The night before had been tremendously emotional. No matter how much you want to rationalize it, no matter how easy it is to state that the world is a lot smaller today than it was in the past, there is no getting around the feelings that explode in your head when saying goodbye to your parents before you walk down the hall to security and out of sight. I suppose this moment is inevitably intense when, prior to this jump across the pond, one has been commuting to college from home for five years, and has been experiencing not the unique challenges of moving away, but rather the banal joys of a high-school redux, in every sense of the phrase.
I had been pretty calm and collected up to that point- nervous, to be sure; and rigorously analyzing the smallest of details, to the point where I packed far less than I could have for the sake of economy. But I had ignored the feeling component, and so it burst out dramatically, in Jungian revenge, at the last possible moment. This is not the first time the past month this happened to me. Letting the dam open in times of difficulty is something I've had trouble doing my whole life. I guess it's both fitting and inevitable that I would have to do it at the end of my first act of, well, whatever you want to call my life.
The farewell was succinct but intense. All in all my mom actually handled it rather well. I started crying when I hugged her, and my dad started crying when we first shook hands but quickly regressed into a hug. I got to tell both of them that if it weren't for them, I wouldn't be here doing this. I am very proud I got to tell them that. My eyes are watering up from writing about it.
As soon as I said goodbye to my parents, I rounded the corner and was shocked to find security entirely empty. I was so shocked by this, and still so wrought up from saying farewell to my folks, that I blew past the security guard, who in a predictably bemused tone asked for my boarding pass. It took me a few seconds to realize that this was the manifest thing to do, so I apologized, explaining to him that I just had an emotional bon voyage. He said something like, “Well that happens. Your eyes are red.” I told him “Don't worry, I wasn't doing anything illicit.” He thought I had too much to drink.
***
I'm one of the few Americans here. I'm proud of it. I acknowledge our flaws, but I do not bash my country. In fact, at times I glow about it. New Jersey even. Thus, while walking back to my flat whilst intoxicated I started humming the national anthem while waving my arms to conduct, but... this is neither here nor there.
***
The flight was marvelous. Had a whole row to myself, so i could stretch out and relax and use all the screens and tray tables for myself and in general be an ass. Taking off was something else. Going straight over Manhattan so you can peek between skyscrapers and see the lights of time square, so you can look down at the Empie State Building like it's a fucking toy, so you can take in all of the five boroughs at once, was... an out-of-body experience. I suppose this should be the case whenever you realize you're thousands of feet in the air and staring down at ten million people. Apparently Virgin-Atlantic knows how to put on a show, because the flight was bookended with a morning descent over central London. The eye of London, Big Ben, Parliament, and Trafalgar all lazily looked up at us in the quiet dawn. In terms of window-gazing, you can't really beat that.
And so we descended into Heathrow. After joining the cattle line for customs, I picked up my considerable amount of luggage (still a lot despite jettisoning so many things), found the bus group for Essex, and waited... it was in this queue that I first met some international kids also going to Essex to study.
Right away, I connected with some kids from Nepal and India. The guy from Nepal was originally an engineer, before he went to a meditation camp at Mount Kangchenjunga, I suppose not far from his home. There, staring at the clouds beneath him, it occurred to him that he had no interest in engineering, didn't want to be an engineer, and decided he'd be much happier traveling. That insight eventually led him here, to Essex.
As we're sitting in the god damned meeting point at Heathrow, waiting for our coach, his story blew me away. Here was a kid who had seen a lot. A lot of the world, a lot of experiences, and had so he had accrued a lot of wisdom. He told me he had decided that "you live life alone, you are yourself and no one else, and the only thing that matters is what you decide to experience."
That was a keeper.
***
Suddenly taking this "leap of faith" (as one of my professors called it. He also somehow surmised I was from the Philadelphia area, a city he described as having "a lot of soul." Among other things, I said.) causes changes in other ways. There's the responsibility part of it. Doing adult shit, as my friend would say. There's also the territory aspect of it. I'm fairly outgoing when I'm on campus. Back here I stake the claim to my room, and it's fair to say I'm a hermit. My flatmates are nice and I've hung out with them, but when I get back here it's quiet time for me. This is the first room I've had to myself my entire life. I like the privacy.
