It was flat out one of the most amazing things that has ever happened to me. Just for a while, perhaps only half a day, I became enlightened, or was on the brink of it. It all started from a song and a vision that came along with it. I really did wake up that morning smiling. In school that day I really did see people's souls. It was flooring to realize that I wasn't the only important person there. We are all so special and alive.

A few weeks later I put words to the experience, and that was the founding seed of my second zine. I wrote and wrote, wanting to share with others what I had felt, and wanting to relive the experience. There is nothing quite like being enlightened, everything becomes extraordinary.

And then, just as I was beginning to finish up writing all of the articles for my second zine another miraculous thing struck me. It was the biggest of the big.

The house is quiet, and outside the sweet morning silence is echoed by snow falling without a sound. I sit at the huge wooden dinner table. The house smells of Christmas, which is evident by the small tree glowing lightly in front of me. A dying fire glows redly in the stove. In the kitchen I can see tins of cookies and cakes. An orangey pink frosting of light seems to cover everything, and out of nowhere I begin to write.

Five hours later the sun has risen over a lightly cloud covered sky. Every once in a while a light dusting of snowflakes will fall to their doom on the wet concrete outside. The fire is now roaring merrily away, and the house is filled with the smells of both breakfast and lunch passed in pajamas that are still being worn. And still I write. The words bending themselves out of my pen, like children pulling on pajamas just one size two small, amaze me. I feel as though I am reading as I write, as if it is not me at all who is making this story.

Finally the pen stops and I look at my handy work. The amount of paper I have gone through astonishes me, and I am but halfway through the story I want to tell. I suddenly realize how much my hand is cramping up from all of this writing, and deftly decide to go nurse it with a cookie.

The next morning finds me the same way. I get up even earlier than usual this time. As I begin to write again chunks of golden sunshine falling in though the long windows decorate my pages, and I found myself enchanted by my own words. I write and write, unmoving, for seven hours straight. I never tire.

When I write the last word I feel the pen fall from my hand, and I stare down in amazement at the enormous pile of paper in front of me, completely covered in my messy, excited hand. I don�t even realize that my mouth is open.

It was the most amazing thing. Even now as I look back on that day I can see the room perfectly as it was, see the story I wrote spread out before me, and feel the craps in my right hand and neck. It was all so worth it.

I must have gotten up, stretched, and munched a few cookies. The house was so warm and Christmassy. I�m sure I stacked up the papers neatly and put them in my zine binder in my room. I say I �must have� because I really don�t remember. I was still so lost in wonder.

I do remember putting on some clothes and taking a walk. The random dustings of snow left my hair looking frosty as I walked slowly along. I couldn�t stop smiling. I was so amazed that that much writing had seemingly just poured itself out of me. It was like some force greater than me was helping me to write, and in many ways I do believe that there really was something more there than just my pen and I. I was so proud of myself though, I really can say that that story is one of the best things I�ve ever written. I walked and walked until finally I found myself back at my host families house, kicking half melted snow off of my shoes as I went inside through their pale-purple front door. For the first time in two days I finally managed to think about something other than my writing. It was the day before Christmas, you see, and I had to make cookies.

It�s Christmas, I�m thinking numbly as I stare around my room. It looks strikingly bare. My floor is scattered with half full boxes and suitcases. I�m spending Christmas day packing, the thought bitterly crosses my mind, as I shove some more clothes into my massive duffle bag. I am attempting, rather fruitlessly, to keep my mind away from the fact that the next day I�m moving into my second host family�s house.

In the distance I hear the telephone beep out a Christmas tune, its latest form of ringing, and soon my host sister is in my room handing me the receiver.

"Hi, sweetie!" I hear my mom�s voice come through to me. For once the distance between us doesn�t seem quite so interesting, but rather depressing. Christmas seems so hollow without your family. Like a dinner with no food, or a log with no fire. We talk for some time before it happens. You see, I haven�t really broken down and cried since the moment I left my mom at the airport in August. I just haven�t been able to find myself capable of really crying.

"My room is full of suitcases." I say to my mom. "I don�t want to leave tomorrow," my chin is quivering. "I really, really like this host family. I hate this. Why do I always have to say goodbye?"

And amazingly, there is something warm and wet rolling down my cheeks and right down into my mouth and onto my chin. It actually drips right down onto the floor. It tastes salty to my tongue. I�m so shocked, I�m actually crying. In fact, it�s more than that. I�m positively sobbing.

I�m sure all of this is difficult to listen to for my mom, and she tries to comfort me the best she can, being thousands of miles away from me. I sob for the rest of the entire conversation, which is a good half an hour. Even though I really am miserable, I have to admit that part of me is feeling slightly relieved. Finally I have broken through whatever barrier was holding back my tears. I feel like at least I�m back to my old self again, even if I still have to change host families the next day.

I noticed that once my tears had found their way out they seemed to enjoy the process so much that they continued doing so for a good week. Actually I would really owe this to the fact that moving into my second host family was tough. Let�s just say it was definitely a step down from my first host family in many ways. Things did start to get better again though, right around New Years.

It�s the little things, I am thinking, as I watch the CNN newscaster in ecstasy. He�s speaking English!

I�m sitting in a cushy chair in the middle of a very lavishly decorated living room. It is New Years day, six o�clock in the morning to be exact. Around me are many other exchange students flopped into chairs or couches. Some are fast asleep.

I can�t believe how happy I am. I feel the best I have for days. This New Years party has been like a break from the ceaseless emotional hell that I�ve been feeling ever since I switched host families. I don't like to think about how I would be passing this New Years if Julie (another exchange student) hadn't invited us all down to her host families house in Verdun for this party. As soon as I arrived I felt like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. At first, honestly, it felt strange to smile.

My stomach rumbles uncomfortably, but I hardly take notice. It�s just the last remains of all the junk food I consumed during our all night party slowly being digested. I am totally wiped. I spent the entire night swimming, dancing, shouting �Happy New Years!�, singing, and playing truth or dare. Exchange student parties are the best, and I am just getting to the best part.

Whenever anything important happens to me I swear the air around me gets a golden tint to it. Kind of like when the sun comes out from behind a cloud. This early morning, the whole room is so gold it seems as though the sun itself is sitting beside me.

Everyone in the room perks up as the camera shot switches from the newscaster to Times Square. I am full of jitters. I never thought I�d get to see the ball drop this New Years.

Slowly the big glowing ball of lights begins its descent, and all of us in the middle of France, six hours past the actual New Years here, begin to cheer out the countdown with all of the people in Times Square, half the planet away. It is magic. When the ball finally touches down and the big "2004" lights up, I feel something come alive inside of me.

Hope.

When I first arrived in France I couldn�t even think about 2004. I just couldn�t, it seemed so far off in the distance, like the tiniest pinprick of light at the end of an inhumanly long tunnel. And now, 2004 is here. I suddenly can see myself going home, going to college, doing all of the great things that will come to pass in the year 2004. Words can�t contain my joy.

It�s true. I really don�t think any of the other exchange students who were at that party knew why I was so happy. I�ve never been as full of hope for the future as I was in that moment. Life became bright for me again, and I knew that no matter how hard things got, I could make it.

Things did get pretty hard though. Do you know what happens to people when they get depressed? They revert to comforting habits, and mine was food. In my second host family I ate so much food, mainly out of depression and boredom, that I gained weight. I got down on myself for it, which resulted in me just gaining more weight.

This all came to its height halfway through February when I was in the middle of a two week winter break from school, and I tried to put myself on a diet.