The Freshman Experiment

My friends/dear readers! Ach, I’m sorry I’ve been MIA for so long, but I took a trip with my brother and Pa (to be explained in further detail through the blog posts I wrote while I was there, which will be posted later). But for now, onwards and upwards in the present!

In my house, Christmas always smells like cinnamon. I’ll never understand exactly why. I even looked today—not a stick or candle or air freshener with the distinct scent in sight. Yet still, throughout the years, it has remained a defining factor of Christmas for me. I feared, coming home to the new house, little (but important) things about the holidays like this would be missing. But I woke up this morning and there it was: cinnamon. I’ll never understand it, but it might be one of those mysteries about Christmas that is semi-magical no matter what your age…and if that’s the case, I’d rather leave it unexplained.

It was a quiet day, and that was nice. I sat around a tree (a small, but nice tree) and opened presents with Ma, NotMyDaddy, and my brother. I am now the new owner of so many books and plays, which I have already cracked open. I am extremely jealous of CC’s photos. I wish I could play, too, but I left my camera at school; I suppose I’ll just have to hope that nothing too momentous happens in the next month. Anyway, the time spent around the tree made me nostalgic, and not in the best way. I remember years that involved a sleepless Christmas eve, filled with multiple viewings of “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “A Muppet Christmas Carol,” and a family listening of “The Polar Express” (the book-on-tape as read by William Hurt, not the recent film). The mornings began at dawn with my pajamas zooming by so quickly that they were merely a blur.  I remember hot chocolate with mini-marshmallows and trying to unwrap each present by meticulously peeling of each piece of tape, and eventually just ripping through the layers of paper like a ravenous animal.  It was a holiday that was awaited all year long, starting the very moment that the old tree was carted out to the curb.

Now Christmas isn’t a holiday, or even a whole day; instead, it’s a few hours in which we all buy each other sensible gifts, things we can use, things we need. Today seems to epitomize the transition between high school and college, childhood and adulthood. Things are becoming more and more sensible with each passing year, but we still have all the excitement of little kids. I constantly debate whether it would be better to forget this old anticipation and move on with our adult lives or hold on to it with all our might; it could be that those silly memories and the happiness they bring are what keep us going in times of monotony and responsibility. Either way, this day was bittersweet for sure, and only gets more so as the years go by.

In other news, I’ve been pondering this list of instructions that Kait and Brian are searching for: how to return home. As this is the second time I’ve done so, I feel I might be ready to offer some suggestions. Half of returning home, it seems to me, is learning to let go. The life of a college student is a constant struggle to separate home and away (you can decide for yourselves which is the campus and which is the childhood house). So, returning home means accepting the fact that I will not be seeing my PU friends for an entire month. For a month, I will not wake up in my tiny dorm room, or fall asleep to the sound of my roommate’s sleep-talk, or struggle to find a space on my desk (or entire floor) that isn’t covered with clothes. I won’t sit on the library steps and examine the students passing by, or pull an all-nighter, or eat crappy cafeteria food. Sure, I’m excited about all the things that only my house can bring: my family, my friends from high school, familiar places that hold years of memories. But there are things that will be dearly missed. So, for me, returning to one home seems to be leaving another. And this means saying goodbye.

At least for a little while.

It’s here. I conclude my first class tomorrow, the proposal for my musical is due, and finals are right around the corner. Everything is ending.

And it’s scary.

Soon, my naiveté will no longer be excused by “but I’m a first-semester freshman.” My awkwardness in social situations, my struggles with classes, my poor attempts at papers and at a social life—these things will no longer be considered normal. I will be ½ finished with my first year and 1/8 done with college.

Something is definitely ending.

But, at the same time, I feel as though a beginning is about to occur. It’s like we’re on the brink of an initiation, finally about to become actual students at PU, not just a newbies. Discussions of next semester’s classes, next year’s housing, everything that is still to come. There is an anticipation and excitement that keeps this impending conclusion from being an impending doom.

Tomorrow night is the annual tree lighting. All around campus, white lights have been strung and, in a few hours, thousands of students will gather with hot chocolate in hand, and watch the lights beam through the falling snow. The year might be ending, but it’s just the beginning. A second chance? Yeah, that’s hopeful. I like that.

Beginning and end (5)
All at once. Try to keep hope. (7)
Just look at the lights. (5)

So, I am moved in. My bags have been unpacked and my dorm room has been filled. I’ve been “convocated” and I am now officially a college student.

Let me explain something. This event has been on my mind for about three years now. I have known that I wanted to go to Prestigious University (PU) since the end of freshman year. And all I have done since I realized that was my goal was dreamed and imagined what this day would be like. And since I received my acceptance letter, all I’ve done was pine and long for when I would actually set foot upon PU’s campus and be addressed as a student.

So can someone tell me—

Why the fuck do I feel so sad right now?

All day long there has been this undeniable lump in my throat and no matter what I do, I cannot get rid of it. And it threatens to expose me for the coward I truly am at any given moment. Seriously. There was nothing in the dean’s speech tonight that should have brought me to tears, and yet I was sitting there, surrounded by hundreds of other students, and this damn lump was rising and my eyes were almost welling up with tears. And this has been happening all day. I cannot stop crying (or at least almost crying).

I first cried last night when I realized that this morning was the last time I’d ever see the house I grew up in (my mom is moving in a few weeks). It was a sad realization, but not that serious a cry. The real explosion was due to my mother. About an hour after she had announced she was going to bed last night, she came to me with red eyes. She held me and told me how proud she was of me and that she hoped I could be proud of myself one day and that she had done her best to be a good mother. And that was heartbreaking for me to hear because she has. She has been the greatest mother. So naturally her tears summoned my tears. But that was a good cry. We cried together as we sat on the floor in each others’ arms and sobbed because we loved each other so much.

Today’s throat-lump has not been hinting at a “good” cry. It’s been trying to break me into one of those cries brought on by pure loneliness and grief, where you can barely open your eyes afterwards and your throat feels like you’ve been screaming. And I know that as soon as the lamp gets switched off and my head hits the pillow, in the darkness, I will not be able to stop the tears. I dread saying goodnight to my roommate knowing that only moments later she may hear the sobs that have been fighting to get out of me all day. The dead of night has a way of bringing out all the secrets that you’re somehow able to hide in the daylight.

I should not be sad. My roommate is great. My RA is great. PU is perfect, just like I always knew it would be. The day was fine. Sure it was very, very hot (it’s actually amazing to me how the seasons here can be so drastically different), but I really can’t complain about anything. I just can’t explain or stop the lump.

Perhaps my feelings could better be expressed in a haiku. I like haikus. They’re simple and clean and easy. Plus, they’re so darn fun to write! So—

College has begun. (5)
The other kids laugh and smile. (7)
I just miss my mom. (5)