And it's not a bad room either. Small but not bad. Top floor, basically the attic, very end of the hall. I have a roof window and a poster of Einstein I purchased. It's very much me. I can see the stars and hear the rain drops. It's nice. Of course, these things didn't really seem obvious to me nine days ago.
***
Eventually the bus from Heathrow shoveled us to our accommodation. The Candan House on Forest Road is nestled in a typically monotonous British neighborhood called Greenstead. Now, I had not truly slept in about 24 hours by that point, nor had I eaten in roughly that time. I staggered in, threw down my stuff, and tried to get my bearings. I tried to make a plan. Do I get food? Do I nap? Am I really here?
Well, I tried walking to the nearby Tesco, that's a British ACME for those of you back home. And it was closed. Because it was Sunday. It was at this point I began to miss Wawa.
So I staggered back to my apartment and collapsed. Five hours later, it was 11PM. I woke up and had no clue where the hell I was. My friends, I began to panic. This was the low point. This was when I desperately wanted to just go home. I cried. I wailed. I plotted how to come back and ingeniously take a full-time job. It was bad. Though finding a place that would deliver helped. Still, that first night was bad. If it weren't for the internet and being able to talk to friends and family, I might have started running back to Heathrow. I'd figure out how to get on a plane when I got there.
I didn't do this, obviously.
***
The international experience is life-changing. There's really no other way around it. This is an overwhelmingly international campus. You meet tons of people, and you see differences, sure, but I think more importantly you see common threads. Things that bind us, feelings and thoughts that seem to exist irrespective of ethnicity or culture. While the story of my friend from Nepal might be the most dramatic one I've heard, judging with the dozens of people I've spoken to this past week, it is not uncommon. Whether from India, China, Portugal, Columbia, Nigeria, Russia, or good ol' America, it seems a lot of the international students here were doing something else entirely before hitting a wall, and, instead of just staying in their caste, they chose to burst through it and find a new life. Educators becoming linguists. Engineers becoming Economists. Aeronautical engineers becoming... psychoanalysts. And me, a biologist/experimental psychologist turning to analytical psychology. While I see my change as being pretty linear for what I want to do, there was still that moment where I decided I could not stay on the mediocre path I was taking. And so I jumped. I guess in that sense, a lot of the international students here are outcasts in their own way.
***
I am capable of doing the course. And doing it well. That realization came fairly early, and it was a relieving one. I have plans for my essays and theses. I'll see what I can do. It's just a matter of preparation and intuition. I don't expect to like every class; some of the reverence towards Jung or subjectivity has already gotten nauseating to me. But not every professor or student has been like that either. And my background and approach makes me unique. It's an advantage, not a hindrance.
I won't judge how much I like it one way or the other. Rutgers taught me the lesson of highs and lows (looooooooooooows!!!!). I will just do my job every week. The potential to be challenged to come up with great ideas is exciting enough for me.
I can do this. And do it well.
***
You never stop being homesick. It's matured, it doesn't make you panic, but when your mom mentions buffalo wings it's hard not to feel a jolt. Or just hearing your mom or dad's voice in general. It's stronger at certain times than others, but... it's there.
I have a great view from my window. The rolling hills of Colchester are sprawled out before me. To the left is campus, to the right is the town centre. Straight ahead to the west, always glowing at dusk, is home.
***
So here I am. 9:50PM. Maybe I'll try sleeping again, or maybe I'll plan for the next four days. I'd like to get my course work done earlier this time, so I can tend to other things. Writing. The muse has been strong Sightseeing. Pub hopping. The other muse has been strong too. Whatever. Tomorrow I gym and golf. This cold won't hang around. I have things to do.
That first night, when I was panicking, I wrote a list of mantras to hang on my wall. Some are to comfort me about being away from home. Others remind me that those who matter will always love me. One is the Franklin quote to write things worth reading, and do things worth writing.
The last one is very simple, though it entails more than just my class work. It's about my whole being.
Do your job.
That's why I am here.
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