If it wasn’t already glaringly obvious from my previous articles, I’m a Russian major. The only thing I’m good at is memorization, so languages are a perfect fit for me.
Why I chose to go to Rochester, a school dominated by students who actually understand that calculus crap, is beyond me.
A natural part of studying a language is going abroad for a semester or two to a country where your language of study is spoken. So, of course, I’m planning to go to Russia next year, and I gotta say, I’m a little nervous to go abroad—but not for the reasons you might think.
I guess kids these days would call it “FOMO.” (I’ve been trying to connect to my generation and not only be friends with parents and professors—is it working?) Sure, I’ll be away creating my own memories, like standing in breadlines and riding bears, but my friends will be back at school, creating their own memories that I won’t be a part of when I return.
I’ve been trying to console myself by thinking of all the fun experiences my study abroad will have to offer.
First of all, because I study Russian, I’m automatically a spy and I’ll probably be assigned some sort of cool undercover mission as soon as I get to Russia. I’ll rendezvous with Putin a couple times a week and we’ll slam down shots of vodka arm in arm. By the time I leave I’ll probably be calling him Vlad and he’ll name one of his bear cubs after me.
You may think this is surprising and a little forward, but don’t worry, this is what all of my friends assume happens in Russia, so it’s gotta be true, right?
Honestly though, anything is better than eating McDonald’s every day and cleaning and oiling the guns that I keep in every single room in my house. I’m also getting kinda bored of watching football every night and never leaving my couch like the fat, useless slug that I am.
In short, I guess I just don’t really feel like I fit in here in America. Russia is obviously a better fit for me because I’m emotionless, never smile, and enjoy being a dictator. I’ll miss wearing my cowboy hat but I look forward to long walks on the cold, Siberian tundra covered by the carcasses of dead animals.