I’m the homesick type.

I’m the type of person to cling to home for as long as I possibly can; I cling to my family, to my room’s familiar comforts, and even to our cat (who isn’t particularly fond of me!). I do this because the unknown is terrifying, and the known is safe. Although I’ve travelled far from home to countries such as China and England, I’ve had a finite plan: go for two weeks, come back, and everything’s fine. As I type this from my Mount Holyoke dorm room, however, I know that this time, the plan is very different.

A week ago, when I was first moving into the dorm that will be my home for the next nine months, I had so many fears, expectations, and yes: potential catastrophes, dancing through my head. I feared annoying neighbors, a terrible roommate, stuck dorm windows, painfully difficult classes, and other inconveniences that my mind warped into insurmountable obstacles. This all hit me in waves, and each time my father brought a new stack of moving boxes and bags into my room to unpack, a new wave of tears came out in full force. Ironically enough, the only “plan” for my freshman year was a descent into the terrifying unknown that is college living.

I didn’t think I was ready. Part of me, even after a week, still doesn’t. That being said, so many things about college are so much safer, so much kinder, and so much happier than I ever could have anticipated.

I may have a poor sense of direction, but around me are hundreds of students and faculty who have kindly helped me find my way from building to building, which was a particularly difficult task during orientation. On my walks around campus, and back to my far-away dorm, every glance at a stranger is met with a smile and wave. I’ve been asked my name and pronouns so many times that “Sarah, they/them” barely even sounds like English anymore! Although a student and faculty body isn’t the same as my own flesh and blood, I can’t help but let the collective kindness of this campus fill my heart with joy.

I’ve gotten into hours-long conversations in unexpected places, like dorm hallways, and on late-night walks. I’ve gotten into vehement and passionate discussions with other first-years on topics that no one back home was interested in. And most of all, this school’s community accepts me for who I am, no questions asked: never before have I had the honor and privilege of living and learning somewhere that doesn’t ask me to be someone I’m not.

I've gone to classes and chatted with professors and students who "spoke my language". I didn't need to explain –isms, intersectionality, gender terms, and other things that I have previously had to define for others. In that sense, living here is the closest to "home" that I've ever been– it feels like an outside, tangible manifestation of my own thoughts and interests. It's challenging, but in its basic understanding of concepts I hold dear, it still feels safe.

I'm surrounded by people like me. Actually, I'm surrounded by people different from me, however what makes us alike is our love of knowledge, learning, compassion, and education. I've sat with many different people at meals and events, and despite our different backgrounds and experiences, I feel an instant connection to almost everyone I've met here. It's like a sort of telepathy: I want to hear your ideas, and I want to share my own. It's a breath of fresh air.

I’ve laughed, screamed, hugged, and cheered more in the past week than I have in so many years combined! What’s more, I’ve done it all with others who want to be here, who want to be in this community as much as I do. Home isn’t a choice, but spending time at this particular college, at this particular moment in our lives, is a choice. That’s a home in and of itself.

I’m still the homesick type. I still feel melancholy when I wake up in a bed that’s not my own, but I feel that my homesickness is making room by its side for hope. My familiar room is miles away, but I’m lucky enough to have, by turns, safety and excitement just outside my door.