Sunday, March 20, 2016

Weekend Reflection

Last weekend I visited Kingston and Queen's University. It's strange to think that I graduated and moved out of Kingston almost a year ago.

The following is the journal entry following my visit, dated March 14th:
The last two months have been hectic and exhausting. I decide I need a break, a refresh. I am in my old university town for the weekend- from Thursday afternoon to Sunday afternoon. I graduated last June, so it hasn't been that long. Everyone thinks the same. Everything is familiar but everything is different. I don't run into any of my friends. I don't see my classmates or friends of friends. Everyone is gone. The fields, the library, the main intersection, the campus coffee shop- everything is the same. I am home, but I am not. This isn't my home anymore. It almost feels like a strange dream. 
I get in on Thursday afternoon. The ride share isn't pleasant, but I'm back in this place where everything looks the same. I sit with my friend at the library for a couple hours while she works on a paper. I grab sushi with one of my old roommates and I tell her everything- all the good, all the bad. She tells me it's like old times again. We go over everything. Friday consists of shopping downtown, Thai food and hanging out with Sarah, her boyfriend and his friends. I miss my friends, I miss my friends, I miss my friends. Saturday is sweet. I go for a short walk because it is beautiful and warm. There are so many girls already in shorts and short dresses. Ellen and I get coffee. We check out the small art gallery attached to the library. After this, Sarah drives us to the movies. We see How to be Single. We have dinner at the campus pub. We order so much food between the four of us that the waitress cannot believe. Saturday night ends when my best friend and I wait for her to get ready and then a beer tasting at a brewery downtown. I don't get back to my weekend home till almost 2 or 3AM. I leave Sunday, so Sunday is slow. We start slow and we sit at the campus coffee shop until my ride is there. 
I encounter all the same things but everything feels different. Everything feels fine and normal until in an instant, I realize, I am reminded that this is not my normal anymore. While everything looks the same, what made this place for me is not here anymore. I am walking by the field and I will not go past it to go to my first year residence, or the building where my last year seminars were. I am sitting on a couch at my friend's boyfriend's place and the jokes being made are not personal (to me, for me). These boys are funny, but they're not my Boys. They're not my friends, not who made these past four years great and safe and home for me. I take a shortcut through the gym to get to the house I lived in for two years. I only do this once. It is not my house anymore. I go into the house and everything is where it is supposed to be- the kitchen, the living room, the dining table, the stairs upstair, et cetera et cetera, but it no longer has that sense of home. It no longer has a sink filled with dirty dishes or drums sitting in the living room. It is not filled with our shouting or our laughing. It is not mine. Not our's
This weekend I feel strange and distant from everything because while everything looks the same, I know things are not the same. While they may not have changed drastically, they have changed. I have changed. The people who used to make this place home for me, have also changed. All the the students walk by and everything makes sense. But then something says, "You're not a student anymore." 
I'm not a student anymore. Kingston and Queen's was almost a year ago, but it feels almost like a dream. 

Day off and brunch



Top to bottom, left to right:
  1. Home
  2. L'Ouvrier 
  3. Cafe Neon
  4. The Drake Hotel



Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Weekender II

Another long-awaited weekend, another packing list:

  • Babaton culottes 
  • Batiste dry shampoo
  • BDG red and black flannel
  • DivaCup
  • Fjallraven Kanken bag
  • Grey envelope purse
  • iPhone 6, with ear phones and charger
  • Lululemon leggings
  • Macbook Pro, with charger
  • Make up bag
  • Marc Jacobs wallet
  • Meds
  • Moleskine #6
  • Muji pencil case, with 1, HB pencil, 1 highlighter, 1 .5mm lead pencil, 5 pens, Post-It notes, Post-It tabs, 1 white pencil crayon
  • Nivea creme 
  • PJ shorts
  • Toiletries
  • Towel
  • Undergarments
  • Wallet
  • Wilfred black turtleneck sweater
  • Wilfred wool blazer jacket
  • Wilfred wool scarf
  • Wilfred Free striped shirt
  • Wilfred Free white button down dress

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Throwback Diary

There is a project called Throwback Diary. A 34-year old woman named Caroline goes through 20 diaries that she has kept since the age of nine, recording old diary entries onto video. My understanding of the project from watching its explanation, is that she wants to do something with the 20 books and years of her life. She also wants to share experiences and empathy with the world. I find the project interesting and bittersweet.

Not written on this day last year, but around the same time frame:
It's St. Patrick's Day, which means my university campus is going crazy outside right now. I have to work on a paper due at 2:30PM. It's only two pages, but I have about a quarter of one page done. One of the Boys is coming over at 11:30AM to make us beer pancakes. I should probably put some beer in the fridge. I have a seminar at 2:30PM. A bunch of friends are coming over at 8PM to drink and be merry and we're going to go out tonight.

It's my last St. Patrick's here. The Alumnus asked me how I've been doing. I said I was sad about leaving. He told me it's almost better coming back as an alum than it was to be here. I told him I'll miss everyone. I love my friends here. I've fallen completely in love with them- their laughter, their flaws, their love, their growth, everything. 

Sometimes, it feels like I am dying. I am so confused. It felts like I might perish when I leave this place, this bubble, this warm blanket of security and ease and fun. I know I won't. I was born and breathe as a city girl. The City is waiting for me- the summer, my friends, the laughter, the art, the parties, the music, the guys, the cement streets lined with shop windows and smelling of cigarette smoke. The City is waiting. I am going Home soon. But still, it frightens me. The world is so big outside and the people I've met here have been so kind. 

It's my last St. Patrick's here. I remember my first one here. We dressed in green. One of my roommates and I wandered aimlessly through the streets. We ended up sitting at a Starbucks with beer from a kegger. We had a picnic by the lake that evening. We went out again after. It was so messy. I love everyone here. I love my friends here. I have to start my paper. It's my last St. Patrick's, and I'll cry of joy if I want to. 
March 17th, 9:03AM.