When I was maybe in second grade, I distinctly recall I was at a friend’s birthday sleepover party. We were watching a Goosebumps movie in which a green house plant is created and takes over a basement. I was bawling my eyes out on the sofa as the other party attendees comforted me and asked me what was wrong. I said I missed my mom, my dad, my family, my home, and I wanted to sleep in my own bed that night. I had slept over this girl’s house before, so this was new. Luckily my house was only five minutes away, so around midnight my dad came and picked me up and I fell asleep under my sheets under my own roof. From then on, I could not stand sleepovers. I tested the waters a few times, but in the end I’d come home. Or I’d stay really late, but then leave to avoid a sleepover. I refused to participate in sleep away camps because I knew I couldn’t handle it. For 7th and 8th grade field trips in which we went to another state for a week, my father was a chaperone because I didn’t want to go alone. I experienced homesickness on a regular basis. There was even one night I had slept over my grandparent’s house, and I had cried because I missed my parents.
It wasn’t until the tail end of 8th grade and the beginning of high school when I finally overcame my strong dislike for sleepovers and my overwhelming sense of homesickness. I was breaking away from my past behavior and was home less and less. I stayed at friend’s houses, hung out until the morning, stayed after school, and like a normal teenager, I probably saw my friends more than my family and I was rarely home. 12th grade I flew in my first plane and went to New Mexico without a parent.
Then when time was ticking for me to go off to college, I started to worry. I was going to be 730 miles from home, a 12 hour drive, or a plane ticket away, either option would not be feasible or doable to get me back home. I thought I would get extremely homesick because I hadn’t experienced anything like college, and sleepovers, though I could handle, were not my forte. I had warned my parents that if I could not handle the distance, I did not want them to come get me. I told them I had to stick it out, and I would remain at college and toughen up. I didn’t want homesickness to interfere with my freshman year; I wanted to be a happy, involved, enthusiastic college freshman, not a homesick, sad student.
First quarter was a breeze; I made friends, participated in events and activities; learned and accepted that sometimes I’d be alone and have to be independent, I aced my classes, and skyped every Sunday with my family. I was never homesick, per say. I missed my family, of course, and friends, and my cat, but I wasn’t longing to be back home because I was content with college and my college life. My winter break lasted for over a month, and returning to school was an easy transition. I had missed my college buds, and was excited for classes to begin. Winter quarter went the same as fall quarter: homesick was not in my vocabulary. I spent spring break at my college because I didn’t feel as though it was worth the money to go back home for a few days just to return to school. I was excited for my spring break, even. I explored the beautiful city I now reside in, I caught up with friends I hadn’t seen much during the quarter, I relaxed, enjoyed having the dorm to myself, and I simply focused on me and for once. I was stress free and relaxed.
But as spring break comes to a close and my friends are returning from their homes. I must admit, there is a pang of homesickness resonating in my heart. Now, it’s not indescribable homesickness, I am not crying like I did when was little, begging to be brought home (in fact I haven’t even spoken a word of this to my parents, they’ll be reading this in my blog!). A little part of me wishes I had gone home for spring break. I miss driving my car, I miss playing with my cat, I mis sitting down at the dinner table and talking to my parents and my brother, I miss my mom’s delicious home-made food (cafeteria cannot compare), I miss my water bed, and I miss the people back home. I only have ten weeks until I return home, and I know before I even realize it, I’ll have one week to go. But, for now, I wish I was falling asleep in my own bed. I want to hug my father good night, and kiss my mom on the forehead and wish her sweet dreams. And I want my brother to come into my room and sit on the edge of my bed and talk to me for a few minutes before we agree it is time we both surrender to sleep.
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