Here I am, laying curled up under my new bed set, in my new dorm room, at my old school in my old city. A hurricane survivor. English major. One of the rare Kansans. Drinking Twinings tea out of my Oxford mug to ward off pangs of homesickness.
How does life manage to push us around so easily? I look at the blog post I wrote just a week ago and think of how far I’ve come in so little time. Seven days. 168 hours. Missouri. Kansas. Dallas. Washington, DC. Friends, family, friends. A room of my own, a room to share.
It is the weirdest feeling to wander around my old haunts, favorite places, re-warm benches, retrace steps. Somehow it feels as though DC is accepting me back with open arms, and yet, simultaneously, she says win me back. Adore me as I deserve. Make an effort to span my city’s miles, neighborhoods, stores, stops. I have to relearn, slightly, what used to be mine.
And I will. It’s funny too how protective I felt of DC last night as Hurricane Irene pounced. I wondered how many people I know and care about would face power outages, fallen tree branches, floods, fierce winds. I prayed that DC would not be ravaged as North Carolina was. My friends and I snuggled up with my newly-purchased wine glasses, fuzzy blankets, and junk food to watch a movie, as the rain plastered the windows, beating relentlessly.
It feels so wonderful to be with my people again, these friends whom I have been separated from for all too long. I keep trying to peek ahead and know what my final year as an undergrad has in store for me. What a glorious feeling to be on the brink of it; and yet, already this year is escaping me. Despite myself, I dread the wrap-up, the moving on, the growing up.
It’s fun to see the incoming freshman class, looking so young and a little nervous, a little unsure of themselves. I was just there but there’s some formidable occurrence that stands between freshman me and senior me: coming into my own. Feeling comfortable in my own skin. Being blasé about starting conversations with whomever. Relaxing in even somewhat disconcerting situations, going with the flow, playing it by ear.
As the tropical storm rampaged through DC, my thoughts were with the homeless; with returning students struggling to get back; with new students adjusting to their new campus in the midst of a hurricane. My arms were around some of my best friends, as I smiled at the feeling of coming home. My heart was still bruised from goodbyes in Kansas and England, trying to beat its way back.
But really, truly, everything in me says, “This is going to be a good year.” I’ve dreaded it starting because that necessitates it ending all too soon. But now it has started. I’m in the middle of something beautiful.
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