TEEN CENTER :: COLLEGE CENTER

FRESHMAN JOURNAL: SEPTEMBER 2, 2005

The Things We Carry

By Julia Choe

Lugging my heavy luggage through the San Jose airport, I am forced to remember that this trip is no ordinary vacation. I will not be returning next week, and I cannot tell my dad to save me some end-of-the-summer white peaches. Instead, I am transporting my entire existence to a place I have visited twice.

Around me I notice other soon-to-be college freshmen. They are easily distinguishable by the group of family circling around one slightly scared, yet optimistic, teenager. I am no different; I look at the faces of my parents and my brother and I am struck by how much I wish I could spend just a few more days with them. The past month has gone by in a blur, and despite my efforts to cherish every moment at home, delaying my departure has become inevitable. That is not to say that I am dreading going to college; in fact, it is just the opposite. I am looking forward to a new city, a new school, and a new group of friends. Yet at the same time, there is a longing to remain with my comfort zone, to stay frozen in this senior summer forever. It is the strangest feeling, and as I eventually part from my waving family, I feel an acute sense of loneliness that I never could have imagined in my decision to attend a college thousands of miles away.

I don't know the exact emotions behind the brave countenances of the freshmen scattered around me, but I almost feel a sense of solidarity with all of them. We are all literally and figuratively moving far away toward an unknown future. In the gate's waiting room, I realize that the bags that we hold are both remnants of our past and hopes for our future. We carry pictures of our friends and family, old books that we have read again and again, perhaps even a worn stuffed animal or blanket. Mixed in with these familiar items are new clothes (in my case, preparation for the freezing East Coast winter), the names of our future roommates, and shiny new dorm room furnishings. The bags seem to represent my torn feelings between a reassuring past and an undiscovered future.

But perhaps these are just the philosophical ramblings of a 17-year-old looking out the window to a city that is no longer her home. In reality, I am most overwhelmed by the uncertainty of it all, of the openness of the future that it my own. I'm not quite sure of my major, of my class schedule, or even whether I will like college or not. In the end, I guess that's the beauty of the unknown--blank, yet full of promise, like a freshly stretched white canvas in my mom's studio.

Tomorrow, I will be able to see how well I can function independently in a new environment. I will be able to meet people with completely different backgrounds from mine, talk to amazing professors, and take class in the halls older than I am. In short, college will be a collection of experiences that I never could experience without making this leap away from home.

And so even though looking back already gives me pangs of homesickness, I am looking forward to the future as never before. Sitting silently on the gray shiny airport chair, I stare intensely out the window before walking out of the gate and onto the plane.