There are days I hate this stupid country.
Days I hate its five-day forecasts of rain and rain and rain.
Days I hate its houses all stuck together so no one has any privacy and you can’t laugh too loud in the evenings or vacuum your carpets whenevertheheck you want to.
Days I hate its people who don’t say hello in the street, or wave to each other from passing cars on a rural road, or chat to strangers in the grocery store line; its people who close their curtains as soon as the sun sets, who are obsessed with “the property ladder” and “the recession” and “the Conservatives.”
I hate its stupid words for “line” and “diaper” and “bathroom.” I hate that I have to repeat myself – to translate myself – to be understood.
I hate its rules for roundabouts, and its rules for drivers’ licenses, and its rules for immigration.
I hate that one Krispy Kreme donut costs $2.00.
I hate that there is no trace of maple syrup on its breakfast plates.
I hate its so-called “beaches” covered in painful pebbles, and lapped by freezing cold waves.
Yesterday was one of those days. I laid on my bed after Adlai went to sleep and cried so hard I shook. Cried because I hated everything so much. Cried because this country is stupid.
And then this morning, as is most often the case, I saw last night’s tears for what they really were.
The truth is, the only thing I really hate about this country is that it is 3,000 miles away from my family, my big sister, my best friends.