The first time I felt homesick during my semester abroad, I hadn't even left the country yet. My parents had just dropped me off at JFK. They had stayed with me until I entered the security line, and then, with a few hugs and wave goodbye, they were gone.
第一次想家时,我甚至还没出国。爸妈送我到肯尼迪机场,他们一直把我送到安检线前。我们拥抱,说了再见,他们就回家了。
The second time it happened, I was shopping in my first Prague supermarket, surrounded by foods I didn't know, brands I couldn't read, and cashiers I couldn't understand, as I was shouted at in rapid Czech.
我第二次想家,是第一次在布拉格的一家超市购物,周围的食物我都没见过,这些品牌我也不认识,收银员们用快速的捷克语跟我大声地讲话,我却一句也听不懂。
The third time, I was deeply sick with a virus; feverish, exhausted, and miserable. My friends brought me soup and I stayed home from class, but all I wanted was to be in my own house, with Gilmore Girls on the TV and meds that were in English, and a mom who'd rub my back as I fell asleep.
第三次想家,是我生着重病的时候,发烧、疲倦、痛苦万分。朋友给我带了汤,我也请了假,但我只想窝在自己的家里看《吉尔莫女孩》,希望药盒上都是我看得懂的文字,希望妈妈在我身边,她会在我睡觉时摩挲我的背。
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