And every stranger's face I see reminds me that I long to be, homeward bound...

It's taken me longer than expected to find the time to write in here, and consequently I will have to do two separate posts just to catch up. This first one will be comprised of what we who suffered through UEA's Shakespeare module came to know as tragicomedy. In Shakespeare, it is the mix of tragical and comical elements in a play. In life, it is when bad things happen to you but you're so confused and overwhelmed that though you may want to cry, you laugh instead. And then write about it in your blog.

The beginning of my time here was a little awkward, owing to my lack of mobile phone, internet access, house key, furniture and reasonable sleeping pattern. I had expected to feel homesick at some point of course; “some point” being months down the line when I was missing Guy Fawkes or being away for Christmas or whatever. I had not expected to feel homesick on the very first night. You see, I was never the one that cried on the first day of school or couldn't handle sleepovers. I was never that kid. I went on my travels at 18, then moved away from my hometown at 19 with relatively little angst. I had never really been homesick before. It is not this vague sadness where you miss hanging out with your friends, or really crave a packet of Maltesers. It's more like you have been abducted, and as much as you try to turn your thoughts around all you want to do is get on the next flight home.

Luckily for me, quitting my year abroad would mean no degree and a large amount of legal troubles. So I had no choice but to stay put in this strange land of fried chicken (or more accurately, fried everything) and Carolina blue. On my second day here, I had my first experience of Super Target, where I amused my housemate Rachel with my excitement over the food. I am already addicted to Pretzel M&Ms, and so happy to be reunited with Hi-C juice. That evening, my housemates had people over and I got to meet lots of their friends. Because I know people at home are curious: yes I drank from a Red Plastic Cup, yes I played Beer Pong, no they did not imitate my accent and no people here are not obnoxious, but incredibly hospitable.

One of my housemates asked me if we had mosquitoes in England. My response was, “Yes we do, and they all come looking for me.” This is more than simply irritating, as I am actually allergic to insect bites. You may have witnessed my thigh doubling in size on the last day at Beaumont, or seen me attempt to play golf when my knee was so swollen I couldn't bend down. A couple of times I have had to take antibiotics for my reactions, but generally I remember to wear repellent on summer nights and don't get bitten much. Anyway, it turns out that my blood is even more popular to the insects of North Carolina. During a campus tour, I sat down in the grass and myself and another exchange student Sarah felt ourselves being bitten by something. After we moved away, I proclaimed that it couldn't have been a mosquito as I am allergic to their bites, and mine hadn't reacted at all. I didn't seem to have too many either. Oh, famous last words.

 By the next day, the bites had fully shown up along both legs and arms, enough for me to realise that I had over forty. I went to campus to eat bagels, sort out my OneCard (like our campus cards at home, except you can use it to pay for stuff) and binge on internet usage in the library. I took some allergy pills and rubbed some cream on my rapidly swelling bites, but by the time I got home I was in pain and my skin was starting to heat up and blister. That weekend new students of UNC were moving into their dorms, including my housemate Bri's brother, so her family were over at our house. Her mom is a nurse, and she took one look at my bites and said I needed to see a doctor. Being in a foreign country, this wasn't too simple. Rachel was kind enough to drive me to two places, but neither would accept my insurance. Not having a spare $170 to hand just to get seen, we went home and my parents got in touch with the insurance company to get the number for a local agent, who would be able to confirm my insurance.

Once this was all sorted, Rachel and I got back in the car and drove to the clinic. It was now closed. (This is when I laughed. Seriously.) The last option was ER, but since it can take hours and is apparently an unpleasant side to healthcare here, we opted to buy antihistamines and aloe vera instead. To put it concisely, my third night here in the states was far from restful. The antihistamines fairly knocked me out, but I woke up once or twice every hour, reaching hurriedly for the aloe vera to try to stop the burning sensation. Now, I realise that this tale sounds a little far-fetched. So I took a photo to prove it!

"During the night, old Perkins got his leg bitten sort of... off."

Please note that this was actually pre-allergic reaction, so you're not really getting the whole effect. I would have taken a photo of the swelling and blistering too, but I pretty much always had aloe vera on my hands. Anyway, that was over a week ago now so they have mostly healed and hopefully the scarring will be minimal. I'm still getting bites now and again (in fact my right arm has a wrong-sided bulging bicep) but it's nowhere near as bad, and I'm avoiding grassy areas. I'm looking into all kinds of repellent, but it's a little difficult when it's just a day to day thing.

