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thoughts on “home”

by Echo Meyers
graphic by Savannah Tate

I moved away to college about five weeks ago. I am adapted to the living situation now, living with 30 girls on one floor, having a roommate for the first time in a long while, no more home cooked meals. I have been too consumed with my lectures and book work and lacrosse practice to really consider missing “home.”

I went back over the three-day weekend.

The first night sleeping in my big comfy queen-sized bed, I thought I would be ecstatic. But, I awoke to find that I actually missed my lofted extra-long twin back in my dorm.

I missed the distant tolling of the campus bell tower.

I missed the faint musty smell of the lagoon outside.

I miss the creaky, echoing, tired noises that a building makes when it houses 800+ freshmen.

The pressed, white sheets of “my” bed have grown stale.

I was most disturbed when I woke up and shuffled across the hall to the bathroom. Standing in the tiny room, I was suddenly flooded with a sense of my “old-routine;” waking up at six every morning for high school classes, the monotony.

I had spent five years in that bathroom.

I hated it.

And the smells.

The smells were all wrong.

I felt like a guest in my own home.

I asked my sister if she missed me.

She didn’t.

Not really.

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