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My time in Morocco is almost over. It is hard to believe how quickly the time has passed. I know I have grown in some ways-become stronger or wiser, but the truth is that I can't tell yet. I still feel like it was yesterday that I stepped off that bus in a strange new city, crossing the street to live with a family I knew nothing about. The only real way for me to see that time has in fact marched on is to see my little niece TALKING to me on Skype, or hear about the wedding plans of one of my dearest friends. I know that time has passed because so much has happened at home. Being here in Meknes has almost been like an escape from the real world. I know I've done a lot, seen a lot, learned, experienced, and eaten a lot. I've made friends, and I've gained a family. But time? Time seems to have stood still.

One of my most frequently asked questions is, "do you miss home?" Yes. That's an easy one. I always miss home. From the moment I step on a plane to somewhere new, I miss home. The next question, "are you excited to go home", is harder to answer. Yes, I want to go home, don't get me wrong. I miss the people. I miss not having to think when I want to communicate in everyday life. I miss that comfort with the culture that you never realize you have until you are completely out of your element. Yet, even with all of the things and people that make me miss home, I don't know if I'm ready. Of course it should be noted that I didn't feel "ready" to come here either.

This city, this apartment has become another sort of home. It's the little things that make it home: when my host mom covers me with a blanket when I fall asleep on the couch; when, despite all odds, I'm able to carry on a really great conversation in French; when my host brother brings home a book in French for me to read-just because he thinks I'll like it. When I leave home, I know I'll be coming back. There is too much I love there to stay away forever. But, as I prepare to leave Morocco, I'm faced with the reality that in all likelihood, I'll never get to live here again. Yes, I will do everything in my power to come back and visit, but living here, with this family and these friends-that part is over. So in that respect, I hope the next week and a half pass slowly.

Three months isn't that long, but it is long enough. It is long enough to adapt. There are times when I'm walking down the street and wonder why everyone is looking at me. I feel so comfortable. I know where I'm going and how to get there. I forget that even though my blue eyes have seen all of these sights before, a lot of these sights still aren't used to seeing blue eyes.

Eventhough I look forward to resuming real life with my friends and family at home, I feel a pang of sadness when I think about leaving here in 11 days.