Every time there’s strong wind, the way that my house is built causes a low pitched howling to echo throughout my house. It’s particularly loud in my bedroom. When i was younger, it used to scare me. It’s a strange, beautiful noise that doesn’t sound like it should come from the wind. I always imagined ghosts.

Now that I’m older, the whistling doesn’t scare me anymore. I’m used to it. I’ve been through a lot of wind and rainstorms here in my little house. The whistling is almost comforting. It’s like a little, “hey, I’m here, remember me?” from the sky. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much.

Other people, in contrast, are always rather startled when they hear the sound that the wind makes against the frame of my house. an immediate “what’s that noise?” passes their curious and somewhat frightened lips. Still, to this day, it’s second nature for me to say “oh, it’s the ghost”. But not everyone finds that as funny as I do.

So- this noise, this whistle, is a part of my home. It’s been around for as long as my house has been around, and it visits every time the wind picks up. For visitors, it’s scary. But for me, comforting. Welcome, even. This phenomenon of becoming familiar with the frightening, is something that happened a lot on my exchange in France, and will happen again in a larger scale on my longer exchange in Germany. The scary words became my favourite words. The scary people became my best friends. The scary experience became my most cherished memory. It’s no good to be afraid of the unknown. It’s just a matter of looking at things in context, which applies to strange noises late at night, or funny customs in a new culture that you don’t understand yet. My point is that although I am afraid- and i assure you, i have no lack of fear of the unknown- (I’m human. What did you expect?) i know that my fear is useless and unnecessary.

    My plane tickets are booked, my exams are (almost) prepared for, and my last week of Canadian school (for a while, at least) is upon me. This week, although most people don’t realise it, is that last week that I will be going to school with the people that I’ve been stuck with for the last four years. To tell you the truth, it hasn’t been bad at all. And it’s intimidating to wonder how many of them I’ll see again. I’ll leave, they’ll graduate, and we will all be busy and happy in our own little worlds. At the very least, I know for a fact that those who matter will stay in my life, no matter how hard I try to get ride of them. A year really isn’t so long. I’ve proved that by staying in contact with many of my exchange friends from last year. In fact, i’ll be visiting them this July, seeing them for the first time since I left France.

And i’m so scared, but I’m also comforted. I know it will all be wonderful and I will end up in love with my new home, friends, and language.

Here’s a shoutout to the ghosts who are chatting with me while i try to finish my homework, and whom inspired this silly metaphorical post about fear.