- riding alone on the shuttle or the T, watching the lights of the city and the stations flashing past, being rocked to sleep on my way back home, my fingers numb from the cold
- shifting in my bed and pushing up against the pillow behind my back, cocooned in my soft blankets in the morning and in the middle of the night
- every time i nearly pick up two spoons with a plate of dessert that’s big enough that you know it’s meant for two people
- sitting in the common room with my over-sized jacket or sweater covering my body like a blanket as i study
- each time i take a picture of my face, but also that i hardly ever do anymore (no one asks)
- clear nights, dark, quiet nights, when the suburbs grant me a few hours with the moon and with the stars and with the special kind of silence that comes with watching them
- falling sick and feeling too weak to look for meds and to bring water up to my room and to take care of myself
- every confusing math problem i’m able to solve step by step, every sigma symbol, the way neither of those things scare me anymore
- western classical music and what it does to my heart
- the idea of actually being alone in my room in the middle of the night
- my $15 Dunkin gift card and the fact that there is one single Krispy Kreme outlet in the entire state of Massachusetts
- the view from the spot near Hillel, the view from Tisch roof, the view from my room, the view of the sunset while running to Aidekman at 4:30 knowing i’m late
- taking walks, crunchy leaves, crunchy snow
- the fourteenth of february, its loudness, and the way i don’t feel the need to shut it out
It’s been a little over a year since I went for camp. And I know that a lot of my friends just got back from camps this summer and wonderful, newly-made memories are still fresh in their minds and they couldn’t care less about T1 2015 anymore, not when all they want right now is to rewind their lives by a couple of weeks and relive it all. Rewind, relive, rewind, relive. Like I’d love to, by a year. Maybe I’m a little jealous because I couldn’t go this year. Maybe I’m a little apprehensive about finally going to school again later this week, super excited to meet my friends after so long, only to find them fully engaged in exclusive conversations about camp, laughing at recollections and inside jokes I’ll never be a part of and mourning exaggeratedly because it’s all over. Heck, I’d have done the same, had I gone too. Because I love, loved camp and in fact..
I don’t keep myself busy enough, I think. And that’s why I think. Over-think.
In between cramming useless dates relevant to an English poet named Lord Byron who went to war and later died of a fever (1824), and calculating how many trees Grades I to XII of some school planted, I do take a break. I look around the same room I’ve been looking at for over 8 years now (okay, not the same, my mum did renovate in 2011) and maybe think things I’ve thought often before and maybe realize the dullest of facts.