it's only a physical thing
It took a few days, but I'm finally back into the swing of things. I've been in a good mood for the past week, getting things done... several consecutive days of shopping... by now I'm just about ready to leave. I started packing today; I'll finish tomorrow. Keeping busy is one good way to stay in good spirits. I've been spending time almost exclusively with my family, which I really needed. I feel closer to them now than I have ever been before, and I know that this will help carry me through the tough stuff over the next year, the decisions I have to make and all. I also feel alive here in New York, like an adult. I've learned so much about the city this summer, this past year, I feel more than ever like a New Yorker and, in many ways, I feel better than ever about living here. It's going to be hard to leave. I'm going to miss so much.
It's finally hit me today, tonight, that I'm leaving again, that a new year begins for me on Saturday. A year in which I will go new places and meet new people, study new things, make some very important decisions about my future, and not have enough time at home. This is the end--for now--of my time here, for the past year or so. I'm looking forward to the trip, to Stanford, and Japan, and seeing everyone there, even briefly. I'm even looking forward to next semester--aside from the biology class I have to take--and career forums and honors societies and resumes and all that fun stuff. After all, I can't sit on my bum here forever.
I tried on all of the new clothes tonight, one last time. I don't really know what all of this stuff is supposed to look like... I feel most comfortable in the more casual outfits... but "it will get the job done." No more about that. Dad tried on lots of my old stuff, we had lots of fun, a mini fashion show. I'm reading an amazing book, by Ayn Rand, and I can't put it down--that's a wonderful feeling, and a rare one--but I'm afraid it's a little over my head. I hope it calms down. And I've done nothing exciting, nothing spontaneous, in the past two weeks. I've met no one new. (Although, it's ironic, as life always is: just before I leave, I get emails from two girls here who saw my flyer and want to meet me... only I can't now...).
Moving, like this, even a minor move like this (most of my stuff is still out in Cali, after all), always stirs up dust, both literally and figuratively, and old memories. I spent a while going through piles of postcards that I've gotten from friends, from all over the world--it's an amazing feeling. Also, postcards I've picked up all of the places I've been. It somehow hits you, when you realize it forms a stack fully six inches high, of all of the places. And I'm only 22. Then, there were the videos. You never know what will turn up at the bottom of old boxes which appear from under beds, and the dark recesses of closets. This time, it was a video an old girlfriend made for me. I hadn't watched it in four years--I couldn't bring myself to. Tonight I did. It was four years ago, it's something (someone) I don't think about every day, not anymore. But it's amazing the sorts of memories and old feelings watching something like that can stir up inside of you. Suddenly I feel very confused, a little like I've lost my balance, but I know the feeling will pass.
I shouldn't shy away so much from these feelings and these memories. It's something I should be more willing to address, every day. For instance, I don't know whether to feel good, or bad, remembering the past, this past. Good, because it happened once, it was true happiness after I had been so lost for so long, I still remember that clearly, and if it happened once, maybe it will happen again someday. Bad, because despite having been so sure of ourselves, it ended, and no, it will never really be the same again. It's been a long time. Can second love feel like first love? I wonder...
There's a pile of boxes at the end of the sofa, partially blocking the entrance to the hallway. How many times have I seen that sight before? Boxes--I live my life out of brown, corrugated cardboard boxes.
I really don't know what to feel, on a night like tonight. I wish I had someone to share this emotion with. I have letters from 10 friends in Japan, telling me they miss me and want to see me next month; I have letters from four friends in France, on the other side of the world, telling me how much they want to visit me here. But it's not that simple. This isn't the kind of emotion that can be shared with distant friends, no matter how close or important. This is the weight of the past, dug up once again, somehow held in fragile balance in this one, frozen moment: Dad's on the couch, watching television, and Noelle's gone, as always. Now and forevermore. I don't ever want this to end, but it has to. My future--the next chapter--begins in two days.
It's finally hit me today, tonight, that I'm leaving again, that a new year begins for me on Saturday. A year in which I will go new places and meet new people, study new things, make some very important decisions about my future, and not have enough time at home. This is the end--for now--of my time here, for the past year or so. I'm looking forward to the trip, to Stanford, and Japan, and seeing everyone there, even briefly. I'm even looking forward to next semester--aside from the biology class I have to take--and career forums and honors societies and resumes and all that fun stuff. After all, I can't sit on my bum here forever.
I tried on all of the new clothes tonight, one last time. I don't really know what all of this stuff is supposed to look like... I feel most comfortable in the more casual outfits... but "it will get the job done." No more about that. Dad tried on lots of my old stuff, we had lots of fun, a mini fashion show. I'm reading an amazing book, by Ayn Rand, and I can't put it down--that's a wonderful feeling, and a rare one--but I'm afraid it's a little over my head. I hope it calms down. And I've done nothing exciting, nothing spontaneous, in the past two weeks. I've met no one new. (Although, it's ironic, as life always is: just before I leave, I get emails from two girls here who saw my flyer and want to meet me... only I can't now...).
Moving, like this, even a minor move like this (most of my stuff is still out in Cali, after all), always stirs up dust, both literally and figuratively, and old memories. I spent a while going through piles of postcards that I've gotten from friends, from all over the world--it's an amazing feeling. Also, postcards I've picked up all of the places I've been. It somehow hits you, when you realize it forms a stack fully six inches high, of all of the places. And I'm only 22. Then, there were the videos. You never know what will turn up at the bottom of old boxes which appear from under beds, and the dark recesses of closets. This time, it was a video an old girlfriend made for me. I hadn't watched it in four years--I couldn't bring myself to. Tonight I did. It was four years ago, it's something (someone) I don't think about every day, not anymore. But it's amazing the sorts of memories and old feelings watching something like that can stir up inside of you. Suddenly I feel very confused, a little like I've lost my balance, but I know the feeling will pass.
I shouldn't shy away so much from these feelings and these memories. It's something I should be more willing to address, every day. For instance, I don't know whether to feel good, or bad, remembering the past, this past. Good, because it happened once, it was true happiness after I had been so lost for so long, I still remember that clearly, and if it happened once, maybe it will happen again someday. Bad, because despite having been so sure of ourselves, it ended, and no, it will never really be the same again. It's been a long time. Can second love feel like first love? I wonder...
There's a pile of boxes at the end of the sofa, partially blocking the entrance to the hallway. How many times have I seen that sight before? Boxes--I live my life out of brown, corrugated cardboard boxes.
I really don't know what to feel, on a night like tonight. I wish I had someone to share this emotion with. I have letters from 10 friends in Japan, telling me they miss me and want to see me next month; I have letters from four friends in France, on the other side of the world, telling me how much they want to visit me here. But it's not that simple. This isn't the kind of emotion that can be shared with distant friends, no matter how close or important. This is the weight of the past, dug up once again, somehow held in fragile balance in this one, frozen moment: Dad's on the couch, watching television, and Noelle's gone, as always. Now and forevermore. I don't ever want this to end, but it has to. My future--the next chapter--begins in two days.