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Home Is Where the Coconut Oil Is
I cannot be homesick if home lives in me
I lived in the dorms as a freshman — the normalcy of my college experience ended there. I can still see those months in pictures, no audio, stills of the dynamic world outside. Back then, homesickness was a topic of frequent conversation.
Homesick, as defined by the internet, is “experiencing a longing for one’s home during a period of absence from it.”
I waited and waited for the feeling that just about everybody else shared to set in. I waited to long for the town I grew up in. For my childhood home. For my family members.
But the feeling never came.
At 18, I was drunk on the feeling of freedom, and high on the thrill of questionable choices. I never smoked, nor did I allow so much as a drop of alcohol to touch my lips. Every crazy action was the result of a decision I made while sober.
I was wild.
I didn’t go to parties, I just worked too much. I walked places late and night but never drove drunk. I went for 4am runs on wooded trails without a cellphone. Now that I’m older, I look back and see a woman with a death wish.
How did I make it this far?
