Teacher’s Summary:
Lena Schmidt, an honor student, shares her poignant narrative of cultural adaptation and friendship in “Swimming Between Worlds: A German Exchange Student’s Tale.” The story explores Lena’s experience as an exchange student in Georgia, the challenges she faced, and the unexpected friendship she formed with a betta fish named Roger. Through vivid storytelling, Lena illustrates how this small but significant bond helped her navigate cultural differences, find comfort, and ultimately connect two disparate worlds.
Swimming Between Worlds: A German Exchange Student’s Tale
by
Lena Schmidt
If you were to imagine the ideal, no, perfect best friend, then that would be Roger. He was amazing. You would be lucky to have a brief chat with him, even though he didn’t usually say much, or even meet him; then again he stayed in the house most of the time.
When I first arrived in Georgia as an exchange student from Germany, the heat hit me like a wall. Everything was different – the food, the accents, even the trees. My host family, the Johnsons, welcomed me with open arms and Southern hospitality, but I still felt lost, adrift in a sea of unfamiliarity.
That’s when they introduced me to Roger.
“We thought you might like a little piece of home,” Mrs. Johnson said, unveiling a small aquarium. Inside, a beautiful betta fish with flowing fins of deep blue and crimson swam lazy circles.
I must have looked confused because Mr. Johnson chuckled. “I know, I know. Betta fish aren’t exactly German. But we thought having someone to talk to might help you settle in.”
Little did they know how right they would be.
I named him Roger, after my favorite character from a German children’s book. He became my confidant, my silent therapist. After long days of navigating cultural differences and language barriers at Peachtree High, I’d come home and tell Roger about my day. I’d practice my English with him, stumbling over pronunciations without fear of judgment.
“Roger,” I’d say, “today I learned that ‘bless your heart’ isn’t always a nice thing to say. English is strange, ja?”
Roger would just swim in his little circles, his fins waving like he was nodding in agreement.
As the weeks passed, my English improved, and so did my adjustment to life in Georgia. I developed a taste for sweet tea and grits, learned to say “y’all” without feeling silly, and even started to enjoy the sweltering heat. Through it all, Roger was there, a constant reminder of the home I’d left behind and the new one I was building.
Then came the Jekyll Island incident.
The Johnsons decided to take me on a weekend trip to the coast. “You can’t visit Georgia without seeing the Golden Isles,” Mrs. Johnson insisted. Of course, Roger came along.
The car ride was long, and poor Roger didn’t seem to enjoy it much. His water sloshed with every turn, and his usually vibrant colors seemed a bit dull. By the time we arrived, I was worried sick about him.
That night, exhausted from the journey, I fell into what Mrs. Johnson called an “instant coma.” The next morning, I rushed to check on Roger. To my relief, he seemed back to his old self, swimming happily in his travel tank.
Later that day, we went to the beach. I carefully carried Roger’s tank with me, setting it up on our blanket under an umbrella. “See, Roger?” I said. “This is the Atlantic Ocean. Much bigger than your tank, eh?”
As I swam in the warm waters, I kept glancing back at Roger. He seemed fascinated by the waves, his little face pressed against the glass of his tank. That’s when it happened.
A strong gust of wind knocked over the umbrella, and in the chaos, Roger’s tank tipped over. Before I could react, a wave washed over our blanket, and Roger was swept out to sea.
Panic seized me. “Hilfe!” I screamed, forgetting English in my terror. “I mean, help! Roger!”
I plunged into the waves, searching desperately for a flash of blue and red. Hours seemed to pass, though it was probably only minutes. Just as I was about to give up hope, I saw him – Roger, swimming strongly against the current, making his way back to shore.
Scooping him up, I hugged him to my chest, not caring about the salty water soaking my clothes. “Oh, Roger,” I sobbed. “Du hast mir solche Angst gemacht!”
From that day on, our bond was unbreakable. Roger had faced the vast ocean and chosen to return to me. In that moment, I realized that home isn’t a place – it’s where your heart feels at peace.
As my exchange year progressed, I made human friends too. But none could replace Roger. He was my link between two worlds, the silent keeper of my secrets and fears.
When the day came for me to return to Germany, my heart was heavy. I’d grown to love my life in Georgia, my host family, even the humid summers. But most of all, I’d miss Roger.
Mrs. Johnson must have seen the tears in my eyes as I said goodbye to my fishy friend. “Oh, honey,” she said, hugging me tight. “Roger’s coming with you. Did you think we’d separate you two?”
And so, Roger made the journey back to Germany with me. He adapted to his new home as gracefully as I had to Georgia. Sometimes, when the noise of Berlin feels too much, I sit by his tank and remember the sound of cicadas on warm Southern nights.
Roger may be just a fish to some, but to me, he’s so much more. He’s a reminder that friendship knows no boundaries – not language, not culture, not even species. He’s my unexpected best friend, the one who helped me find my place between two worlds.
Don’t get me wrong, I know I seem very chipper, but I do miss Georgia every day. You have no idea. Even if you’ve left a place you loved, I still don’t think it could compare to what I left behind. But having Roger here, it’s like a piece of that Southern sun is always with me.
Du warst der Beste, Roger. Du bist der Beste. And you always will be.