Today was all about the final, official, informal celebration of my class’ graduation. Prom and the ceremony will be next Saturday and I’m not loking forward to either.

Day of chaos - as this last day is called - includes beer and loud music and water guns and a thousand students and sunshine and a pizza booth. Put all that out in a schoolyard and you’ve got yourself a party. Traditionally, teachers are given presents as a thank you and forced to take part in silly games. We also started selling our AZ, the senior book of class ‘08, and will continue to do so tomorrow.

Over the past couple of years, day of chaos didn’t work as it’s supposed to because students of the lower classes somehow found out the date beforehand and then simply didn’t show up which, of course, made it impossible to hunt them all down with water guns.

So this year we changed the start of day of chaos to the end of second period (9.30 am). That way, all students were already in the building, cluelessly minding their business. We got the principal to agree that with the ring of the bell, they would also set off the fire alarm. That way, everybody had to get outside and we completely took them by surprise.

After the general water gun shenanigans, all the kids from the lower classes were soaking wet but the sun shined and they enjoyed the program we had planned. It’s all pretty silly and I was busy pretty much the whole time selling the senior book but everything went just great.

You never know what to expect from 120 drunk graduates who couldn’t care less about their school now and usually go wild, but they all did so good and helped clean up and stuff. I’m proud of my class, actually.

And there were a few people I saw that I had almost forgotten about and for just a second that feeling of losing everything once school is really and truly over on Saturday came back. But now that I’m back home, it’s gone again. Weirdly, it’s the opposite of once something is gone, you realize how much you miss it. It’s more like, once I don’t have them around me, I realize that life is just as good without them.

Anyway, I’m glad day of chaos turned out to be such a success!

Wondering what happened so far? Read part 1 here.

The American embassy looked important behind all the security mechasnisms and I felt my palms getting sweaty. EF had informed me about my visit to the embassy and warned me not to screw anything up because once I wasn’t permitted the J-1 visa, it would be a pain to try and convince the officials otherwise. There was going to be an interview, EF said. Most likely in English, possibly in German. I was a nervous wreck because I didn’t really have much trust in my language skills. What if I couldn’t answer one of the questions? What if I accidently said something I didn’t actually mean, just because my choice of words wasn’t appropriate English?

The blazing sun burning down from the Frankfurt sky didn’t help at all. The slow-moving line didn’t either. My mom started up a conversation with a man who stood behind us in the waiting line. He was originally from Turkey and about to send his daughter off to college in America. Thus, she needed a visa. He himself travelled to the United States on business quite often and knew a thing or two about the whole process. I’ve never seen a line like this, he said. I wanted to ask him about the interview but I was too shy about it. I didn’t want to seem too chicken about it, didn’t want to loose my cool.

The line kept moving forward, my mom and I came closer and closer to the first gate where an embassy official handed out flyers which informed every visitor of the rules and regulations inside the embassy. The gate and the fence all around the property were dark green and extremely clean and looked overly thick and unbreakable. It was a little after noon now, the hottest time of the day, my dad and my brother had gone off to wait across the street in the shades. It was only spring and I couldn’t remember any day ever being this hot. I was also tired of standing around, I wanted to get this over with. An embassy official kept walking up and down the line, informing everybody about the rules at the top of his lungs.

Only visa applicants are allowed to go in, he yelled in both English and German, we don’t need any extra people holding us up. He continued to tell the end of the line to go home because the embassy closed at four p.m. sharp. A man disagreed and uttered his annoyance loudly but was shut up by the sheer sight of two armed embassy officials who seemed to have come out of nowhere.

So to sum up, it seemed like a fun place. Not.

Finally, it was my turn to go in and I hated to have to go in all by myself. I was, of course, searched thoroughly. I had to take off my shoes, I had to step through the gate and when it beeped I about had a heartattack. They made me take off my belt as well. They didn’t talk at all, just pointed and tilted their heads. They checked my passport and my birth certificate, they guided me through another gate and through another hallway, down a stairway, down another hallway, through a door and through another gate. Little did I know at the time that this was going to be the regular procedure at any airport.

I went through a tunnel that had windows on both sides behind which sat embassy officials who eyed me closely before opening the door at the end of the tunnel.

Then, I was in. It was hot and completely over-crowded. I tried to figure out where to go and was lastly told to sit down and wait my turn. There were no seats left so I stood by a large column, rested my head against the cold stone and scanned the room. I smiled in excitement when I heard people talk English here and there, when I realized that there were actual Americans all around me. I noticed their tennis shoes, their baseball caps, their football jerseys, their obesity, their pearl-white teeth, their Pepsi bottles. You gotta be kiddin’ me, I laughed silently. All those prejudices, they can’t be true, this can’t be it - I know it.

After having filled out what seemed to be the three hundredth form, I walked up to a free desk and handed the official my paper work. I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know whether he spoke English or German so I just waited. What do you plan on doing in the United States, he asked after glancing at my papers. I smiled excitedly. This was the real deal. I could use my English, finally! I’m an exchange student, I’ll be staying with a host family for eleven months, I answered. He nodded, smirked and typed my data into the computer. He looked bored as he scanned my passport. He took my finger prints, he took a picture of me and one of both of my eyes.

My heart beat wildly in my chest. I didn’t know if this was the interview or if I had to go somewhere else. What else would they ask me? What was I supposed to say? I wanted to give a great impression, make him see that I was the one to travel to the United States.

