Ever since I was a little girl, I have always been a highly independent person. Although I had my mother's and father's guidance and certain rules, I seemed to do most things all on my own.
The way my mom raised me was a bit against the stereotype of how a girl should be. My mom would tell me all the time, "If you want something, then you go out and get it yourself. Don't sit around and wait for someone else to carry you along the way." I grew up with the sense of getting things done on my own (with the occasional help when needed). Whether it was simple chores, like laundry or washing dishes, or working two jobs all summer when I got older, I did them alone. It was a sense of pride that I would not allow anyone to take away from me. I didn't want to be known as someone who was helpless and couldn't take care of herself.
I also let the curious side of me run wild, which is highly attributed to my creative and slightly daredevil personality (which is a contradiction to my actual self, being an introvert). This usually ended up as me being alone somewhere exploring. Somehow I would end up meandering along the beach miles away from home, or in the middle of the woods listening to the birds sing and the trees hum with the wind.
For as long as I can remember, I haven't needed people surrounding me to be completely content. As an introvert, I don't need a lot of human attention. I've spent days before not really speaking unless absolutely necessary, and I've spent a lot of my life alone. So, when I packed up and moved into my dorm for college, I didn't think that I would have any trouble with living even more independently.
The first few weeks were wonderful, meeting new people and going to a lot of the events on campus. I even got to see my best friend Lexi all the time (even though she lives across campus from me). However, as the weeks went by, something started itching in the back of my brain. I couldn't quite pin in, but something was missing.
My first time going home after being at school was so foreign to me because I actually missed being home. In all my life, with all my travels and being away from long periods of time, I never once got homesick. And there I was crying in my own bed because I had forgotten what it felt like. I never imagined that I would miss my old routine, my old lifestyle, as much as I did my first semester of college.
Lucky for me I live not too far away from Bridgewater, and I've had a lot of opportunities to come home. Because as much as I'd like to call BSU home, it really isn't (although my bed at school is far more comfortable than mine at home, believe it or not).
Now as the second semester of my first year of college comes to an end, I am more than thrilled to be going home for the longest summer of my life, well, at least longer than the summers in past in terms of physical days. I am however a bit bittersweet because I have finally formed my own routine at school, only for it to be completely different next year.
Oh well, I'll figure it out again next year.
