I believe in the magic of a Friday night football game, I believe in the magic of a 'mom and pop' shop, and I believe in the magic of a place where more people know your name than don't. But I also whole-heartedly believe that it is okay to hate your hometown. While my town is not nearly as small as some others, with a graduating class of just over 200 in my high school I knew every person that walked the stage with me, as well as those that didn't. As sad as I was to say goodbye to my group of friends that summer before leaving for college, I was far more excited for the adventure ahead. Fast forward four years later to my graduation from college and things were drastically different. The dark cloud of knowing that following my commencement I would inevitably have to return to my hometown, even for the summer, while searching for jobs or graduate schools, made my life hell. The thought of going back, even for a short amount of time fills me with turmoil unlike anything else.

I was lucky enough to be accepted into the university of my dreams during my senior year of high school. Like most college freshmen, my first few weeks were a stressful adjustment period, but still full of excitement and wonder. Within my first semester I realized that without a doubt college would be the best four years of my life. Because my university had a long winter break, I spent about two months at home between my fall and spring semesters freshman year. During this time I was able to catch up with many of my friends from high school. Most of the conversations seemed to go the same, discussing classes, degree paths, aspirations, and comparing dining hall foods. One conversation that I could never really become involved with though, was when the statement "I wish I could go back to high school" came out. Many of my former classmates wanted to reminisce on our high school days, listing all the things they missed about our alma mater. This was all wonderful for them, but I realized I was desperately trying to tell stories of my new college friends and our adventures. That winter break was the worst two months of my life.

Fast forward to the summer following my freshman year. Saying goodbye to my friends was difficult, but going home seemed to fill me with dread. That summer on countless occasions I had to justify going to a school less than three hours by car, which was deemed "too far from home." I had to explain that for the career path I chose (and still love to this day) was not offered through the college in my hometown, where many of my graduating class chose to attend. I had to fight to make people understand that the opportunities I had available through my school were not as readily available where I was from. It seemed that every day I was questioned about my choice to leave my hometown.

That was the last school break I spent entirely in my hometown. The next three years I filled my time with a study abroad trip, extra classes, volunteer hours, and an internship. Not only did I consciously do these options to further my education and career, but I opted into each of these to minimize the time I spent at my previous home. In the few weeks I did return to my hometown though, I found myself filled with anger, resentment, and disgust. I started to hate the person I was in my hometown, feeling like a shell of my college self, and not being entirely present. In return, while at college I tried to avoid most conversations about where I came from. To some extent I felt embarrassed and ashamed to have outsiders group me into the masses of those from my town. While there are many wonderful, supportive, and loving individuals that are a part of my life because of where I grew up, there are also far too many that I want to distance myself from.

Maybe my own pride gets in the way at times. Not only did I work hard to be accepted into prestigious schools, but I also had the courage to attend one. More importantly though, I had a newfound understanding that my ideals were incredibly different from the majority in my hometown. It seemed dramatic enough to certain members of my community that I was only known for my differences, and I began to be isolated because of it. So I began to isolate myself. I noticed that I began to develop a "with me or against me" attitude, leaving me to have such a strong dislike for other members of the community. Notice I say 'the' community instead of 'my' community. I became an outsider in the place I grew up.

To put these differences in perspective let me give a few examples. I have many goals in life, but one goal I do not have is to be a mother. Like nearly one third of millennial women, motherhood is not a priority for me. I support women who prioritize women and those that strive to build strong family foundations, but just as I respect their decision, I would hope mine would be respected as well. I could count on one hand the number of times while at school I have had to explain my choice. In my hometown forever, nearly every woman that overhears that motherhood is not a part of my future plan bombards me with judgmental questions. The next incident of unhappiness came when I was accepted to a study abroad program following my sophomore year. Instead of sharing in my happiness and excitement, I heard interrogations of "Aren't you afraid it's too dangerous," "How will you survive if they don't speak English," or "Don't you know they are all corrupt there with drugs and politics?" As someone that feels strongly that each of us are a citizen of the world, I could not believe the overwhelming need for those in my hometown to try to look at every bad aspect of a culture. It seemed that almost nobody shared, or even understood my desire to explore another culture and learn about a different way of life. Of course there are other debates regarding women in the workforce, as well as LGBTQ+ rights, but I have learned to generally avoid these subjects when possible.

One night though, gave me a clear summary of the people I grew up surrounded by and a startling view of their character. The most defining moment of my hatred for my hometown is something that I remember very clearly, and a night I do not expect to dismiss from my memory any time soon. I had been sitting in a small bar, surrounded by at least twenty other people. Amidst the small talk, laughter, and cracking of tabs, 'Work' by Rihanna ft. Drake began to play. Given its popularity in mainstream culture and pop radio, I had been under the impression that this was a generally entertaining song for most of the population. That was before I heard the statement that made me so angry I could physically feel my heart rate increasing. From across the bar I heard "Turn this shit off. If I wanted to listen to black music I would just go to Philly." This was followed by multiple racial slurs and degrading comments that I do not even feel comfortable typing. While I understand that even in the most "woke" and socially conscious communities there is always one person with these tendencies, this was only half of the issue for me. What might be even more appalling, was that the other bar-goers were not phased at all by this. At least half a dozen laughed at these statements. Yet I was the one who was outcast and chastised for "overreacting" when I spoke up.

I realize that I did not grow up in a diverse area of the world, but it was clear to me that these comments were not coming from a lack of understanding, but from a place of hatred. This resonated so deeply with me due to the greater understanding of our society that I got in college. I would like to consider myself at least a little more socially progressive than those I went to high school with, but college opened new doors to enlightenment. Throughout adolescence I noticed my preferences beginning to develop and shift, but once away from my hometown and immersed in a new environment, new options seemed to be more readily available. This is when I entered a (very casual) relationship with a black man.

Sprinkled into our lighthearted conversations of hopes, dreams, goals, and aspirations, were moments of deeper struggles. I was able to truly get a taste of what life was like for a black man, and what it is like being half of an interracial couple. The support I had from my friends at school was nothing but positive and encouraging. When returning to my hometown though, I was not given nearly as much support. Once word got out of my relationship with this individual (as well as other black men I have been involved with), I was once again overwhelmed with judgement. Suddenly their intentions were questioned, my relationships were considered acts of rebellion, and even my safety examined. It was then that I realized that if I intended to share my life with someone of a different race, I would not have been comfortable doing so with the community I grew up in. I did not even feel comfortable facetiming him while in public for fear of what could be overheard or the backlash either of us would get. Once again, I was isolated.

Despite this relationship ending (for non-racial reasons), I still feel deeply offended by the acceptance of racism, sexism, and discrimination found in my hometown. Any time the deadline of retuning approached, I felt an overwhelming amount of sadness, anger, and disappointment. While many find this disheartening, I find it strangely to be a source of empowerment. So long as I have these feelings, I know that I still have strong values related to social injustices that I have witnessed. I will not feel bad for not falling into complacency of prejudices, and I will not feel bad for hating my hometown.

Each person has a story of who they are and where they came from, but it is always important to understand that they are not one in the same. I will always support those wanting to branch out, to explore the world, and to advocate for what they believe in. I will not judge a person by where they come from, and I will always strive to make even a small difference for equality. I know that not every person in my town shares these ideals, and because I distinguish people by their character, I have no ill feelings toward them. But I understand that it is possible for someone to hate their hometown, and it's okay to have these feelings. Do not try to correct me when I make this statement, and do not say that I "just miss college partying." What I miss each time I return home from college is acceptance, support, and understanding. So long as this is true, I will never apologize for hating my hometown, and I don't feel that others should have to either.