I'm So (Home) Sick

WARNING: Serious whining ahead. I wasn't even going to post this, but I haven't finished a post since I left Hawaii and I wanted to assure you that I'm still alive. Mostly. Read at your own risk.

I now understand why people live in their parent's basement all their lives.

Why would they leave? Why would you go away from people who love you and walk out into a world that gives you weird looks and treats you like every other person on the street? Why would you leave when you don't have to worry about how to best work things out with your roommates, what you should by at the store, and where your checks were sent? When you were comfortable and happy?

My parents say that they don't really remember saying goodbye to their family or their first couple days at college. I'm putting mine down on record: It stinks. It stinks worse than anything else. Ever since I gave my little sister that last hug I've felt hollowed out inside. I'm constantly fighting back tears. My voice sounds thick and there are these hideous, painful bags under my eyes. And even though I'm sitting here on my bed crying, my mom can't give me a hug. And she isn't going to be able to for another four months and fifteen days. No matter who else gives me a hug, it won't be the same thing at all. I hate this.

I know what my dad would say if he were here. He'd say, "Why aren't you watching that movie with your sociology class? Why aren't you going down and talking to those guys who are blasting music from their truck (as long as they're not return missionaries, because you're not allowed to talk to them)? I told you not to just sit in your room and do homework and watch Korean dramas and Doctor Who."

And he did. He told me. And I probably should have stayed up on campus to watch that movie with my class. But I was hungry, I didn't want to have to pay for food, I didn't know if it would be dark by the time we finished, and I didn't want to walk for forty minutes. And I probably should go talk to the girls who are yelling downstairs, who came in place of the music-blasting guys. I should. And maybe even could.

But I don't feel like I can. My hair isn't washed, I'm in a PE shirt and shorts, and face is all swollen up. That would be OK. I could wash my hair, change into something else and wash my face. But I don't think that I could talk to them without crying. I haven't really been able to talk to anyone today without crying. I don't even want to talk to the people passing under my window. I feel no interest in them. No sense of kindred-spiritness. I'm sure they're nice, but I don't know them. And after growing up in a town where you never have to talk to anyone you don't know, I wouldn't be comfortable with them. And all I want right now is to be comfortable. All I want is to get hugs from my family, to sleep in my bed back home, to run down to Katie's house, and complain to Sister Handcock, and make bread in my oven. And for my mom to hold me and tell me everything is alright, and that she loves me, and that I can do it.

That's it. I'm transferring back to Hawaii. There is no way I can do this for a whole year. I'd live in my parents basement if they had one, but since they don't I'll content myself with sharing Mei's room.

I probably won't. I'll probably end up liking it here, meeting friends, growing up, learning about myself and the world in general. Probably. At some point. But tonight I'm by myself and I can't think of any good solution.

Over.

Graduation BeMoanings

FUN FACT: This is my last week of high school and my last week of seminary.

This fun fact? Has not clicked at all. I have no real feelings about it. I don't really believe in it. I've told myself that it was coming for so long that, now that it's here and fun facts like the above are bouncing in my ear until my skull rings, I find myself brushing them off and saying Uh huh. Yeah. I'm sure.

I wonder when reality will hit. When I'll suddenly realize that this is where the sidewalk ends and high school is moments a way from become the good old days and I am going to have to wash my own socks from now on and ever after.

I hope it doesn't happen in the middle of one of my graduation speeches. (yes, plural. not only was i unsuccessful in passing my high school graduation speech off to Vita, i am now talking in seminary graduation too... Brother Oleole told me i'm representing all the girls in our graduating class, but no pressure or anything.)

I'm the crying sort. Have I mentioned that? I cry. A lot. Often and hard. None of this single streak stuff for me; that's for amateurs. I do full-on, red-faced, mouth-creasing, eyes-burning, lungs-searing sob fests. (When we watched Titanic in school I was the first girl to break down. Ila was next to me and it started this chain reaction until our entire row was crying into kleenexs we made Taylor fetch for us.)

Books, movies, long days and particularly cuddly looking bear cubs send me over the edge. Coming to the Great and Grave Realization in one of my graduation speeches is thus potential humiliating. And it's totally the kind of thing that would happen to me.

I can just see myself, the poster-girl for one of those high school cliches I've been avoiding for the past four years, standing up and talking to all my school-mates, their friends, families, and dogs and sobbing, "I'm going to miss you all so, so (sob) much."

No. No no no. I refuse.

What I am tempted to do is quote Bilbo Baggins: "I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

It's perfect! Half of the people up there I haven't talked to since sixth grade and most of them think my name is Melissa. (you know my name, right?... right?)

Anyway, I might be spared the humiliation of sobbing in front of everyone, or the awkward displeasure of my school councilor when I half-insult everyone I'm graduating with, because last time I checked my cap and gown were yet to materialize. I just might not walk at all. Which would be OK by me, but I'm pretty sure my mom, school councilor, and various English teachers wouldn't be happy.

You know they're making us all wear white shoes for graduation? How lame is that? I don't even own white shoes. Do you think that they'd give my graduation speech away if I showed up in yellow wedges? Because that's a risk I'm willing to take.

Over.