When I walk through another wing I always look into other girls' rooms. I like to see how others make this rabbit hole of a room into a home. Many of us arrange the furniture creatively. We use clippings from magazines, catalogs, greeting cards. We buy fake flowers to put in plastic cups, strands of Christmas lights to frame the mirrors. Almost every room looks mismatched and kitchsy. But every room becomes comfortable and homey.
I used to think of these rooms as cell blocks or closets-- too small and uncomfortable to live in forever, or even for four years. Now I think of my small room as a place to come back to, my only comfortable place. It is my tatami, my place of meditation and solace. When I return home I will no longer have this space. I don't have a room at home. I sleep in the guest room.
I am not returning home. I am leaving home. In four years this town, this college has become my home. In one year this room has become my home. My wingmates have become my sisters. My chaplain is my pastor. My professors are my parents and friends.
But now, whether I am ready or not, they shove me out the door. Once again I feel like someone has torn off my beloved training wheels. Gone?! How can I survive now? I become frustrated, angry, and scared. I’m not ready to balance on my own. What if I need this support for another semester, another year? But just like Dad, my professors and friends here at school know me; they know what I need. I need the training wheels to come off. Eventually I will learn to ride alone, free to discover, free to fall, free to live. |
Name: Ruthie