Yesterday

I got horribly homesick yesterday, right after church. There was the annual parish meeting, and I stayed for about half of it. And during Fr. Michael's talk, he mentioned that this weekend, at the baptism in Wenatchee, he met a couple from St. Barnabas in Costa Mesa, and then proceeded to hold that church up as a good example for us, mentioning that they generally receive about thirty new members every year at Pascha. And I broke down (quietly). Because, for one thing, two of my dear friends, Sara and Jimmy, were fewer than two-hundred miles away from me and I could have been there and I missed the chance. (edit: as it turns out, this Sara and James were not the Sara and James that I know. odd.) And for the other thing, it just made me homesick. I know about half of the people who were baptized last year at St. Barnabas. I probably know about half of the group that will be baptized there this year. These are my friends - my dear friends - and I miss them. It was awfully hard for me. It is especially difficult at church, even though they have all become a wonderful family for me, because people can not seem to comprehend that I didn't want to leave California, that I want to go back. Comments like, "great job making it out alive!" make me want to cry. But I do not want to cry, not there, for that.

I also worry, because part of me is terrified of getting too attached. I do not like being torn between places. I am scared to make friends here, because I hate leaving friends. I know that that is not right, that it is not healthy, but that is my gut reaction. I miss my friends and my life so much, I just want to go back - even with all the horror that has been happening in the area with the fires as of late.

Then, last night, my best friend came over. I can not praise Glennda enough. She has truly been the best friend someone could ask for, especially in supporting me through all of my conflicts and confusion over the past year. She is being especially patient with me right now. I apologized profusely last night, through my tears. She is so glad to have me back here, and all I do when we are together is vent about how homesick I am. Poor dear. She is so good to me. I do not deserve her, but I am glad I have her. She just smiled, and reminded me how many times I sat and listened as she poured out her own heart in mourning.

Then after I pulled myself together I started trying to convince her to move to LA with me. As always. I will not understand how someone would move to Russia in a heartbeat, but would not even visit California when her best friend lived there. Not that I do not understand the wanting to move to Russia part, just the not even wanting to ever set foot in California part. But, as I explained to her, it would be much easier for me to move her down to LA than for me to move my whole life from down there to up here. She mentioned how then she would be in essentially the same position that I am in now, except worse, because no family there. Which is true, but I pressed on: "You'd get along great with my friends. I have excellent taste in friends." At which point we both collapsed laughing, and I wrote down what I had said in order to post it later. It is a conversation we have had many times, too many to count. She will not move to California, and I will continue to try to convince her to do so. I am so glad for the times that I have with her.

Then we kept talking as I sorted through some boxes of old things, from high school and before. I found my collection of her letters, from summers she spent in Oregon and I at camp, and read them aloud to her. Then I found some pages ripped out of an old journal, from my sophomore year, and read some of the entries to her. Highlights: "Glennda is my best friend in the whole world. I can tell her almost anything." Then, from a later one, "Confession - I am totally and completely in love with [name]. No one knows. Not even Glennda." We laughed so hard over that. Apparently that was where the 'almost anything' came up. She was confused: "Really? I didn't know?" I am pretty sure she did not, until after I was over it. Or if she did, she never said anything, because she is just an awesome friend like that. It was good to laugh with her, and remember.

My day ended much better than it began. But I am still sad. Sometimes I dislike the complicated emotions that come from being human. Why can't I just only be sad about being away, or only be happy to spend time with my best friend? Well, that is likely enough for now. I have survived three weeks.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Finality

As the end of the semester is drawing near, I am about to say goodbye to my home of two and one-half years. Next semester I will be leaving Hart Hall and moving into the Lido apartment complex, with my dear roommate and her two dear former-roommates. I was surprised, but greatly pleased, to be told that we were the only people who had entered our names into the lottery for the particular apartment into which we will be moving. It is a ridiculously complicated affair. We have to be out of our rooms and into the apartment by Friday. However, the girls in the apartment are graduating Friday evening, and are thus not required to be out until Saturday. At the same time, two other wonderful girls will be moving into Hope and Elizabeth's room. It's like a big dance, and I dearly hope that I will not trip over anyone else's feet in the process.

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Hart has been good to me, for the most part. Although I never fit in, it did feel as much like home as I can imagine anywhere on campus feeling. The community is a good one, being small enough to be able to get to know nearly everyone. There are always people about, and activities or conversations into which you can join. This semester has been different for me. I am a junior now, and need more sleep than I have the past two years (goodness, I feel old). I have to spend more time at my studies than socializing. Most people on my floor are sophomores and freshmen, and, as I was at that point in my life, are rather loud most of the time. Nothing horrid about that in itself--they get on just fine--but the time has come for me to move on. I do love Hart, and will remember the good times more than the times I lay awake at two in the morning wishing for some peace so that I could sleep : ) The poorer memories will fade away, but the memories of joy and pleasantness and rearranging furniture will, I hope, remain always.

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God bless Hart Hall, the best dorm on campus.

God bless Lower Campus, for if you can't make it into Hart, I suppose Stewart will do.

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And Blessings on your travels,

Emily