second year uni house

sunday the 23^rd of october

i moved away for uni and i always knew i would.

first year is easy, it is like a year of sleepovers in some sort of slumber party flat. the constant party, the haphazard days of sleep, nights of dazzling adventure. it’s fun and fresh and tantilising. with second year comes a house. and with a house comes a sudden and dehabilitating reality check, and a real push to just grow up.

it feels like a shell of a house impersonating a home. i love my friends, i love our experiences in this house. but when i wake up in the middle of the night i find myself scared to go to the bathroom. when the doctor asks my address, i stutter.

i am a child of divorce, i am no stranger to moving around. four walls have come and gone, over and over, this is not a material issue. a uni house just lacks that security blanket that can only be provided by your childhood family unit, which for many people is their house itself but for me was the people within it.

i do not regret leaving home and i am proud of where it has gotten me so far. i have wounds within my childhood town that can only be healed by replanting somewhere else entirely, and i am okay with that. i love my life here. i love who i am. but i also miss who i was. and that is a balance hard to reach but ultimately will be fulfilling when I do. i am fiercely independent, and i love living alone, but inside i am still human, brimming with love to give. i love moving and i love maturing, but becoming a woman is a job within itself, and sometimes i crave the respite of being a child. an unattainable chase, neverending.

i am independent until my brother tells me he misses me, or until my ear hurts, or until i want eggs just the way my mam makes them. i wash my towels every week but they do not feel like my towel. i learn very early on to use the same detergent as my mam but it still will never feel just right.

i think it’s a very mature view to be able to know that moving away was my best option, but still allow myself to bask in those fleeting moments of loneliness. no matter how old I get i will still pronounce my vowels like my dad does and get a feeling of warmth when I pass over my hometown bridge.