5.04.2008

it's all so beautiful it's unbearable

Last time I wrote, I was preparing to start my freshman year of college.

Now it's the beginning of post-freshman year summer. And I cannot believe it's over.

College, thus far, has been an amazing experience. I have loved almost every minute of it; of course there were those that I would not want to relive, but the good times greatly outweigh the notsogood times. If you'd like to read specifically about what I've been doing over the last semester, you'll have to read my "student blog." But I am going to leave it up to you to find it, because it's not something I'm particularly proud of. Not that I'm ashamed of it...but it kind of goes against my typical blogging style which is to not go through a list of what you did that day or week (unless you're actually doing something exciting, like traveling).

Anyway. Moving on.

Leaving Charlotte was a bit rough for me. Not depressing, I suppose. Not even sad. But strange. I said goodbye to my friends at school (most of whom left before I did; the only ones left by the time I went home were JBIP participants, graduating seniors, and residence life), said goodbye to my family at City Church that has been an amazing blessing in my life, and said goodbye to the kids I babysit for every week. The looks on their faces when I was leaving matched what I was feeling; I sure hope I get used to it since I'm going to have to leave them three more times! 

It was very interesting to me that the day I returned home (this past Friday) was the Providence seniors' last day. It made coming home from college even more of a shock. The end of my freshman year meant that it was the end of their senior year--and place I remember being just yesterday. Oh, wait. It was a year ago. That's almost unfathomable. 

High school will always be a precious memory in my heart. Providence was a fabulous place for me to grow up and build a foundation. It definitely prepared me (along with my parents, of course) for the world, at least as far as I can see it--that is, college. I don't want to go back to high school, though. College is a fabulous place to be in life, and I couldn't ask for a better university to be at such a time. Queens, though it is not perfect (as Providence was not, either) is so clearly where I am supposed to be and I feel blessed every single day I am there. 

It's hard being away from it. I have two homes now, and, as my best friend pointed out, "No matter where I am in life, I will always be missing a set of people." 

I guess I better get used to it.

God bless,
lv 

2 comments:

you know said...

"now, if you were teaching creative"

writing, he asked, what would you

tell them?

I'd tell them to have an unhappy love

affair, hemorrhoids, bad teeth

and to drink cheap wine,

to keep switching the head of their

bed from wall to wall

and then I'd tell them to have

another unhappy love affair

and never to use a silk typewriter

ribbon,

avoid family picnics

or being photographed in a rose

garden;

read Hemingway only once,

skip Faulkner

ignore Gogol

stare at photos of Gertrude Stein

and read Sherwood Anderson in bed

while eating Ritz crackers,

realize that people who keep

talking about sexual liberation

are more frightened than you are.

listen to E. Power Biggs work the

organ on your radio while you're

rolling Bull Durham in the dark

in a strange town

with one day left on the rent

after having given up

friends, relatives and jobs.

never consider yourself superior and /

or fair

and never try to be.

have another unhappy love affair.

watch a fly on a summer curtain.

never try to succeed.

don't shoot pool.

be righteously angry when you

find your car has a flat tire.

take vitamins but don't lift weights or jog.

then after all this

reverse the procedure.

have a good love affair.

and the thing

you might learn

is that nobody knows anything--

not the State, nor the mice

the garden hose or the North Star.

and if you ever catch me

teaching a creative writing class

and you read this back to me

I'll give you a straight A

right up the pickle

barrel.

- bukowski

keep writing baby

Leslie Virginia said...

Thanks, Tony!