I miss Philly. I miss New York City. I miss Boston. I miss Seattle.
I miss the places I have traveled to – the travel bug’s gotten to me, but this time it seems adamant to stick around. This place sometimes really feels like the middle of nowhere, even if it’s untrue. It is out of the way, but there are means and ways provided one has the time and money; I have the latter, more or less, but not so much the former anymore. It sucks, it really sucks. The campus is breathtakingly beautiful that it’s easy to get lost in and be caught up in the present, but in truth despite its overwhelming size, in the end it is what it is: school.
There’s an entire world out there, and I know it. I have seen it.
I believe it. I crave for it. I hunger for it.
One argues that happiness isn’t dependent upon a physical setting, but I believe it’s simply prioritized differently for different people. There are many folks I know who can up and leave a place, start anew elsewhere and easily blend in. There are as many people who I know will only stay rooted in one place, too afraid of the big bad world. There are also the perpetual travelers, those who can never settle for a finite period in a single place. There are yet others who are indifferent – here, there; what do they matter?
Then there’s me, who values the setting, place and environment I am in. There’s got to be someone else like me, who finds perspectives in physical settings – perspectives, a determinant of my well-being. There has to be others like me, who can neither slow nor stop the spatial mental alcoves – every outward sight, sound and motion are internally reflected and dissected. I am the perpetual observer; the unnoticeable participant.
Sometimes this place makes me claustrophobic, as wide and vast that it actually is.
It isn’t so much that my mind feels cluttered – this is more due to stress – but I feel trapped. Suffocated. Mentally stimulated education-wise, yet the paradox is soul-searchingly stifled. I remind myself daily that I need to be patient; if it took me six months to fall for Philly years ago, why the hell did I think it wouldn’t take as long or longer, for me to adjust to being here? I remind myself that the train station isn’t too far, that small shops and quaint towns hold their own respective charms. I remind myself it’s my fault, for not being able to drive.
But the travel bug is like a virus. Once it sticks, it’s hard to shake off.
It has always been so important to me, where I settle. It has always been so effing important, where I am and how I live there. Rumi says that this world is like a mountain; “your echo depends on you.” For me, where I am echoes my internal complexities; turbulent, maddening and spiraling, juxtaposed against peacefulness.
There is the buzz, the rush, the vibe, the earthen sensations, the tranquility, the city skylines, the nightlife, the dewy morning, the contemplative late-nights, the soft patters of the rain, the gloomy rainy days, the breezy sunny days…
Where I am is an extension of my being, happiness and welfare. Perceptions.
One and a half month here and the honest, honest truth:
Some days it still feels like a fucking asphyxia.