Last year, I lived in Chile for half a year. I lived with a Chilean family and had the responsibilities of any Chilean teenager. I had good days and bad days I didn’t understand.

Chuquicamata, my host community, is a mining camp. When I arrived there, I was scared. It was so different from what I was used to. There were lots of dogs on the streets, and there was no downtown, few smoothly paved streets, and little to do for entertainment. Rain was not seen very often, earthquakes and windstorms were frequent.

I had studied Spanish for two and a half years and was always one of the best students in my class. But in my first week in Chile I was only able to communicate and needed one person to whom I could explain my shock. I couldn’t speak the thoughts in my head and there were so many.