May

 

May, a month overdue, but who’s surprised?

May was a month of saying goodbye for me. At the end of April my family left me to go to Texas, so I was on my own for about 3 weeks. During these weeks, I spent a lot of my time trying to get closure with people and spending as much time as I possibly could with the people I loved. May was about people for me, and being together.

Sushi every Wednesday, Thursday and Friday was routine, and my friends were stopping by my house to hug me goodbye. 2 days before I left, all my close friends gathered in my empty, grimey, dark basement to play uno and collectively laugh too hard and loud and obnoxiously together. From sleeping on a mattress in the room I’ve called the love shack since I was 12, to eating my last meal in that empty house on the floor the night before a huge exam and my flight out, to feeling an overwhelming urge to be out of my house and driving around too late for comfort but somehow feeling so extremely comfortable- the first half of May was a prolonged feeling of bittersweetness.

The second half, once I did walk out of my blue room for the last time, was missing home a whole lot. Constantly wondering what was/is/is going to be home, is this home, where is home? I read a lot of letters, and wrote even more- sending some but not others. Reading old journal entries as always came as a great relief but more so as a reminder of what I once had that I wouldn’t be able to have any longer due to distance. I learned a lot about proximity, and relationships you have only because you are physically close and available to those people, or not. I didn’t talk to many people outside of those related to me in person for almost a month, as I did not meet any kids in Texas and all of my friends faces were seen through my phone screen. Everyday until the day I got back to New Jersey, I FaceTimed my English class and read whatever they were assigned to read with them, and talked. I missed home so incredibly much, and yes, that felt most like home.

I found myself getting lost. I drove farther and farther every time my mom let me borrow the car, but not far enough to not come back. I dyed my hair pink, I went crazy in terms of the clothes I wore, I started listening to music I had never listened to. In the midst of all of this, I found that being alone, and not having the option to be otherwise, was more of a learning process than I had previously felt. I read Rebecca Solnit’s A Field Guide To Getting Lost, which my English teacher gave me, and that served as a guide as well as a safe haven for a lot of the last month and a half. Here is a quote, among others, that has stuck with me: “Looking forward you constantly acquire moments of arrival, moments of realization, moments of discovery. The wind blows your hair back and you are greeted by what you have never seen before. The material falls away in onrushing experience. It peels off like skin from a molting snake. Of course to forget the past is to lose the sense of loss that is also memory of an absent richness and a set of clues to navigate the present by; the art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss.”

This is what my May looked like.

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I am so flakey with these. Hope you can forgive me. June was just as crazy as May, even more so, and will definitely be documented and published within the next few days. Thank you for being an audience for me.

With so much love<3

J

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