The day that I’m writing this, May 1st, marks the last go-home weekend of the year, meaning that I don’t have much time left to move out of my dorm room here at MSA. I hate packing. Like hate, hate it. For multiple reasons, I think. I’ve only had to pack up and move 4 times in my life before coming to MSA. Mostly, I hate it because it lifts up dust, which in turn aggravates my allergies, but also, I hate packing because it symbolizes things ending. Some people think of it as peaceful, a methodical collecting of things and appreciating them, but I don’t and I’m not sure I ever will. For me it’s always a hectic and depressing game of Tetris, which items will fit where and how many can I shove in boxes without breaking anything, while also thinking about leaving the space. It’s sad for me because I have to wash a space that has been mine for so long of me. I have to put everything away, wipe off all the dust, and turn out the lights at the end, which scares me a little, I’ll be honest. It also comes from a fear of change. If nothing changes then nothing can ever end. But one piece of advice that actually helped, although it almost made me cry, came from one of my seniors, Cooper Brumfield. He came in my room trying to trade food, even though I didn’t have anything. I had almost cried twice packing up my stuff a few moments earlier, and I told him that, but he asked if he could give me a piece of advice. I said sure, and to my surprise, Cooper quite literally closed the door. For a second, I’d thought he left, but he opened the door again and said “I’ll never see that exact version of you again. That’s the beauty of being alive is we’re always changing.” Spoken like a true literary, right? I’m not going to pretend that I’m not what people would call a crybaby, because I am, but I also have a problem with that term. Why should those who feel their emotions readily and in the fullest be shamed for it? So I guess I’m happy to be a crybaby, and boy did that make me cry a little. I know I’m most likely coming back next year, but I can’t help but mourn how it is now, and I know it’ll never be the same. The seniors that I’ve lived with and that have come to matter so much to me are leaving. But this isn’t all bad. They’re going off to do great things, and by this time next year I hope I will be too. I know it’s always going to end, but it never makes it any less sad. The fact that I feel like I’ve finally found a place I belong definitely makes this harder, because that place is changing and won’t ever be the same. Of course it’ll still look the same, but the energy is changing. Anyways, enough of my pouting. If any seniors are reading this, thank you for being here, and I’m going to miss you.
Much love,
Jude ♡♡♡