I realise I have mostly just complained to (and/or disgusted) you in this entry, but I did warn you. Well, sort of. Maybe I was just complaining about Shakespeare again. There are lots of good and interesting things about Chapel Hill, which I will talk about in the next entry. For now, I will mention that due to the extreme humidity I have had to abandon all thought of having straight hair, and embrace a new style that looks something like this:

I should be thankful, though, that with the access to free gyms and pools, I should at least be prevented from looking like this:

I hope you're all well. Thank you very much to everyone who has comforted me through the horror, the horror that is moving abroad. (But still not as bad as reading the book I've just referenced.) I know that when more time has passed I will be able to enjoy this more fully. At least I know that thanks to the laws of tragicomedy, when I'm happy, I laugh, and when I'm sad I laugh too – so really, it's a win-win situation!

Where are you going, where have you been?

A suitcase, a British passport, and a sleepy American Studies student.

My original intention was to write a pre-departure entry about the various preparations to complete before I left - but said preparations were so overwhelming that I never found the time. Consequently, I'm writing at a half-way point: on the plane crossing the Atlantic, four hours from London and four to go until I reach New York.

I'm not sure where exactly my year abroad began. It may have been back in 2006, when I first started looking at university courses (and was probably inspired by my older brother's year abroad in Argentina). It may have been during my first year and a half at UEA, where my interests changed completely. Like 99% of American Studies students, it was only later that I learned to look past California and New York to see the other pieces of the jigsaw. Now, there is nowhere I would rather be headed than to the South. It is also interesting that I've not ended up at a liberal arts college like I expected, but I am grateful for this too; I've evolved from a purely academic focus to appreciate everything else that a university has to offer, so where better to go than somewhere as large and diverse as UNC?

The months in between finding out I'm going to Chapel Hill and this moment right now can be summed up easily in one word: forms. Between the visa application, university documents, student finance, housing lease and too many others to mention, I would be happy never to write my name, birthdate and nationality ever again. The only thing worse than filling in all those forms was packing. You would think that my (admittedly rather zealous at times) organisational side would kick in, make loads of lists and arrange items in the suitcases by category, but this was not so. It's not even that I have an unusual attachment to my clothes or stuff in general, but the act of actually packing and preparing to leave was one of the most emotionally draining things I had to do.

About a month ago someone said to me, "Soon it will really hit you that you're going." There is probably an image some people have of me getting on the plane and looking a little baffled. (Of if you are a Starbucks person, doing my Vanilla? face.) The truth is, it hit me that I was leaving much much earlier, and it followed me all through Spring. For something that I had wanted so badly and for so long, it caused me a lot of pain. I was questioning the choice I had made, worrying about all the oncoming changes, and feeling isolated by the whole experience. I loved my life in Norwich, and to leave such a wonderful situation seemed nothing short of crazy, and in turn made me feel crazy. (Milly, you wondered what I was doing every time I disappeared upstairs in the Waterfront - usually I was thinking about this. And befriending edgy girls in the bathroom.)

Of course, the negative feelings did pass, and I can say now that I'm finally on my way: this was definitely the right decision. I am a bit concerned that I have no furniture, no idea how to get around Chapel Hill - and no access to chocolate HobNobs. But aside from these obstacles, I'm excited to meet my new housemates at Raleigh/Durham airport in just 8 hours. I'm excited to be reunited with my favourite restaurant, The Cheesecake Factory. I'm excited to see my new home, new campus, new local Starbucks!

I'm sure it will be a crazy - and at times, stressful - ride, but I intend to make the most of it, and record as much as I can here. Before I finish this entry, I must say thank you to everyone for your encouragement and support. I had an amazing time prior to leaving, and I really appreciate the effort everyone made to see me and say goodbye. I must also thank those at UNC and my other American contacts for answering my never-ending questions - particularly Melissa, who recommended North Carolina to me in the first place.

Now that I have arrived in Chapel Hill, expect another blog post from me soon. Stay safe and stay in touch!