I'm home.
Finally.
When I walked out of that Organic Chemistry test, though, I did a little victory dance and smiled as I walked back ...home?... to my dorm.
Then, as the car pulled in the garage several hours later and many miles away, I hit the red button to close the garage door out of habit and walked through the door.
It still hasn't hit me that I'm home. That it's over. That I won't be going to class for the next four weeks.
Maybe the disorientation stems from the ambiguity of the term 'home.'
'Home,' of course, is here with my family. In this house where no one has to be self-conscious or care about their appearance, a little private haven in this busy, busy world.
The thing is, I haven't lived here in four months. I haven't been part of the family. I haven't missed Mom's absence for the last month because I've missed all four of them. I haven't spent time with my little sister, helping her through the living hell that her life is and mine used to be. When I am here, I feel like a guest.
'Home' is also where I live. My little, crowded, cold room. The room with the posters on the wall and the decorations and the plants and the fish. The room where I go to sleep and wake up. 'Home' is where my roommate snores and the faucet drips and only two of the showers work.
The thing is, I will only be living there until May, and then I'll move to some other 'home,' somewhere else on campus. I'm not attached to this room, and even though it is where I live, I constantly have to watch myself. I have to arrange my schedule around the roommate, the roommate's friends, the loud people on the floor, the loud people on the floor's friends, the two showers and twenty girls fighting for them, and the classes.
'Home' is the place your friends visit. None of my friends ever visit much, either 'here' or 'there.'
'Home' is where the heart is. I don't know where my heart is.
I guess I'll have to wait a bit longer to find my own home...
Finally.
When I walked out of that Organic Chemistry test, though, I did a little victory dance and smiled as I walked back ...home?... to my dorm.
Then, as the car pulled in the garage several hours later and many miles away, I hit the red button to close the garage door out of habit and walked through the door.
It still hasn't hit me that I'm home. That it's over. That I won't be going to class for the next four weeks.
Maybe the disorientation stems from the ambiguity of the term 'home.'
'Home,' of course, is here with my family. In this house where no one has to be self-conscious or care about their appearance, a little private haven in this busy, busy world.
The thing is, I haven't lived here in four months. I haven't been part of the family. I haven't missed Mom's absence for the last month because I've missed all four of them. I haven't spent time with my little sister, helping her through the living hell that her life is and mine used to be. When I am here, I feel like a guest.
'Home' is also where I live. My little, crowded, cold room. The room with the posters on the wall and the decorations and the plants and the fish. The room where I go to sleep and wake up. 'Home' is where my roommate snores and the faucet drips and only two of the showers work.
The thing is, I will only be living there until May, and then I'll move to some other 'home,' somewhere else on campus. I'm not attached to this room, and even though it is where I live, I constantly have to watch myself. I have to arrange my schedule around the roommate, the roommate's friends, the loud people on the floor, the loud people on the floor's friends, the two showers and twenty girls fighting for them, and the classes.
'Home' is the place your friends visit. None of my friends ever visit much, either 'here' or 'there.'
'Home' is where the heart is. I don't know where my heart is.
I guess I'll have to wait a bit longer to find my own home...
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