It starts with frustration.

Cramming my whole life into one car is a serious game of real-life Tetris. Fitting my new comforter, my seemingly endless wardrobe, those bins I said I just had to have, the canvases I worked so hard on, and all of the knick-knacks I’ve accumulated over the years is never an easy task. But we seem to make it work. Granted, we can’t see out of the back of the car, but we make it work.

Then, it’s the calm before the storm.

We drive five and a half hours, from the home I grew up in, to a new apartment. We talk, gossiping about my roommates or chat about what I’m going to do this year. We go over what classes I’m taking, making sure to mention that I see my academic advisor to ensure I’m on the right track to graduate on time. We listen to music, singing the lyrics horribly and most definitely incorrectly.

We arrive, and so it begins.

Pulling up to my new apartment, we sigh of relief. We made it. And now, the hard part. Unpacking everything we crammed into the car is just as hard as getting it into the car. We’ve always got a plan, though. Boxes first, pillows and lighter things last. But most importantly, just get into the apartment and out of the car. If we listen carefully, we can almost hear the car sigh of relief from all that weight being lifted out of it.

We move on to the chaos. Getting my clothes organized, hung up or folded, and put away in their correct places is the most time-consuming. I always seem to have an attitude when we commence the clothes part, only because I like having things the way they are and my mom always insists on helping. But let’s be real, if she didn’t help, I’d be way more than lost. Getting my drawer stands put together is all on my dad and brother, they’re good with their hands so we leave the tinkering to them. We hang lights, organize my desk, and move my furniture around to their optimal locations.

Just when you think you’re done, you’re not.

I always forget something… always. We need more bins for my closet, a laundry hamper, something to organize my eating utensils, and many more things we haven’t come across yet. Target is a go-to. They’ve got everything at a fairly good price and it’s easy to find. Here comes the attitude again; mom keeps insisting I need something and I don’t agree with her, even though 99.99% of the time she’s right.

Don’t worry, we’re still not done. Grocery shopping. Cereal, crackers, milk, juice, popcorn, breakfast bars, cleaning supplies, coffee, you name it, you probably need it. I’m lucky to have parents that are more than willing to buy me groceries for the first time around. We organize all of my things in the kitchen and move on to finish up my bathroom. We hang my shower curtain, organize my beauty products, and make sure that I’ve left room for my roommate to organize her things too.

And now, the hardest part.

We eat lunch as a family before they get in the car and head back home. I can see it on my mom’s face that she’s already sad about leaving her child at school, alone. It pains me to see my mom so upset, even though she’ll see me in a few weeks for a football game. We head back to my apartment to make sure that I don’t need anything else, and the tears are already flowing. They’ve been building up for the past few days and now it’s time to let them loose.

My mom’s voice begins to shake and she hugs me tighter than ever before. She tells me the same things each year. Make a name for yourself. Don’t let anyone get you down. Study hard. Be great. I love you. I thank her over and over for everything she’s done for me. I can’t ever thank her and my father enough for loving me unconditionally through the good and the bad, through boy after boy, and through life in general. No matter how far away I am from them, they’ve always got my back. My dad always tells me not to be stupid, which is exactly what every college student should hear. I thank both of them once more before telling them that I love them, too.

The truly hardest part is closing the door with them outside of it. I hear them get in the elevator and leave as I begin to sob more. All I can think is Can I do this? I’m all alone. Eventually, the tears go away and I come to terms with the fact that they’re no more than a phone call away.

And then, I sit. I move things around and organize some more before letting out one last burst of tears. Then, it’s all over. I’m at my new home. It’s game time. I can do this.