoul that appealed, which was a big fat ZERO. America was not even in the question; from the tuition costs to the crime rates, I was not gonna throw my youth away in the States. Germany, while I love it dearly and can see myself returning happily in the future, was just not the vibe I wanted for my coming-of-age period in life. Yes, the almost nonexistent tuition fees were a huge attraction, and being close to family was a comfortable choice, but low-and-behold, cowardly Desiree had a plan almost too bold to carry out. And that was to study in Korea. All. Four. Years. 

        So here I am! 6 months later. After a very long, exhausting, dewy-eyed flight later. And I can say proudly, that I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything else. From the Rubix-cube-obsessed kid next to me on the first plane (though he looked to be my age, so perhaps kid isn’t the right word), to the long-haired-kinda-attractive-though-face-was-covered-by-a-mask guy who slept next to me on the much longer flight following. The rainy, cold first day in Seoul that was the literal opposite of what I was imagining it to be, to my first COVID test that sprung tears to my eyes and acid down my throat. The 14 long, lonely days in isolation, spent admiring the city view and reminding myself that the world isn’t over, society is still progressing as usual. From meeting my suitemate to experiencing my first home-sick breakdown. Getting to know all the friends I made online before my departure and becoming closer and closer to them. Producing new friends despite classes being held online, and making actual efforts to meet up and form a true relationship. Birthdays. Gallery visits. Late-night CU trips. Kitchen hangouts. Wonderful Korean dinners -from samgyeopsal to jjigae to chicken- and the accompanied cafe visit (though I still bow my head in shame every time I spend 5+ dollars on a drink). Now, I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I didn’t have a hard time. The number of times I debated flying back home and giving up on this stupid dream, regretting my uncharacteristic bravery and longing for the clean air of Europe; crying out of frustration at my lack of experience, knowledge, and everything in between. Not leaving my room for days on end, and even questioning the genuinity of the friendships I’d made. It definitely wasn’t easy. But really, who thought it would be? Despite the occasional breakdown and reevaluation of my choices thus far, I can say I’m proud. Of leaving my home at the ripe age of 17, and challenging myself in more ways than I ever thought possible. I mean, look at me! I’m sitting in my own apartment, on my own bed, staring out the window of the home I picked out (though I can’t really give myself too much credit, so shoutout to my parents for funding my dreams and even making this possible, and to my amazing roomie for legally binding to me for the next 2 years). It’s only been 6 months, and I know I still have a long way to go (42 more months to be exact), but still, I wanted to celebrate the half-a-year I’ve lived on my own and the lessons I’ve learned in that time.