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Ashna Deshpande

Ms. Bates

English 111

15, September 2020

The Great American Feeling

My heart sank as I was only ten minutes away from my destination. All I wanted to do

was get out of America, the division there had consumed me. I kept repeating to myself, “France

is going to be better.” Once the plane had started descending, my palms started sweating as the

pit in my stomach grew, and I realized I was in for a ride.

After what seemed like hours, the plane had skidded on the runway. I looked out the

window to an ocean-like blue sky without a gray spot in sight. As I was leaving the plane, I felt

as if someone had pounded a hammer in my head. My eyes felt like they were glued shut; I just

wanted to feel the comfort of a soft pillow. Instead, I had been sitting on a cramped plane on a

never-ending flight. As I got out of the plane and looked around, I couldn’t understand anything.

The signs, the restaurants, the loud chatter among people, it all passed me. After I saw a France

sign, I realized I wasn’t in America. I stood in a crowd of people who resembled one another,

and I was the outsider. For the first time in my life, I felt like an alien in another world.

Finally, I got into the car, and my sleep disappeared. I glued my eyes to the window as I

saw what seemed like ancient architecture that looked identical to one another. The French

would crowd around in the cafes and on the streets. People said this place was better than the

United States; I couldn’t see it.

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The next day, I walked for ten minutes to a small restaurant, and across it was a street

filled with more cafes. I walked in and I smelled a rich smell of bread. I quickly sat down to

order, and it surprised me to see the prices. I screamed “Eight euros for a sandwich.” The

expensive dishes clearly didn’t take into account the delay in bringing the food out. My growling

stomach echoed in the cafe. While walking back to the hotel, all the streets looked the same. I

felt I was in a maze and I kept circling back to the same place. When I asked a local civilian for

directions, I realized the four years of French I took were unmatched to what they spoke. All the

words would go through one ear and come out the other. I knew no one, and I knew nothing

about France. I somehow fought the darkness in the alleys and found my hotel. I realized that

France would never be a place that I would call home.

The days passed on, and I still felt like a complete stranger. I’ve never had a patriotic

feeling for America, but all I wanted was to go back. One day I was strolling across a dull alley

when this flash of color struck my eye. I went back and saw a flag. It was the only thing that

stood out behind a colorless street. The deep dark blue with 50 stars piercing out and the red and

white striped pattern lit the entire street. My face instantly started glowing, as all my anxiety and

frustrations left my body. If you had told me before that I would be comforted by an American

flag, I would’ve laughed. Previously, whenever I looked at our flag, it sparked no emotion in me,

but now I was comforted by the thought of being an American. When I saw that flag I did not see

our problems, I just saw our strength. On my last day, I was thrilled about the fact that I could go

home to a place that has provided me so much.

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As I boarded the plane to go back to America, I realized my entire perspective had

changed on our country. The place I saw just as where I live; I now see it as a place I call home.

Now, whenever I travel, I am always reminded that wherever I go America is always my home.