“It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends”

I don’t like change. It is not something I deal with easily, even though each time I welcome change with open arms. I strive for change, and then when it occurs, I realize; or rather re-realize, it’s not something I can handle. I knew I didn’t want to live at home when coming to university. I decided it was the last thing I wanted to do. So I ensured this decision by applying to all the schools that I would require me to stay on residence because it was too far from my parents’ home.

I was excited, I couldn’t wait to embark on this new adventure.

But when I got to school, I realized all I ever wanted to do was go home. I found any excuse. I was constantly homesick. All I wanted was my clean bathroom, my big bed, my mom’s homecooked meals, and the chase after the guy I had an obscene crush on. I went home at least once a month. And this continued all throughout second year as well. Perhaps it was increased in second year since now we were faced with the responsibilities of house ownership.

It takes me a long time to get used to things. The thing I was most excited for: escaping my parents grasp, and suburbia, were the things I missed the most. I thought it would be easy and exhilarating, instead it was depressing, and drastic.

By third year I came into my own. We got a new house, and left some difficult roommates behind. The house no longer had a family of skunks living under our porch, or an ant infestation, or a scary basement that caused all of us to go without doing laundry weeks on end, and finally we moved to a new street where three people didn’t get murdered on. This new house, and this “new” city, finally began to feel like home.

I’m a private person and it’s hard for me to tell people about my personal life. It’s even harder for me to make friendships with people who I truly trust. I think I get along with everyone, but don’t trust anyone. But I don’t know, I finally felt like where I was, was where I was meant to be.

And now, I’m in my final year and leaving Western, and leaving London, and leaving my HOME, is the very last thing I want to do. If you asked me at the beginning of this journey if I’d have trouble leaving this place, I’d probably lie and say yes – but it would be a lie. I felt no attachments to anything here.

Now as I’m saying this I must say with certainty that I did enjoy my first two years at Western, I just always felt like it was a place I was staying in order to finish my undergraduate education. That was all it was. Now it’s my home and I can’t even imagine or think about leaving it.

It’s easy to see the beginning, it’s impossible to see the end.

So many things happen in four years. Especially between the age of eighteen and twenty one. You change. You grow up. You become an adult. And all of this happens in this one place. You’re constantly consoled by the educational system, and rent (which makes you feel like you own a house but you’re faced with no real ownership responsibilities), by acquaintances who’ve somehow become better friends than anyone from high school. And now this system is pushing us out. Telling us it’s time to go.

It’s funny because we knew this time would come. We could foresee this event occurring from the minute we enrolled here. But you never actually think it’s going to happen. And here it is: the end. Someone told me there’s fifty more days left of my undergrad. FIFTY. If that isn’t anxiety-inducing I don’t know what is.

They say university is supposed to be the best years of your life. I don’t know if I can say that. But I do know that I get knots in my stomach, and tears in my eyes when I think about letting go of this period of my life.

Endings may be hard to foresee, yes, but they are often impossible to bear.


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