The word “homesick” implies an illness—the disease of a constant longing to go home. However, this creeping feeling is more reminiscent of a sore muscle. Only when I am especially tired do I feel the tenderness and aches of trying to cling to my life back home.
Last week, I heard my hometown best friend’s name called across the dining hall.
As irrational as it may be, my heart skipped a beat. I whipped my head around, stabilizing myself with the back of my chair. Of course, my eyes were met with an unfamiliar face looking beyond me at their friend who beckoned them. A little embarrassed at my foolishness, I went back to enjoying my Andrews sandwich.
When I first fell victim to the freshman flu, I wished for the comfort of my bed back home. There, I knew I would be supported by my entourage of childhood stuffed animals, my mom heating up beef broth in the next room.
Walking on Thayer, I heard my hometown friend group’s song of the summer blaring out of a motorcyclist's speakers. I was brought back to night drives with my friends, windows down, music blasting.
My friend group’s made-up lingo falls on oblivious ears here in Providence, and I find myself internally giggling at something that reminds me of a joke from back home. Even if I try my best to explain, I always conclude with a dismissive “you had to be there.”
On FaceTime, I crash-course my friends on recent life updates. I answer, “Wait, is he the tall one or the med school one?” and “So is that your class at night-time?” in the short 20 minutes of free time we have overlapping. Knowing basic facts about each other’s lives and routines isn’t as easy as it once was.
Coming to Providence, I flew over with bags of my favorite Japanese gummies, knowing they would provide me comfort at the end of a long day. The second week of school, I finished the last one, reminding me of how long I had been away already.
This past weekend, I threw the last of my clothes that still smelled like my home closet in the school washer. The foreign detergent I bought at Target right before move-in now dominates the familiar lavender scent.
These little aches remind me of how much my life has changed in the past month.
At the same time, I don’t wish to go back.
The heaviness of missing my friends and family is relieved by the excitement of making new friends. Late night drives are replaced by late night gossip sessions in library study rooms, and new inside jokes bring me to doubled-over-gasping-for-breath laughter. I’ve found myself slowly falling into a new routine here, shaped around spending time with new friends while staying connected to loved ones.
How grateful I am to have so much to miss from back home. How grateful I am to let so much more love and joy into my heart here at my second home for the next four years.
