There are rare moments in my life where I feel like I’m truly swimming against the tide, waging a battle against an unstoppable force, a war that I will not and cannot win. I’m in the midst of one of these rare occurrences right now.
As I sit on my overnight train back to Georgetown, I can’t hlpe but wondder if the school is actually a place where I belong, where I should live and eat and make friends and be home. I’ve only lived here for approximately three months, but in those three months, I’ve found myself feeling increasingly isolated from a community of people with whom I simly cannot connect.
On paper, Georgetown is the perfect school. Prep school friendly, excellent language department, stellar location… in my heart, though, it doesn’t feel like home. I’m never excited to trek from New England down to the capital, never excited to see my shiny new friends that I keep collected on my floor because in reality, they don’t exist.
Perhaps this comes from an inability to connect with people, or perhaps it comes from an inability to connect with these people, to open myself up to a scrutiny I rarely let myself face.
College is a place where people drift in and out of your lives as easily as a piece of seaweed scatters itself throughout the ocean. It is a place where I cannot sit and ponder the ins and outs of a person, where I can’t examine their thoughts and natures. It is a place for gut instincts, drowning in alcohol and an overpriced education that has yet to give me anything but an augmentation of my love for languages. But that was bound to grow anyway.
I have nothing keeping me here, no attachment to the place, not even a friend I care not to forget.
I want to go home again, and I’m not even out of Connecticut on this darned train.
People tell me that it’ll get better, that being alone will not last forever, that I will find my place… but what if that takes too long?
I can only stand masquerading for so long.
But then that only begs the question, where else would I go?