Reflections | Leaving

September 24th

Sitting on this flight from Washington IAD to LAX is one of the most daunting things I’ve ever done. I missed my flight by 7 minutes (thanks to people that do not understand the Airport Security regulations) and had to be booked for a later flight. I left home. That place that I called home for the past 18 years of my life has now forever sealed itself as a memory.

Of course for me, home wasn’t actually a place. I’ve lived in 14 houses so far, spanning 3 countries and multiple cities. No, we are not a military family. Neither is my father employed by the foreign ministry. But for some reason or other, we’ve never really felt like settling, anywhere. After attending 9 schools and traveling to 18 countries in 18 years (and counting), I can officially employ the “nomad” label. This lifestyle actually started even before my older brother was born; our parents had already moved in the double-digits by the time my mom got pregnant for the first time.

Then why all the talk about leaving somewhere after 18 years? That’s where that age-old essential question of life, “what makes a house a home?” comes into play. Quite simply, it’s love, and the bond of family.

Why do I feel this gut-wrenching emptiness as I sip this cranberry juice? Hadn’t I said to myself, a million times over, “there’s only x amount of time left before I can stop listening to my mom’s nagging and my dad’s cold stares everyday”? We all do this. Regardless of how many of our elders (who speak from experience) tell us that we’re going to regret those thoughts, no matter how many psychological, scientific, sociological, etc. etc. studies we skim over, no matter how many reminders we get to tell our mothers how much we appreciate her, we, the stubborn little a-holes that we are, just don’t do it.

September 25th

Of course, there are many reasons for that as well. When you live with someone constantly, and know their buttons just as well as they know yours, of course you fight, and of course you feel rage like Medusa must have felt (bad analogy. I’m new to this “free-thought blogging thing. It is definitely NOT an Editorial article on my high school newspaper). But anyways, my point is, that there are reasons to explain why we don’t appreciate the humans we share our lives with. Because there are also many drawbacks to them, because no matter how hard we try to see them as something more, they are human.

Today, I talked to my mother. She cried. Every single time.

My mother is my best friend. So far, we’ve watched Friends, Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill and Desperate Housewives together (she also watched some of Scandal and the West Wing with me). She never really had a “high school experience,” because of the time and place where she grew up. So whenever I told her any story about high school during freshmen year, she would listen intently and love every detail. So I did it more and more, and now she knows all my friends’ drama and my ups and downs in school as well as I do.

But she’s also my worst nightmare. Constantly reminding me to put on lotion, comb my hair, brush my teeth, and chew gum so the coffee smell goes away, blah blah blah. There’s just no stopping her little obsessions with perfection. Of course, we become our parents, like we learned from just one of those many amazing Friends episodes, so I get this quality from her; with even a hair out of place, I can’t leave my dwelling. Now I’m kind of just rambling. I do have a point. Bear with me. This was just a little demonstration of that “love-hate relationship we develop with our families/friends/housemates/etc.

Even though I wanted to cry hearing her voice, and after saying goodbye at the airport, but instead, it was that emptiness. I’m going to see her in 3 weeks. But that’s too long. My mother and I have never spent more than 10 days away from each other. After she leaves LA after visiting me, I have to wait until June to see her again. Go ahead, you can insert a little “awwwwwww” in there. Maybe a little more. Just a little bit more. Okay now read on.

September 26^th

The smallest things remind me of home. I was inserting a smaller suitcase in a larger suitcase to get some more space above my closet, and I had the thought of how much more efficiently my dad would’ve done this. I made a bed for the first time in my life and said a little prayer to Allah to bless my mother because she managed to do this day-in-day-out. I won’t be taking these sheets off until move-out. I put on a lock on my laptop that my brother gave me and even that was enough to make me emotional.

But the major inside-my-head waterworks came when I walked to Target and shopped for groceries for myself. I spent an hour and a half at Target, and didn’t have that much product to show for it. Note to self- learn how to do laundry; buy detergent. Maybe my roommates will teach me how those contraptions work.

It’s not that college is dreadful. It’s actually pretty much been positive. There’s this need to have constant social interaction (tonight I’m not leaving the room because I have to fill out all these different applications) but I can’t even say that’s been a negative thing. Nothing is really negative. But, goddamn, that emptiness.

I feel like I’m on vacation, and that I’ll be dancing along to my speakers in the shower in a few days again. Instead, I have no shower speakers, because I share with 5 other guys and I don’t want to be that obnoxious (ask my brother how loud my speakers were in the shower) douche. I do however, have a curtain that separates my nakedness from anyone else that might accidentally wanders into the bathroom (we do have signs on either side of our suite that read “vacant” or “occupied” [devised by my brilliant roommates], but it is impossible to always read that sign; and then, sometimes, you just forget to turn it around).

Back to the “point” of this first blog post, I guess. We, as humans, are incapable of fully appreciating the gifts given to us. Upon reflection, I do not regret the fact that I got furious at my maternal unit. She was annoying. But so was I. And we’ve had fights where we give each other the cold shoulder lasting a couple days. But nothing, not the pesky fights or the hurtful comments or the critiques, can ruin the love that exists there. I for one, wish I told her more just how much she meant to me. I wish I told my dad just how good of a role model he’s been to me and my brother. *This is where the playlist in my mind starts playing “I Wish” by the glorious Hilary Duff*

Anyone reading this, tell them you love them. Tell them you’re grateful that they walked into your life (this philosophical statement brought to you straight from a text message I sent my lovely friend Audrey after saying goodbye to her).

With that, I bid adieu for now. Expect about one blog post per week, HOPEFULLY. I just really want to document my life in this amazing university that I am attending called UCLA, all the intriguing and varying types of people I’ll encounter, and all the memories that will suddenly surface in my mind, making me wish I’d never made the decision to come here.