For over two months during my senior year in high school, I was in a permanent state of nervousness. I was constantly anxious, and my nerves were fried. Every day after school, I went straight home and waited for the mail to come. Grabbing a book, I would sit on the curb next to the mailbox and would wait. Since the mailman did not have a strict schedule, I ended up waiting up to three hours.
When the mailman actually came, I would try to act casual and pretend not to care, but I probably looked more like a cat ready to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. As soon as he would leave, I would frantically look for letters from colleges that I applied to. Normally I wouldn't find any, so I would take a bath to relax my tense muscles.
Even if your grades are spectacular and your SAT scores unbelievable, you still have doubts. You think, "What if I don't get in to any schools?!" So what do you do? You apply to dozens of schools, just to increase your chances mathematically. When you get that first acceptance letter, even it's from a local community college, you sigh in relief, because you know that some place has accepted you. You happily think, "They want me; they really, really want me!" You do a little victory dance on the driveway, and the neighbors start whispering things about you. Nonetheless, you begin to feel a bit better.
After a lot of thinking, I decided to go to Dartmouth. My friends thought I was kidding when I told them I was going to Dartmouth. It was probably the farthest school from southern California, and they couldn't picture me in the wilderness in middle of nowhere.
I had never seen Dartmouth until the day before my DOC trip. The first time I ever saw the school was at 11 p.m., right after a shower of rain. The traffic lights weren't working, and the place was pitch dark. I must have stuck half my body outside the window to get a better look.
If you asked my tripees about me during the DOC trip, they'd probably tell you I was whiny, gloomy and tired. Although they would be right to a degree, I don't think I was that bad. I had heard how cold it can get in New Hampshire, so I bought the biggest and thickest sleeping bag I could find. The salesman guaranteed that I could sleep in the Arctic if I wanted to. So I had to carry that 25-pound sleeping bag around during our five-mile hikes. No wonder I was so cranky.
During Freshman Fall, I could not wait to go home, to see everybody again and tell them stories about my first time sneaking into a frat party and about college life. I missed giant malls, beaches and the sun. When I went home, I visited my old high school, saw my teachers and my old friends.
But it was a bit different going home during spring break. The novelty of going home kind of wore out, and I felt a bit out of place. The town where I grew up had changed, and I really hadn't noticed it during the winter amid all the excitement. New traffic signs, new stop signs and new homes are everywhere.
I almost forget my way around. Almost. There is a new school, just about 10 minutes from my home. There are new neighbors, new kids that play in the street and new dogs and pets that follow the children around.
At night at home, I lie awake, feeling out of place in a room that I lived in for the majority of my life. The bed didn't feel quite right, and the pillow felt a bit hard. The smell was all wrong, and I felt like a guest in my own room. I felt the need to go to the bathroom and reached out for my rubber slippers and my little plastic bucket that holds all my bathroom stuff. Then I remembered I wasn't at Dartmouth.
I called my old friends. Not just acquaintances, but old friends who still remembered me and forgave me for not keeping in touch. Then things were as they always have been, in the presence and company of people who I call friends. But it was not the same. There was a hint of uneasiness, and the conversation seemed to be strained.
After years of not seeing each other, changes had crept in and altered our friendships. Conversations became more strained and slowly turned into awkward silence. We looked at each other, and I guess we all knew.
I drove to the airport by myself. I insisted that I drive by myself, without anybody accompanying me. I told my parents that they could pick up the car later. As I drove, the highway curved around and gave me a good look at my home. After arriving at the airport and boarding my plane to Dartmouth, I sat on my seat with a sense of ease. I felt like I was going home.
