Leaving Home

So I arrived at the Bus Depot at midnight in great anticipation of the journey ahead.  My friends greeted me on my arrival, and by their faces I could tell that they were as anxious about leaving home as I was.  The thought of leaving my family behind for 4 weeks was prominent in my mind.  As I stood talking to my family and friends, waiting for others to arrive, there was an air of excitement among everyone.  People were tugging suitcases out of cars and transferring them to buses, over-protective parents were questioning the leaders and many of us teenagers were getting ready to say our farewells to our family and friends who had gathered to see us leave.

Fifteen minutes had passed since I left my home, and the last teenager had arrived.  The remnants of the suitcases were being loaded onto the bus.  Some were taking travel tablets for the full 24 hours’ travelling they had ahead of them.  Parents were taking countless photographs of our group just prior to our departure, almost as if this was the last time we’d ever see them again in our lives.  Many of the girls in our group were on the edge of tears with the thought of leaving their mothers and fathers.  I was also dreading the thought of leaving my mother and brothers.  I had only ever been away from home for no more than one week on my own, so both I and my mother were worried on my behalf.

Then at around 12.30, the final call came to get onto the bus as it was about to leave.  I said my last goodbyes to my friends and family and hesitantly boarded the bus.  I had a feeling in my stomach of excitement, but my mind was telling me otherwise.  As I looked out the bus window into the darkness I could see my mother’s cautious face looking back at me.  Then as the bus pulled away from the station, and everyone wiped away their tears, thoughts turned towards our trip to America, the trip we had been preparing for for six months.  And even though we were going to stay with host families, thoughts of our own families were present in our minds.