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With the relatively long summer holidays fast approaching their end, every glance at my newsfeed on Facebook seems to reveal another status excitedly proclaiming a return to York and university life, or dejectedly complaining of the boredom of still being stuck in their hometown. Yet it seems like only yesterday that all of my fellow Freshers were going home mid-term for the weekend; having friends from home stay over; or at the very least listing the home comforts they cannot wait to enjoy again. So what's different now? Is it just because the summer holidays are longer? Is it a classic case of "you-never-know-what-you've-got-till-it's-gone"? Or are we just seasoned and ready to be second-years?
This seems to be quite a clear situation - after all, who would say no to the independence, camaraderie and vibrancy they get to enjoy at university for a three-month-long revival of their "old" lives? As the high of being back around your homely comforts gently wears off, numerous things begin to annoy, not the least of which are that your parents seem to have forgotten that yes, you've spent the past year tackling many responsibilities on your own; yes, you are going out again; no, you can't say exactly to the millisecond when you'll be back. Being unable to walk three steps from your room to rant about it to your flat/housemate begins to stifle you, the younger sibling you may have missed dearly begins to irritate you - thus, it all culminates in you potentially barricading yourself in your room, glued to any device that allows you to feel connected to your uni life and friends.
I, for one, was no exception to these feelings whilst at home this summer. Despite "home" being a metropolitan of 12 million, and July and August equaling the sea and sun a few miles south-west, this feeling of restlessness still managed to creep in through the cracks. At uni, whenever I answered a question regarding where I had moved to York from, I was met with exclamations of how I must be bored out of my mind here, how exotic it must be there, and how much I must be looking forward to the end of term. How to say without sparking incredulity or sounding blasé that I had looked forward to the move to uni just like any of them, and still continue to do so despite the fact that absence has made my heart grow fonder towards my home? As you can imagine, I perfected my noncommittal smile and enthusiastically vague answers of neither affirmation nor denial.
With an essay due over the summer done, and still a remaining month of nothing to do but swim, eat and kiss nightlife goodbye until I returned to the city, I set about analysing this intriguing bout of self-conflict. At the heart of the matter seems to lie that no matter how exciting or boring one's home environment may be, university is where one feels a sense of moving forward. That is where there is always a chance of meeting someone new, of embarking on a new project, and just generally feeling as though ten weeks have definitely made a difference in at least some, if not all, areas of one's life.
So it doesn't really have anything to do with ingratitude, nor restlessness, nor even the growing need for a suitably alcohol-induced student night out. In fact, it's probably a good sign that once that independence is tasted, home is still home - but now there's one more place that comes pretty close.
Funnily enough, hovering indeterminably between the two, missing and growing bored of each in their measure, seems the better option anyway.
Thoughtful article. I really like your writing style
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