“And you think of all of the things you’ve seen, and you wish that you could live in between.”
Quite a lot has happened since last I wrote. I did my research (successful), performed in a show (17 performances…it got a bit hellish by the end), and (most wonderful) went to England and studied at Oxford University. Never in my life have I felt so alive and so happy to be. I rowed on the Thames with a novice crew (and competed in an 8-boat regatta), sang in my college’s choir, and played the lead female role in a Gilbert and Sullivan production (5 glorious performances, and quite of a lot of drunken pub sing-a-longs).
Now that I’m back in the US, sitting at home in the same chair I sat in before I left…it’s strange. I keep going through all my souvenirs and photos to remind myself that “yes, this did happen. It was not a dream.” Because that’s what it feels like – a wonderful dream. I was afraid of expecting too much out of my trip (I expected too much of college and ended up being disillusioned and discontent with university life before I turned 20). I thought, “Better to set the bar low and have my expectations exceeded, than set myself up for disappointment again.” And man, were my expectations exceeded! My 10 weeks in England were…(I hesitate to use the word, but it really is the first that comes to mind) perfect. Not a thing went “wrong,” not a single moment of a single day was lackluster. I woke up every morning like I was in some uplifting commercial – happy and excited to rush out the door and greet the day. That’s not to say I wasn’t happy at home or at college in the US or never enjoyed day-greeting before…but I never was as consistently happy. And it was for no other reason than looking around me and being amazed at where I was and what opportunities I had.
My classes never felt like work (even though they required a lot: 2500 words or more a week!), my choirs, theatre companies, rowing crews were all spectacular to be a part of. And the people? The people were the best (and most unexpected) part. The people were…wonderful. I don’t want to sound like I’m naïve and rosily believe every individual living person in England is a saint but…in my personal experience, in the 10 weeks I was there, I never encountered a single unlikable, unkind, or unfeeling person. At Oxford, never have I felt so immediately welcome, so immediately a part of a community. It was what I imagined and desperately wanted my American college life to be like – a challenging but rewarding academic journey whilst meeting and making immediate and very close friendships, finding real kindred sprits. Everyone feels like an oddball sometimes, I know I do quite often, but for my 10 weeks in England? I never did. I felt like I belonged, unequivocally a part of a place that instantly felt like a second home to me. And the only thing that gave me away as “other” was my American accent (which, towards the end, started to take on a slight British twang and became harder to detect). In a huge university and a bustling city, larger than any place I’ve ever lived in before, I felt at home. Never once was I homesick or struggling with “culture shock” (both of which, study abroad staff warned the Americans heavily about). I slipped into England as comfortably as one slips into a Jacuzzi after a long day – comfortably and with grateful ease. I felt like a puzzle piece that had finally been joined with pieces it belongs to after being jammed into a spot it doesn’t fit.
Such immediate camaraderie and success both within and outside of my academic endeavors made me look back on what college so far has been like – a constant battle to prove and jury-rig myself into academic and social lifestyles that don’t quite fit (the puzzle piece analogy coming back already). It’s not that I haven’t made the most of what opportunities I have available back home, but despite being on a smaller campus and knowing more people, it felt more of a struggle (and took much more than 10 weeks) to establish myself both academically and socially at college. Even now, in my third year, I still don’t feel quite “at home” at my college…that’s not to say anything against it, there are many students who adore the place, but for me it never felt like my place (except, perhaps, the theatre company – my sanctuary). It is because of my disaffection with the place that I am working to graduate a full semester early (though, if I could leave any earlier, I would). Though I still have no idea what I wish to pursue as a career, I know that if I can complete my degree early, I’d rather do so, save money, and start dipping my toes into different fields to see what suits me best.
And now it’s 2015. A completely new year “with no mistakes in it…yet” as Anne of Green Gables would say. I’m starting this year with a full but heavy heart – heavy with homesickness (of all things) for a place I was only in for little more than 2 months. I have never felt more myself than I did in a foreign place where no one knew me. I miss my classes, my professors, and especially my new, dear friends. I never thought I’d make such close relationships so quickly. We keep in touch over various technologies, but I still feel a little deflated since coming home…I feel so very far away from where I loved being and from where I felt so loved and appreciated (again, not to say I don’t feel loved and appreciated at home…but somehow, it was different in England…it was an experience that was just mine; I was a blank slate, England was a blank slate, and we filled each other up. …That’s a weird image…never mind, forget the slates… I guess what I mean is I actually fit in there. A simple thing. A thing we’re taught to need in middle school and we never quite grow out of it…and for once, unquestionably, I did. I fit…and I miss that).
However, I remind myself I do have many good things ahead, two more shows (musicals, both), a slew of English classes that I am excited to take on (even if they’re not taught by my wonderful and engaging British professors), and reuniting with college friends I haven’t seen since last spring. I feel so happy and lucky to have had the experience I had at Oxford (it really does still feel like a dream I only just woke up from), and I know that such joy of being can and will happen again in my life. In the meantime, I’ll just have to try to appreciate being where I am at the same level I appreciated it in Oxford…maybe I missed things here that I never took notice of before.
…Though, for the record, it is true what they say about the tea not being as good in the US. Seriously, what I wouldn’t give for a real, British cuppa.
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