Over the weekend, major presidential elections took place in Bolivia, my home country. For the first time in almost 20 years, the long-reigning political party, Movimiento al Socialismo (MAS), also known as Movement Toward Socialism, wasn’t on the ballot, and Bolivians might finally get the chance to move away from the corrupt reality we’ve become accustomed to—and towards a prosperous future for our country.
On the ballot, two candidates bore the cross of leading Bolivia out of one of the worst crises the country has had in decades: conservative former president Jorge “Tuto” Quiroga and “centrist” Rodrigo Paz. All across the nation on Sunday, Bolivians walked to the polls, since no cars are allowed on the road that day, to cast their votes, and hoped for brighter days ahead in these especially dark times. Judgement Day was upon Bolivia, and everyone felt the weight of the country on their shoulders.
Meanwhile, I was waiting in line at The Max debating whether or not I wanted chicken tenders and curly fries or a hamburger and regular fries, 4,000 miles away from this historic day that I should’ve been a part of.
As the sun set on the Andean landscape and results of the election started to roll in, public outcry ensued. Paz and his Vice President Capt. Edman Lara secured the election, defying every poll prior to the elections—which projected them at the bottom—with 54% of the votes. In a somewhat dubious manner, their party won the support of former MAS voters, and raised suspicions amongst the Bolivian populace who argue that this “coincidence” can’t possibly be an act of chance. Some have accused Paz’s party of sharing MAS’s political DNA, alarming Bolivians who have already fought so hard to change the country’s trajectory. That night, cheering and clamor were both heard across the nation. Groups of young protesters took to the streets to demonstrate their disapproval of the election results, scared that Bolivia had traded the devil they knew for its identical twin.
When the news of the election results broke, I found out through a shaky iPhone picture of our TV that my parents sent to our family group chat. Zooming in to the blurry snapshot of the voting distribution, I realized that I had never felt farther away from home. I’m 19 years old, eligible to vote under Bolivian law, educated in politics, and yet I still didn’t meet the criteria to cast my ballot because I wasn’t there. Even though I made the decision to apply to colleges far from home, and decided that leaving for good was the only way to live the life I’ve always wanted, I still feel forlorn.
As an international student, this feeling is persistent. From birthdays, to holidays, to pivotal political changes, we exist in a constant state of missing out that we voluntarily signed up for. In reality, international students have differing motivations for studying abroad; some view it as a way to accomplish personal ambitions, others view it as experiential, others desire for better educational prospects. However, no matter the reason, a feeling of distress still nests deep within the student, and a voice constantly cries out for home, even when it knows that it can’t go back.
As such, homesickness is an extremely common experience, impacting around 85% of international students, 18.6% of whom report feeling homesick often and 47% sometimes feeling homesick. Counselors and professionals suggest that this feeling is extremely common for college students, and while it can be extremely draining to be homesick, it will pass.
After the results, I practically ran to find comfort in the one piece of home I have with me here. Sitting on my Bolivian friend’s couch, we talked about our imminent return home. Everything will have changed once we get back, and the Bolivia we grew up with won’t be the same, for better or for worse. Come this holiday season, we will unpack our suitcases, hang ornaments, open presents, pack our lives up, and come back to Boston. Rinse and repeat.
The cycle of guilt that emerges from playing musical chairs between our home country and college is exhausting, and though it may seem eternal, I’ve learned that it doesn’t have to be.
Coming to college in a foreign environment is disorienting. The food, the language, the people, and even the politics are different, and this condition is only obvious to you. While the rest of the world trudges ahead, as your peers go to class and live their lives, as people’s lives back home continue even when you’re not there, you feel stuck. You start to miss everything you left behind and resent everything you worked so hard to get because all you really want is a sense of normalcy, a sense of home. I never thought I’d see the day that I actually miss watching Bolivian news—a notoriously hard watch, especially when every breaking story only leaves me disillusioned and worried—but I do.
However, homesickness, weirdly enough, brought me closer to my roots than I’ve ever been. Witnessing the Bolivian presidential elections at a distance, although initially upsetting, pushed me to check my country’s news every morning. It pushed me to pay attention to the world back home, and it also helped me realize that no amount of distance can strip me of that distress. Homesickness reminded me that no matter how many miles I put between me and Bolivia, there will always be a part of me that belongs there because it still yearns to go back. In this way, homesickness isn’t a negative, but a bridge.
Paz will be sworn into office Nov. 8, and I will be here, probably working at The Beacon, or practicing my cheer routine, or at the dining hall with my friends. Once again, I’ll feel the guilt of leaving my country to pursue my dreams elsewhere and missing this important day. I will be far away from my roots, and I will feel that disconnect once more. This time, though, I will let this feeling be a reminder of all the love I hold for Bolivia, because even when I couldn’t be further away from it, as long as I continue to feel homesick, it will continue to be with me.
