I want to go, but I don’t want to leave. As a Dutch exchange student, my English might not be perfect, but I know that statement is contradictory — though that doesn’t make it any less true. I think many exchange students can share the sentiment.

When I first arrived in the U.S. near the end of August, I had a backpack, two suitcases and 19 years of expectations informed by movies, TV series and the news. I also had seven months of built-up excitement for GW after getting selected by my home university and six months of stress about the paperwork and getting my visa to actually get into the U.S. and GW.

As a college senior, I felt smart and mature enough to decipher which expectations I had gained growing up would be realistic. I also did not expect to find shocking differences since both the Netherlands and the U.S. are considered Western cultures. Boy, was I wrong. It is weird to be suddenly confronted with a country you have heard and learned so much about before stepping on its soil.

It took 10 days before my Dutch roommate, who came from the same home university as me, and I had our first mental breakdown. Everything was overwhelming: The bread is too sweet, and all of the food is fried — why fry things to make unhealthy food even unhealthier? The water bottles are so big, and the tap water tastes so bad. Someone asked me how I travel from Amsterdam to the Netherlands. Why doesn’t anyone know their geography? How long is a mile, and how heavy is a pound?

Everyone here uses a.m. and p.m., not military time. There are flags everywhere — could you ever forget that you are in the U.S. with so many flags around? The White House seems so small in real life. There are two political parties instead of a parliamentary system, and why do so many people here love their guns? Why is everyone so proud to be an American?

Our complaints and questions were not only focused on America but also on college life. Why do I have to take five courses at the same time? My home university splits the semester into three periods with a maximum of two courses at a time. Why do professors assign so much reading — do people even do the reading, and is it all quantity over quality? Everyone leaves right after class. Where do American college students make their friends, how do they afford to go to college, how do they survive a semester?

Living in a house with about 30 other exchange students made life much easier. At nearly every hour of the day, there was someone around me with similar questions, trying to adjust to this culture and academic setting while simultaneously making the most out of the semester.

The weeks flew by. I checked the famous landmarks around D.C. off my bucket list, explored different neighborhoods, and traveled to Arlington, Annapolis, New York and Minneapolis. I joined the paper, the radio and a musical all while trying to make (American) friends, doing my coursework and not wanting to admit to myself how much I miss everyone back home. The mental breakdowns I had along the way were just part of the experience.

After four months of living here, I still cannot answer all the questions I asked myself at the start of the semester, but I know the shock wore off. I will never say “y’all” unironically, although “like” and “yada yada yada” have infiltrated my speech. America has grown on me.

Just as I’ve conquered the culture shock, learned how to navigate the academic field successfully and laid the basis for great friendships with classmates and club members, I am leaving.

I dread saying goodbye to the American friends I might never see again. The U.S. is too big to see all of them if I ever come back. If I ever see them again, it will be because they want to see the works of Van Gogh and Rembrandt and explore our windmills, canals and tulips.

The international friends I made, mostly from Europe, will be easier to visit, but that does not make it any less complicated. The exchange students I live with are the closest and best friends I made during this experience. I am going to miss seeing them every day, and I’ll bawl my eyes out when most of us leave at the end of this semester.

Of course, I miss home. My family and friends, our tap water and bread, good cheese and stroopwafels. I am craving home, but at the same time, I feel like I have just settled in. I want to stay another semester, but neither my academic schedule nor my bank account allow it.

I have often complained about the U.S. and how, in my biased opinion, the Netherlands is superior to it. Still, I will miss the U.S., everyone I met at GW and everything I have done here once I step on my eight-hour flight to Amsterdam, bags stuffed with souvenirs and memories that will last a lifetime.

I watched Christmas movies to cope with stress with my roommate, whom I have known for four months but could bicker with like we were married for 20 years. I went for strolls on the National Mall with people from England, Austria and South Korea. I studied in the Library of Congress. I danced to the Red Hot Chili Peppers in Central Park, completely drenched by the rain. I chatted with the activists and Secret Service officers in front of the White House for a course project and went to a Barbie-themed frat party.

I cleaned the bathroom I shared with two guys, who left more hairs than my longhaired roommate and I combined. I performed in GW’s 28th Rocky Horror Picture Show in lingerie, celebrated my first birthday away from home and broke my phone — twice. I listened to “Good Morning Baltimore” while waking up in a hotel room in Baltimore, wrote papers on U.S. politics and the military, had zero dollars in my bank account and ate pumpkin pie in a cozy dorm room at my first-ever Friendsgiving party.

I am grateful for every single memory. One semester just wasn’t enough.

Nova Spier, a senior majoring in journalism and mass communication and an exchange student from the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, is an opinions writer.