moving day

One of my favorite Friends episodes is “The One with the Embryos” — the episode where Monica and Rachel place a bet with Chandler and Joey about who knows who better … and the girls end up losing their apartment to the boys. The gameshow part of the episode where Ross creates a trivia game for the two parties is my favorite bit, but I also love when Chandler and Joey ride their dog statue into Monica and Rachel’s apartment and Chandler triumphantly proclaims, “It’s moving day!”


distance and relationships

I think the way distance can affect relationships is one of the hardest parts of being here. I miss being able to just call my grandparents. I miss getting phone calls from them. Sunday is usually our day to connect, so I miss their voices the most on Sundays. But I also miss the surprise calls we give one another throughout the week.

Technology makes it easier to connect — and my grandparents are pretty up-to-date with technology — but it’s harder to get in touch with someone when they have to be at their computer and logged into X app versus simply dialing their phone number, it ringing and them picking up the phone.

I miss talking with my grandparents. I miss talking with them because I know time is precious and that it’s not slowing down. I miss talking with them because they’re a constant in my life. I miss talking with them because it is easy; it comes naturally; it is support. I miss talking with them because when we talk the world seems to stand still.


wait … I’m living in Buenos Aires?!

Last week, my first week here, I looked at several apartments, and my decision came down to two very different, equally great apartments in two Buenos Aires barrios that each have something to offer.

The rent was relatively equal between the two, so without a clear winner, I hemmed and hawed more than I ever have and made my decision at the very last minute on Saturday. I was supposed to be out of my Airbnb at noon, and around 12:30, as the cleaning lady was preparing for the next guest, I was still sitting on the bed making arrangements.


moving from the U.S. to Argentina

A little less than an hour ago, my dad dropped me off at DTW. We loaded my bags out of the car — two big ones and two backpacks — and hugged each other goodbye. I could hear the concern in his voice as he said, “I love you. Be careful down there.”

With my camping pack on my back, my backpack on my front and my duffel bag perched precariously on my suitcase, I hobbled through the sliding glass doors to check in.

After printing my boarding passes at the kiosk, I proceeded to the counter to check my luggage. The Delta agent peppered me with questions. Where are you going? I see you have no return ticket; when are you leaving Argentina? How long are you traveling? Have you done this before? Are you traveling with other people?