Returning to Tufts informed me of one fundamental thing
A home is made quicker than I thought.
I left in December euphoric about the idea of the warm breeze and passive privilege that characterizes my sweet home of Los Angeles. I was eager to escape the stress and school work to reunite with old friends and spend my days doing mundane things like emptying the dishwasher and making my siblings sandwiches. I relished having the uncomfortable warmth of the sun push me from my bed like a gentle alarm crafted exclusively for my house on the hill. I missed the way my bed took up the majority of my minuscule room so that spending extended amounts of time there made me feel coddled and safe. I missed the lectures from my parents and the freedom of a car and the winding roads that lead to the beach. I was eager to work tirelessly on music and message and self-improvement and resolution. There were days when I would wake up to the sunset rising outside my window and the beauty of it would inspire me to spring from bed and start the day before anyone else in my house. There were days when I would cry with happiness at the greatness that was the tower by the shore, and the cool breeze that danced gently around me. I even missed the calm silence that comes in the night and early morning the silence you forget with all the banging doors and tapping computer keys and boisterous dorm mates.
With each full day in the ebb and flow of awe and melancholy that is a college freshman’s life, I constantly found that time refused to retain its structure. Some days flew by while other days were slow and arduous neither was determined by the contents of that day or lack thereof . It was like an external being was playing with the speed of my life in iMovie without regard to how it would affect me. It was this constant disorientation that led to my unfortunate surprise the day I realized I had a plane to catch that evening. I didn’t want it to end. This time at home with all the people I loved, where I could be part of the picture and stop feeling so far away. I didn’t want to give up on this cure for homesickness. The month at home felt like an endless summer. But it also felt like the abrupt and functional ending of a French indie film. It was just over.
Now what I didn't expect was the strange comfort I felt when I walked off the plane and into Boston Logan. I then found acceptance of the bleak sky, leafless trees and the random piles of grimy snow as I emerged from the T I have come to know well. Then when I arrived to campus, it was like time hadn't passed at all. Like I went out for a day in the city and I was now returning home for dinner. I was one of the last to arrive on my floor so there wasn't really a beat to miss. There wasn’t a mention of a break and if there was it was brief and general. Everyone was definitely recharged and happier, it was apparent that no one was grotesquely sleep deprived or manic over classes yet. It was like getting into a cozy bed you made your self. It was familiar, warm, and made up of things you love.
Speaking to my peers it’s the general consensus that we all feel we are living double-lives. A life where we go home and become almost children again, where there are limitations of how much pizza we eat and how little sleep we get. And this other life where we are in charge, we are our own parents at a never-ending dinner party full of knowledge, discussion, and satisfying dessert.