We're down to the last two weeks of the program now, and the sinking feeling in my stomach is slowly growing, spilling out of my mouth onto the page in front of me. Soon, the day will come when we'll pack it all up, board a plane, and go home. We're starting again in a way, closing one book and opening another. No matter how happy or sad the circumstances, it seems almost human nature to resist change: we all know we can't stay here, but hell, we don't want to leave either. Tahiti has become like home for the past two and a half months, so now what? That season is coming to a close, and and we're now tasked with processing how our experience abroad has changed us and how we will use what we've learned.

I cannot answer those questions for anyone but myself; each of us will no doubt return home with a different story, having learned lessons unique to how we experienced Tahiti. Any list I put together will be far from complete, and represent only one student's perspective, but perhaps it's a good place to start.

I've learned that...

...raincoats are almost superfluous in Tahiti. When it really rains, you might as well be swimming. So skip the coat, wear your bikini during storms.

...I have terrible aim with a three prong spear. Despite my serious need for target practice, however, there's not much I enjoy more then throwing on my fins and mask and exploring the wild and beautiful world underwater.

...hiking in Tahiti is never what you expect. Steep inclines, slippery mud trails, river crossings, killer Mosquitos... And some of the most breathtaking views you'll ever see. The last hike we went on, for example, we ended up at the top of a hundred foot water fall, jumping into fresh water pools and racing down natural water-slides to cool off. Best. Hike. Ever.

...never pass up the opportunity to stop at a fruit stand. Fresh pineapple with lihimui will change your life.

...when you dance, dance like you mean it. No matter what your hips actually look like when you dance the faarapu, we're learning it's the joy on your face and the intention in your heart that people remember most.

...when in doubt, do it anyways. Ask that question in Tahitian, even if you know you might pronounce it wrong. Eat the Fafaru, and know that "bizarre foods" are really only strange to you. Jump off that bridge. Faith and courage are choices; no one is born fearless, but by stepping off that ledge, no matter how scary it seems, you are choosing to be brave.

...it's ok to say "I don't know." Over and over I have seen how the ideas and perceptions I came with were so incomplete. I never knew how much I didn't know. But if you don't let pride stop you, that's the best place you can be. "I don't know" turns into "I want to learn," and maybe even "Can you teach me?"

...the ocean is an incredible place. Stop moving long enough, and you might feel it heal you. Stop talking long enough, and you might learn to love the peaceful, powerful sound of something so massive you can't even perceive it's limits. The ocean makes me feel small, fragile, ephemeral; reminding me that my hope and strength come from a source much greater than my little self.

...Tahiti is not a postcard. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful, with black sand beaches, distinguished mountains, and thick tropical forests. But it's the culture, history, and values of the Tahitian people that make it truly incredible.

...there are entirely different ways of understanding, knowing, and learning than those that we're used to. Just in the little time that we've spent here, we've seen how the quality and quantity of knowledge and values passed down through oral traditions can shape a culture, and how much we can learn from studying a system different from our own. For example, (I'm going to go down a real quick bunny trail. Real quick, I promise ;), Tahitian navigators could sail from Tahiti to New Zealand to Hawaii, crossing thousands of miles of open ocean without compasses or nautical charts. They studied and memorized the stars in the night sky, the way waves move across the ocean, the currents and clouds. Everything they learned they shared with young navigators through oral traditions: there were no handbooks, no worksheets, no written records. I can name a number of people (ok, myself included ;) who can't even navigate across Seattle without their smart phones!

...there are no easy answers to some of the questions were asking... How does a society like Haapu, one rooted so deeply in their traditions and values, and so strongly connected to their land, lagoons, and each other, respond to the rapidly changing "western" world that is knocking at their doorstep? How can we share what we've learned from them about community and sustainability with our friends, family, and peers back home Seattle?

...the most valuable gift you can give someone is your time. Be present in the moments you share with family and friends. Stop worrying about your todo list; trust me it'll all still be there tomorrow. But sitting down next to papa and listening to him talk about fishing and the health of the lagoons, or sharing tea with mama and watching as she prepares uru...I know that the gift of time and wisdom that they're sharing with me is priceless, and shame on me if I let worry distract me from what is truly invaluable.

Like I said, I think I could go on for pages with what we've learned. Each day here has been a blank page; we never knew what adventure or adversity was in store for us. But that's life, right? The experiences we go through, the challenges we face, the lessons we learn will come with us wherever we go, shaping our perspectives and informing our choices.

Yes, we're leaving soon, boarding planes, and going home. But no, we're not the same people any more. And maybe that's the whole point.