Some journeys are measured in miles.
Mine was measured in buses, fear… and one small dog.
When I arrived at my first American host family, I was extremely happy.
They were a couple in their late thirties, and life with them started beautifully.
They used to drive me to the institute,
take me out for lunch,
and make sure I felt comfortable and safe.
Later, they taught me how to use public buses.
They gave me printed maps and schedules
so I could find my way to school.
I loved leaving before sunrise.
There was something peaceful about the early morning silence.
On my first day, I left home around 4 a.m.
I was the first person on the bus.
My journey was long.
One hour on the first bus.
One hour waiting for the second.
Another hour riding.
Then waiting again.
Then another ride.
Four buses.
Every day.
My class started at 9:15 a.m.
Sometimes I arrived late.
Sometimes I ran between buses.
Sometimes I walked the last part on foot.
But I never gave up.
I followed this routine for three months.
Pure struggle.
When I returned from the institute, it was usually late at night.
I knew the neighborhood.
But all the houses looked the same.
The only thing that helped me recognize my host family’s home
was their car.
If it was parked outside,
I felt relieved.
If it wasn’t,
I felt lost.
One evening, I returned before dark.
The sky was still bright.
But the car was gone.
I walked around the neighborhood.
Again.
And again.
Street after street.
Nothing looked familiar.
Fear slowly entered my heart.
I was tired.
I was alone.
And night was coming.
Then suddenly…
From the end of the street,
a dog started running toward me.
Barking loudly.
My heart froze.
I have never liked dogs.
As it got closer, I panicked.
But then I realized…
It was their dog.
It stopped in front of me.
Looked at me.
Then turned around.
And began walking ahead.
As if saying:
“Follow me.”
I followed it.
Step by step.
Until…
It stopped in front of the house.
My house.
That night, something changed inside me.
I, who never liked dogs…
Loved him.
Because when I was lost, tired, and afraid…
He became my guide —
after God —
back home.
If you’re an international student reading this,
know that every struggle shapes you… even the ones that scare you.
