So here I am. Sitting in the IMU building, one of the largest student unions in the world. I've exploded yogurt all over my black shirt, but that's only one of many awkward things and moments I've maneuvered myself into over the past couple weeks.
The past two weeks -- orientation and classes -- have been a sensory overload. It's been full of excitement and lunacy and confusion and hesitation, anticipation, awkward moments galore. There's been too much new stuff for anything real to settle into my brain lately.
But here I am, and the dust is settling. And I'm happy. And things are changing. The mountains are gone, but there are lush trees everywhere. My hair freaks out every time I step outside, but I feel an old familiar feeling of home in the humidity. My apartment is large and empty and echoey. My kitchen cabinets are full of books and my refrigerator has nothing in it but diet Coke, two yogurts and leftover stir fry. And watermelon in a bag. My clothes are piled everywhere because there is nowhere to put them. I wrote for five hours straight on Sunday because that is what I'm here to do.
Adjusting from the rigidity and soulessness of the 9-5 has been difficult, much more so than I thought. I wander around and have nowhere to be, and it's beautiful. I read because I can and because I'm not tired. And I work on poems all day because I can, because it's what I am here to do.
I think sometimes though, that solitude is too much for me. I think it makes me crazy. And I get nostalgic for the old lives, but I won't go back because I can't. Nothing will ever be the same, no matter how much we try to make it the same.
I have to remember that there are no endings, only changes.