Tis the season for everyone to pick up and just leave America, leaving you here. Alone. To fraternize in the same old places with most of the same old people and doing nothing truly as Instagram worthy as Spain, England or Germany. While your friends are drinking Italian wine with actual Italians in ITALY, you're walking to class in the snow, seeing the same-old, same-old. To the people stuck in my boat, the one docked in America, going nowhere exciting, this is for you. This is what all that feels like. From the first initial moments when your friends get their acceptance letters, to when they finally arrive home.

First your friends all post that "guess where I won't be" Facebook status to tell everyone they'll be going abroad in six months.

After the 355th post, its kinda getting on your nerves.

Then you forget about it, whatever.

Suddenly, the reality of your friends leaving you for a foreign country starts to get more real.

They start shopping for their trip.

Bags, power converters... whatever other weird things they might need.

Soon enough their departure date sneaks up on you.

They're packing up their entire lives into a bag for at least four months.

You realize that there will be an ocean between you.

And a ridiculous time difference.

Then they just leave.

They're gone, out of your life (at least physically) for months.

You're devastated.

They can't answer your funny texts immediately. It's awful.

Then it starts.

The pictures. Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook, everywhere.

They're eating and hiking and very legally drinking.

This goes on for months.

It seems like forever, and it's awful.

But eventually, sooner than you think, it's time for them to come home.

You're so excited. Like ecstatic.

They get home.

You have to wait for them to sleep off the jet-lag.

And then you get to see them. It's the best.

Reunited and it feels so good.

And the best part?

Souvenirs. Foreign, awesome souvenirs.