I shouldn’t have worried about needing to cry. The tears came. And they wouldn’t stop. All the way home I cried at various intervals… sometimes out of sadness, sometimes out of nausea, sometimes out of exhaustion, and sometimes out of pure disorientation.

We stayed up all night at the Arcadia Center Thursday… Petros, Joanna and Maria stayed up with us, too.  We were all fine for the first part of the night… we danced, we ate chocolate baklava and played chess.  And then Ryan and Jessie were the first two to leave around 2:00 a.m.  Jay-Z and I walked back to the Melissou apartment where their stuff was and where a third girl on the trip, Allison was waiting.  I figured these would be two of the hardest goodbyes and they could only get better from there.  I admittedly did cry like a little girl when I hugged Jessie and then broke down completely on Ryan’s shoulder.  It may sound silly, but I really spent most of my last three to four months with these people.  It was heartbreaking, to say the least.

At five that morning, a charter bus arrived to take us all away.  The tears really started flowing then… Petros and Joanna were both crying in my arms (as I was theirs) but saying goodbye to little Jay-Z was probably the worst.  It’s always better, I’ve decided, when you’re the one leaving.  If you’re the one left behind, you’re stuck in the same place, now empty without the one who left.  I cried the entire way to the airport (silently, thank goodness) and listened to all of my Death Cab for Cutie songs on random.  By the time we arrived at the airport, I was so tired and numb, saying goodbye to Tina as she ran off to catch her flight to Turkey was certainly made much easier.  I was out before takeoff and woke up shortly after landing.

Heathrow was terrible, too, becuase this time I had to say goodbye to Eva, the roommate I feel I most bonded with.  She doesn’t cry, and I swear my tears were getting her going… we parted quickly, promising to see each other again some day.  I bought some food at Heathrow using some of my leftover euros and received some British coinage back… what funny looking currency, that England has, that’s all I have to say about that.

The flight from Heathrow to JFK was the worst leg of the trip because it was so long and I was squished in the middle and my television in front of me was broken.  I slept for most of the flight, going in and out of delirium, all the time listening to music.  Landing sucked… we spent half an hour flying around in turbulence waiting to land.  But we did. And found ourselves in customs in the JFK airport.  I was expecting hardships and troubles there… I did not declare the six chocolate bars I brought back nor the four bags of pistachios stowed away in my suitcase, but I walked right through.  The final goodbyes were said here… from there on out, I was on my own.

I trudged outside with all my luggage through the New York snow to get to the Airbus to take me to the next terminal over where American Airlines was located.  After some confusion in figuring out how to get my boarding pass (and paying $90 to check my bags and then pay for an overweight suitcase… 68.7 pounds, baby!), I made my way through security and into the terminal.  I felt so sick, so ill… I called both my parents to let them know I was in the States, and my mom talked to keep me distracted.  I tried to buy food using American money and (true story) freaked out when I realized I didn’t know how to pay using U.S. currencies.  It was a surreal experience…

I finally fell asleep in the airport.  My flight was delayed until 9:35 p.m. though it didn’t leave until 10:15 p.m.  I tried to sleep as much as possible on the plane in order to avoid the nausea, and around 2:15 in the morning of the next day, we landed in Los Angeles.  I started crying (of course) when I saw the lights of the City of Angels from the plane, and I sobbed again when I saw my mom and Carter after getting out into baggage claim.  We got my suitcases and headed home… I walked into my room around 4:00 in the morning, checked email and Facebook, sent messages to my friends to ask whether they got home safely and then took a shower… a much-needed shower.  I was in the same clothes for 60 hours straight.

I passed out at 5 and woke up at 10.  I’m still going, too.  I’ve eaten so much Golden Spoon today, it’s insane.

I miss Greece. I miss the people. I can’t believe Christmas is coming up so quickly… it’s exciting to be back, but I don’t really want to see anyone right now.  I want to curl up and cry.

But it can only get better from here, right?