Well, we made it: the end of the first semester.
Writing this, I'm surrounded by all the ceramics and knickknacks I've known since birth, inside a modest row-home in a Northeast Philadelphia suburb.
The same ghosts I used to call "friends" are here. So is the U.S. naval base I never entered. So is the karate arena I left prematurely. And so is the corner store I never brought snacks from, hung out in, or, heck, even looked inside of.
To say that I've dissociated from my neighborhood is an understatement; I've never felt at peace here.
Yes, like the others who are excited to go back home, I remember the buses and SEPTA routes I've taken to school and my after-school program. Yes, I remember that my elementary, middle, and high schools are all within a 30-minute walk from my house. Yes, I remember the places where I got all my clothes from. However, my section is a place that I connote more with negative memories than positive ones.
It was here where I lost my first friendships due to people moving or me "being too weird." It was here where I first experienced being called the n-word. Where I was "too white" for the black kids, and was different being in white and Asian cliques. Where I've been bullied, taunted, beaten, been made to cry, and also forced to forget how to cry. It may have not been simply these things. Maybe I was always born with a bleak mood, a warped prayer, some sort of handicap that made me an easy target. But these didn't help at all. And of course, I had to wear these badges on me up to the end of high school: "Husky." "Serial killer." "Gay." "Girl." "Murderer." I was my own cheerleader, but even then I had to make sure I didn't try to harm myself.
Don't get me wrong; I made decent relationships with some good friends, especially teachers. But, I couldn't help but realize their presences as "fleeting," or in other words, ephemeral. Here we all were, consequences of an school district that put more into sectors other than education, a mixture of the best and worst of humankind. By the time an honest group had formed, it was already too late; high school graduation was a few months away, and I was more than prepared to get rid of my old life for a new, more purposeful one.
So, last week was a bittersweet time for me; although I could definitely say that I survived college for at least a semester, I was also plagued with having to come back to my house, having to regress back into my past days of staying indoors while the giants roamed the streets. During my first semester at Haverford College, I made friends who I could actually confide in with problems; I was able to do things for myself; I could explore Ardmore with a sense of ease and comfort; and I could call these people "family" more within three months than with others who I'd known for years. For the longest time, I actually felt like "somebody." Sure, I had my bouts of terror and sadness, but I was more ready to bounce back up this time. There were many more resources available instead of just my family members and some teachers/friends. There were more places to hide myself when I was feeling at my worst. I was beginning to understand the complexities of my mind, and how that didn't necessarily make me inferior, but just different; and not in the sense that made me lose friends, but in the sense that I just had different wants and needs.
Of course, I'm not an angel. I can be quite selfish at times. I realize that there are some who are required to be far from their family, and their lives which they appreciate very much; and they get to be reunited and relive those days for a month. And I'm happy for them. Then I realize that while coming back to campus would bring me comfort, it would bring others some sadness as they leave once again to be in a place that's still foreign to them. And in that sense, I'm much more privileged.
Still, I'm definitely looking forward to coming back. Until then, I'll try the best I can to stay busy while everyone else has the connections and reunions that they definitely deserve.
