I think I’m going to cry tears of joy when I get home. It’s going to be like a scene from a movie—I’m going to step off the plane at JFK airport, drop my bags, throw my hands into the air, kiss the ground, and want to touch everything because it will seem so clean and beautiful. I’m going to smother Ken with kisses and torture my cat by holding onto him even while he squirms. I’m going to burst into tears when I see my mom over the weekend. I’m going to be giddy to have a cell phone that works, heat in my apartment, and rows upon rows of just soy milk to choose from in the supermarket. For as much as I criticize the U.S., American politics, and the attitudes and foolishness of
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