And then, a few weeks ago, I was walking down the high street in my neighborhood and I realized, I liked it here. I wasn't grumpy or uncomfortable. No one looked at me like I was out of place (i.e. the startled look I would always get the moment I opened my mouth with my American accent).
I felt -- *comfortable*.
I also felt like Oprah was in my head explaining to me that I'd had an a-ha moment (not to be confused with an A-ha moment where you accidentally starting singing "Take on Me"). Yep. I was officially acclimated. And then I started counting...17 months, to the day. I beat those missionaries by a month. So here I was, an expat, who finally felt ok about her expatriation and new home, one month ahead of schedule.
You know what else takes 17 months?