on coming home

I have all these notes on my phone from about a month ago. They’re titled “general thoughts re: end of year” or “summer goals.” They’re all about leaving BC and going home. It feels weird to be so immersed in two different worlds – it’s like I’m a child of divorce or a senator who spends half his time in DC and half his time in his home state of Nebraska, or wherever.

In one of the notes I say how I started tearing up when my American Studies professor showed a picture of the Washington Monument on the board, and that’s how I knew it was time to go home. The note makes it seem like that homesickness was a permanent feeling that stayed with me the last few weeks but in actuality I forgot about it almost as soon as I made a note of it. Today, my best friend from home (it’s weird to differentiate now) sent me a selfie of her with the Washington Monument and I didn’t feel anything. Today, I started tearing up walking across the quad to my final final when I knew I would never be on the Newton campus with my three best friends from school ever again (until we creepily show up senior year).

I’ve never moved. I grew up in the same brick house on the same culdesac in the same suburb of DC for my entire life until I uprooted to a brick dorm on a culdesac in a suburb of Boston. I didn’t feel homesick for Bethesda until I started feeling at home at BC this spring. Maybe it’s because once I started feeling at home I realized what I was really missing, or something, but it doesn’t make that much sense to me. I felt homesick for a place that didn’t exist, a middle ground where all my friends, from Boston to Bethesda, could drive around listening to Summer Hits of the ‘90’s and never have to study or go to work.

At times I felt like the soundtrack to my life was an amended version of that LCD Soundsystem song: BC, I love you, but you’re bringing me down. It was a weird, cloudy, mediocre time. But eventually the sun came out, my mood increased exponentially, and I never wanted to leave. That lasted for maybe 2 days until finals started.

Now, I’m waiting for my plane to takeoff. I’m excited to see my dog/cat/friends/mom/brothers/dad/whole foods/neighborhood (not in that order) but mildly depressed to leave my floor/roommate/dorm/philosophy class/Gasson/Linden Lane/the Newton bus. It’s weird to exist in a middle ground where you’re constantly missing a piece of you, especially because I’ve never experienced that before.

The flip side of my phone notes are the ones with all my potential baby names, or movies I want to see, or my never-ending thought note containing such gems as “puppy riot” (potential band name) or “this PBJ isn’t as incredible as usual.” These pieces of my mind make it impossible for me to forget both the poignant and the mundane. In this case, scrolling through my notes while I waited to board my flight, I remembered that I once wanted so badly to come home, until I realized I was already there.

See ya soon, BC. Stay breezy.