CAMARADERIE

1.Coming Home

One of my worst fears

had always been giving up on my dreams. Or giving up in general, really. Its not only the feeling of defeat or embarrassment that makes me feel sick to my stomach. Its the lose of purpose that hits me the hardest. The realization that you can work so hard to achieve something and then find out that you don't even like it. That you wrote these extra papers, worked these extra hours and left everything you've ever known for nothing.

Well to be honest, leaving home was not that hard. It was fairly easy even. I planned on going away ever since I was little and I planned it out from the day on, that I first visited a city. I felt like cities were so much more accepting and anonymous than the boring small towns. Little did I know that everything that made me move to a big city, would make me run away again. I felt alone and not able to move onto the next phase in my life.

Well granted, I graduated college with a GPA of 3.9, finished an internship at a huge publishing agency that earned me a nice job, where I worked for the last three years... but looking back, I didn't like it. I was making myself do it because I had a goal which I ended up hating. Lovely, isn't it?

This makes me wonder though. If I was able to blanket my feelings for half the time I was in college, through the whole internship and nearly three years of working in the office, do I even know my emotions?

Do I know my feelings and what they mean? Do I know myself? I don't know.

The only thing I know for sure is, that my parents will pick me up from the railway station when my train reaches the small town I grew up in, (in approximately 5 hours) and that my dad will make a kinda bad joke, at which I will laugh, because I haven't seen him for a long time and I wouldn't want to hurt Dada's feelings. Also because he's the one I've got my humor from, so... yeah.

I look out of the window from my seat and see the city become suburbs and the suburbs becoming fields. We are getting closer to the country side every minute and I am not sure how I like it. I always thought I hated it. The tiny cafes where they didn't sell anything but plain coffee and hot chocolate.

In New York I found myself ordering only plain coffee or hot chocolate, I never even really tried something else.

I thought I hated the space you didn't really have because one of those old ladies who love to gossip more than they loved their late husbands, would always watch you. I later found out that it was still more freedom than what you could find in the city. Where everyday felt grey and reserved.

So now I don't know if I like going back. Now that my own experience proved me wrong and that I found out so much about myself. I don't know if I am big enough of a person to simply nod when people will say stuff like "I knew you'd come back. Once a small town girl, always a small town girl". Or "I told you that wouldn't work out."

I breathe in and out slowly, an attempt to bring my thoughts back on a more positive path. At least I will see my family and my friends again. I missed them a lot and cant wait to catch up. A few of my friends have fallen pregnant over the last few years and even though for me it would have been a bit early to care for a second human, for them it must have been perfect. They all are either married or engaged and seem to be as happy as ever. I am not gonna admit that I am a tiny bit jealous.
For the last 5 years I haven't really been in a relationship.
I have dated a few guys but I never felt enough of a connection to keep going with it, thinking that it would be a waste anyways.
What brings me to my next train of thoughts, which are all following the train driver himself, Jackson Willson. Jack.
He was what you would call my high school sweetheart and the only one I have ever had uncontrollable, cheesy and strong feelings for. We dated for two years and for a high school romance, it was pretty intense. We broke up one day before I was leaving for college and it actually broke me. I was crying myself to sleep every night for roughly three months but apparently for Jack it wasn't that hard.
After three weeks he seemed to have found closure in this little red head's vagina and started being active in the dating scene again. I am not bitter.
Just surprised how I could have cared for him so deeply while I probably wasn't that important to him.
But I still know he loved me because I saw it in his eyes and I felt it when he held me. He told me often as well and I am sure he will always remember me, but when someone tells you that they love you, you can just never be sure of how much they do. So yes, we loved each other but the extend of our love for each other was different.

Yeah, Jack Willson. The golden boy and my ex. Most probably gonna meet him too. I am curious about how he lives. Does he have a girlfriend, fiancé, wife? Does he maybe even have a kid? The last time I saw him was  four years ago on my grandma's funeral and after the ceremony we talked for a bit. It felt so awkward because the tension was still there. I still wanted to casually take his hand and I still felt the urge to lean into him. After that we didn't see each other again.

Long story short, I am the same amount of curious that I am nervous to come back home after being away for 7 years. It's not only the people but also the place and the weather that's so different. The people especially though, I think to myself while carrying my suitcase towards the two people that start to wave their hands over their heads as soon as they see me. Thank god that I have my parents.

Thank god for them pretending not to think that I am a failure after asking them if I could move back in with 25, they are my real MVP's