Here you go, he said and handed me my paperwork. I stepped back from the booth, made room for the next applicant. I was in complete disbelief. That was it, I kept repeating in my head. To my left I saw a man, probably in his thirties, argue with an embassy official about his working visa. Apparently, I realized, exchange students are a very common thing nowadays, IT’S NO BIG DEAL TO ANYBODY.

Not to them, it ain’t.

I was back outside within minutes. The so-called interview hadn’t lasted but thirty seconds, all in all I had spent almost four hours waiting in line and inside the embassy. As I stepped back outside into the sun, the line in front of the building had disappeared. It was almost four p.m. - they were closing down right on time, in good old German fashion. People were waiting across the street in the shades for their friends and family to come back out. So were my mom, my dad and my brother. They were surprised to see that everything worked out so fast and smoothly.

We decided to stop by Frankfurt International Airport on our way back home because it is one of the largest and most important airports in the world and on my way to America in the summer I was very likely to have a stop there.

It was huge and we had the hardest time to find our way around until we finally made it to the visitor’s terrace from where visitors can watch planes start and land. My stomach tingled, my heartbeat went crazy and I couldn’t stop smiling. I loved this place.

I loved all the tourists; those who were obviously on vacation. And I loved all the businessman in their suits with their laptops, their important newspapers and their coffees-to-go. I loved all the interesting characters that were wandering around; the girl in the hooker boots, the old man with a suitcase that seemed to date back to the 16th century, the kid running circles around a yellow sign warning passengers of slippery floors, those two Indian girls and the Armenian family. I loved the sounds of the escalators, of the suitcases rolling across the sparkling, endless floors, of the flipping tabs on the departure and arrival boards, of kids’ screams echoing from the high ceilings and the announcements over the speakers that no one ever understands. I felt like I couldn’t wait one more day to finally be a part of it all, to be a real part of it, to belong here, to start my big journey.

I couldn’t wait.

Since I planned on skipping eleventh grade here in Germany and attending an American high school instead, I had to meet certain requirements at my German high school. One of them asked of me to receive a C in Math class at the end of tenth grade, a C at least. This seemed absolutely impossible because I used to always have Ds in Math. That is, when I wasn’t failing it altogether. Fortunateley, I happened to be in the lucky position of having the most amazing teacher ever. He motivated me constantly and tried to work out a plan which would help me to get to that dreaded C by the end of the term.

Needless to say, it worked out in the end.

About a week before my departure I threw a little party to say goodbye to my closest friends. Actually, two parties: one with my friends and one with close family. Everybody wished me a good trip, gave me presents and said they’d miss me, some were worried and concerned, some just enjoyed a good steak and a cold beer. Through all of this, I just wanted to leave, to get on the plane finally, to arrive in the United States and begin the adventure.

I didn’t feel sad, I didn’t have any doubts or regrets, I just wanted to go go go. I was surprised that I didn’t care about having to leave it all behind but I never really had much of a life, anyway. A few friends, a few hobbies - but I hated school and my town and the whole area, I hated typical German social life activities, I wasn’t going to miss any of it.

I counted down the days in excitement. Yes, I was terribly excited but I wasn’t nervous or scared. I couldn’t wait to meet everyone overseas and I finally wanted to go to the airport because I remembered how comfortable I had felt at Frankfurt Airport. I finally wanted to start this journey of mine; this huge deal that was my thing and my thing only. The key word in all this, by the way, is FINALLY. After all, this had been a dream of mine for over five years.

And then, suddenly, I was counting down the last 24 hours.

To be continued…

If there is a kind of American candy that I miss, it’s definitely Reese’s peanutbutter cups. I don’t like peanutbutter as its inventor wanted it to be enjoyed (most likely on a peanutbutter and - ew! - jelly sandwich) and I certainly don’t like that sorry, crumbly, overly sweet yet somehow strangely bitter mass that’s being sold as chocolate over there.

But man, do I love a combination of both!

My loved-ones from Kentucky sent me a little thank you card for the Christmas gifts I had sent and they sent the peanutbutter cups right along side with it. They are so good, I wanna cry. Seriously, I had forgotten just how good they taste!

I miss America.

Just when I started to feel like crying my eyes out, though, another package arrived: from my dear friend Linn from Norway. She is the most outgoing person you will ever meet. With her, even I enjoy crashing a party! She is so funny and beautiful and smart and perfect, it’s intimidating.

We met in Kentucky, she was another exchange student there that stayed in the same neighborhood I stayed in and we became best friends. We hadn’t talked in forever and she hadn’t replied to the last texts I sent her or the emails I wrote.

But today this really sweet letter arrived. She also sent a hand-made necklace with it which I love.

It’s perfect to wear in spring and summer. I was so happy to hear from her again! I honestly was afraid that she wasn’t interested in keeping in touch anymore but, apparently, - and thankfully! - I seem to have been wrong about that. Oh, and Kati is my nickname, by the way. Everybody calls me that. I actually like it better than my whole name but I just never thought of using it online.

I was so completely and entirely happy today that I actually ended up doing my French homework, although I only need it until next Tuesday. I don’t think that has ever happened before, ha!

It’s a paper on WW2, the Germans’ invasion of France. And it was not easy to write it all down in French. I’m glad I got it done. And I’m glad that I could treat myself with a handful of peantbutter cups afterwards.

Lesson of the day: having friends all over the world definitely pays of. Always.