It’s a strange thing celebrating the Fourth of July when you’re in a foreign country. Back home, I could always depend on a lake side BBQ, country music, water tubing, and being surrounded by amazing friends. To be honest, today has been the first day I’ve been homesick since I left for Moldova. July 4th has always been a staple in the Feinberg household and it’s bizarre not to be celebrating it the way I’ve always known.
This year, instead of celebrating on a boat underneath the fireworks I gathered with my new “government mandated family” and we shared Independence Day with our Moldovan hosts. Each volunteer prepared a traditional American dish and we gathered in the park near the school. (And when I say “each volunteer” I mean each volunteer except for me. I acted as emotional support and entertainment. No one wants to eat anything I’ve cook, believed me.) We had fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, garlic bread, and most importantly hot sauce. Sprinkled in there were some American takes on Moldovan dishes like an apple plăcintă (Moldovan style pie) made by our very own Gina. To my Misty Waters family, don’t worry, country music was played. A lot. And as far as being surrounded by amazing friends, we had that one covered too. It’s crazy to think that I’ve only known them for a month (and yes, it’s been exactly a month since we first met), but the amazing people who live in my village have truly become my family. I don’t know how I would get by without them.
One thing I’ve learned in all my travels is that America is pretty great. We have our problems, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a country filled with so much culture and so many different types of people. It’s a country where a boy like me can live exactly how I want to be, and sometimes I think I take that for granted. Today let me think more critically about what it meant to be an American. All I can say is no matter where I am on Independence Day, I will always bring with me a little bit of my American pride.