home for the holidays (again)
The night before I took the train back home I got drunk on cheap, disgusting wine. I had to brace myself before each sip, but it wasn’t long before my world started slowing down, and everything had a blurred, delayed effect. I stumbled down the hallways with one of my friends. Wait for me, I said, as I went to get my purse. Don’t take too long, he said, otherwise I might get bored and die.
My friends and I went to the clubs, but we came back early because no one wanted to dance. I didn’t start packing until the early hours of the morning, when I threw stuff haphazardly into my suitcase.
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Since coming home, I feel like I’ve been living slower. It’s like a refresh, a breath of fresh air from my fast-paced uni life (which I still love). I read a bit, I journal, I go for bike rides and long walks. I changed my major. I realised that what I was studying didn’t interest me much, and I wasn’t going to be able to cultivate a passion for a discipline just by making it my major. I think the way I described in in my journal a few months ago articulates it well: you can’t change the placement of your heart, no matter how you chose your time.
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I feel free. And I am happy.