Monday - November 18, 2013

It's that time of the semester when classes are ending and so many essays are due, and after writing thousands of words, I get to the point where I don't know what I'm saying anymore or why I'm saying it or why it matters but that's okay because I'm lucky to be in college at all, to sit in classrooms with brilliant people who share their thoughts about race and gender and oppression and women's literature. Some days, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude to be here even though it hurts to be away from my mother, even though I ache for home, even though I'm so alone that I get so desperate for human contact. It's my second to last semester of college. I feel like this is already becoming a memory; it's taking on that blurry, soft focus. When I think back to these days, I'll forget all the times I was tired and overwhelmed and fearful of leaving my room. I'll romanticize it. It will become mythic and I'll miss it like I miss everything that has passed. How am I living these days without him? I don't know. I dream about him. I yearn for him to be here, to see me going to college. I'll think of him on the day I graduate even though I still think about not going to the ceremony at all because there seems no point to it because he isn't here and I'll only feel his absence. I know he'd be proud. That isn't the point. I never questioned my father's love or pride; those are not the things I want from him. I just want him. I want our life together. I want to talk to him and learn from him and hear his voice and call him "daddy" again and know that I have a father. I move through these days. I feel old because I keep asking where the time goes and why time passes me by so fast. I wonder what I am becoming. I wonder what I will do when I have my degree but no longer have any dreams or ambitions because it takes all I have to keep surviving. I don't know what I want. I want nothing. Or what I do want--him, the past, childhood, safety, an end to loss and grief--is impossible. This should be the beginning of my life. Why does it only feel like the end?