The Day Freedom Came
“I can’t believe I still have a curfew!” I ranted as my younger sisters watched in silence.
“I can’t wait to go to college so I can be free! And you know what I’ll do? I’ll watch TV till midnight, I’ll eat pizza and coke for breakfast, and I’ll even skip classes if I want to!”
Leaving home for college is nearly every teenager’s dream. Attending university looks like the door that leads to freedom. But for me, leaving home was not what I expected it to be.
My mom and I found my freshman dorm and I ran up the stairs to look for my new room- my ticket to freedom and independence. I opened the door to find an empty, musty shoebox, furnished with a bunk bed, two small closets and a sink. Bathrooms and showers were down the hall.
The excited butterflies in my stomach suddenly escaped leaving behind a knot in my gut and a gazillion questions.
Where will I fit all my clothes? What will I do if my roommate doesn’t like me? I have to share a bathroom with fifty strangers? What if no one talks to me? How will I find my classes?
I walked towards the window and looked out; the vista stretched across the grassy field between four freshmen dorms. It swarmed with students walking in different directions, some by themselves, others happily carrying on conversations with friends.
I turned around to find my mom unpacking my bags, making my bed and organizing my tiny closet. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
Suddenly, a screen in my mind turned on. My life rolled in front of me like an old home video flashing pictures of myself as a little girl, dressed in plaid bell bottoms, playing with my little sisters. I saw myself riding horses and running around with my cousins at our grandparents farm.
The movie fast forwarded to my high school years, a time filled with swim meets, driving lessons, and family gatherings.
Family…
My excitement suddenly turned into fear. I’d never been alone. In a few hours my parents would leave me in a country far away from mine, in a university where I did not know one single soul.
Guilt from my rebellious attitude during the previous months plagued my heart.
“Mom,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
She finished folding my towels, pulled me close and embraced me in forgiveness.
“It’s time to go,” she said, not even trying to contain her tears anymore. “Dad is waiting in the car. And remember you still have one more bag.”
We said goodbye and I watched them drive away, hugging my overpacked suitcase as if it were a beloved friend.
As soon as I entered the empty stairwell, I collapsed, my clothes falling out of my bag and onto the floor, and I cried. My cry turned into sobs- sobs of pain, loneliness, regret, homesickness, and longing.
I longed for the life I left behind, for the life that would never be the same. I wanted to run after that car but knew that I couldn’t.
When I ran out of tears and the stairwell began to get dark, I mustered enough strength to pick up my scattered belongings and walk up to my dorm room, trying to remember the excitement I had felt before.
Fortunately, I loved my new roommate and all the girls on my floor became my friends. My dreams eventually became a reality. My friends and I did watch TV way past midnight, I did eat cold pizza and coke for breakfast, and even skipped some early morning classes.
However, there was one thing that changed, and it was my view of my family. Unexpectedly, that little dorm room, which I considered the door to my freedom also opened my eyes to the realization that there’s nothing more precious than family and that there is, like the cliche says, no place like home.
