December: Six Months South

4–5 minutes

Dear you,

December felt like time travel.

The first half was spent squeezing every last drop out of Colombia before my flight on December 17th. The second half felt like stepping into a reality that once felt distant and familiar, yet strange.

Those final weeks in Colombia were a blur of bucket list moments and long goodbyes. I went parasailing. I wandered through Cartagena. I bought more souvenirs than my suitcase could handle. I said goodbye to almost everyone who had become part of my everyday life. I cried. I laughed. Sometimes in the same hour.

I let myself sit with the truth: I was really leaving.

At the airport, saying goodbye to my host family felt rushed because we didn’t want to miss our flight. I’m grateful I had already said my real goodbyes the day before. Even though I had counted down to this moment for six months, walking into security felt heavier than I expected. It was the physical act of closing a chapter. And I wasn’t entirely ready to let it close.

Colombia changed me in ways I didn’t know were possible.

It pushed me outside my comfort zone. It forced me to be alone. Truly alone. And in solitude, I rediscovered myself. My likes. My dislikes. My defaults. I realized I reverted to my elementary-school self: quiet, observant, reserved. It surprised me. But it also felt like meeting the most honest version of who I am, my factory setting.

Being alone stripped everything back.

I saw my strengths more clearly. I also saw my weaknesses. I learned how low I can feel, and that even that low is survivable. I learned how deeply I love my family and friends. Distance magnified everything. And being in Colombia reignited my passion for policy and impact. It reminded me that I don’t just want a career, I want to do what matters. I want to contribute to something bigger than myself.

On the plane home, the last six months replayed in flashes. Every emotion: fear, joy, loneliness, pride, and excitement, lived in my chest all at once. It’s hard to describe, but it was a new feeling. One that only existed because I left.

And now it lives inside me.

But I had to go home. The journey back to Canada was long. When I landed, a snowstorm greeted me. My body felt like it went into shock. I had forgotten what that kind of cold feels like. Inside the airport, I felt it. Outside, it rattled my bones. It was almost offensive.

When I stepped into my home for the first time in half a year, it felt like time had paused. Everything looked the same. Everyone was the same.

Nothing had changed.

Except me.

The second half of December felt like survival mode. Christmas. New Year’s. Family gatherings. Noise. Movement. I didn’t have time to sit with the fact that I was back. It felt like I had left one daily life in Colombia and abruptly resumed another in Canada. The best word I can find is bewildered. I felt shocked. Disoriented. Split between realities.

It took time to adjust.

It also took time to write this, because part of me wondered if Colombia was just a dream. Like I had imagined it.

But I know it was real because I can’t shake the feeling it gave me.

The feeling of seeing the world and meeting people with different stories and experiences made me realize how much of a comfortable bubble I live in. I love my life. I love my home. But there’s an itch now, one I don’t think will ever disappear. A need to see more. Learn more. Experience more.

Travel taught me something else, too.

As much as I crave the world, I need my people. I need my routines. I need stability. There has to be a balance between expansion and grounding.

Colombia was my in-between.

I thought I would return transformed into a completely new version of myself. But coming home taught me something different: transformation isn’t automatic. It only happens if you implement what you’ve learned.

The in-between doesn’t end when you land.

It ends when you choose differently.

I came back hyper-aware of my old patterns and the patterns of the people around me. Being away made them visible. And I knew I couldn’t slip back into the version of my life that once felt unfulfilling. I have to chase my passions. I have to pursue impact. I have to build the life that feels aligned.

Because life is short.

In 100 years, no one will remember me. But while I am here, I want to matter in the ways that feel true to me. I want to leave something behind, even if it’s small.

I could write a book about these six months.

But for now, a letter will do.

From,

Calgary