It’s finally starting to hit. One week left of class. After eight semesters of syllabi and English courses, I’m down to the final novel.
Walking around Morris has become strange. It’s a strange blend of normality and finality. I was working in the library and I realized that the ground floor, my safeguard and happy place for so many hours of essay writing, will be nothing more than a memory. This place where, for the past four years, I have grown and blossomed will soon be just another part of my past. For so many months, all I’ve wanted to do is leave. Now, on the verge of being uprooted, I’m finding that part of me wants to bask in warm in the soil of the familiar.
But, at the same time, I feel the pressing urge to move on. To push forward, not knowing what’s ahead. Because, if I stay… what would become of me?
I’m reminded of the lyrics to a song by The Head and the Heart:
One day we’ll all be ghosts
Trippin’ around in someone else’s home
One day we’ll all be ghosts, ghosts, ghosts
This place is no longer mine. These halls are not my own. They will soon belong to someone else. I have to move on, lest I become a ghost, trapped in the in-between with nowhere to go.
Being transplanted is painful. Especially when you don’t know what the future holds. Where will I next take root? I have no idea. I have a strong calling and an outline of a plan. Hopefully, that will be enough.
(In case you’re wondering, the final novel I’m reading is Wintering by Kate Moses)