That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
I, however, am not feeling it.
Instead of getting excited about returning home, I’m still very much excited about the University things I have been every week this term. I’m excited about heading to Ziggy’s on Wednesday. I can’t wait to get my seminar preparation done so I can spend time chilling out with my housemates or my boyfriend. I’m still managing deadlines, struggling with my degree, thinking about the weekend’s meals and trying not to spend too much of the student loan. One thing I’m not doing is thinking about home.
I’m going to blame this on my course.
Of course, I can’t really complain. After all, I don’t have any exams this term or next. I don’t have a ridiculous amount of hours or problem questions set each week. But the one thing that annoys the hell out of me is my department’s habit of giving me 9.15 seminars on a Friday. This means I have to stay in York until Friday. This means I have to stay concentrating on work until Friday. This means I celebrate with my housemates (having handed in their lab reports the day before) on Thursday night at my own risk of falling asleep in front of my tutor the morning after.
My department also insists on setting essays over the holidays. Which means that yes, okay, technically I have no work to hand in from week seven onwards… but I have to sit in the library for hours while everyone else is winding down. And unless I want to be stuck in my room working over Christmas (along with a horrific amount of reading to do) I should make a start on at least getting the damn thing planned this week.
I’m also going to blame it on the train companies. For having no cheap trains before Sunday night and so restricting my journey home until the end of the weekend – therefore making said journey seem yet a distant event.
I’m also going to blame myself. Because I didn’t book my train tickets earlier. Because I haven’t researched my essay and because I chose to come up to York a good month before my course actually started, and so have completely gotten out of the sync of home life down south.
And I’m worried. Partly worried that I’m not going to have enough time to do my work; but most of all, worried that this term has changed me. That my parents won’t like, or simply won’t know the daughter that comes home to them. That we’ll end up arguing over silly little things that I do now; or over clothes that I’ve bought or… well, anything really.
But if we can’t rely on our parents to look after us and offer us support, who can we rely on? If I think I can’t rely on being welcomed with open arms, whether it’s been three months or three years, then what do I think of my parents? I've always considered home as this wonderful retreat of recovery after a long, hard time at Uni - but it's just another place.
Ultimately, I realise that going home is an act of faith. I have to believe everything’s going to be okay.
Even if I am taking home a boy for the first time; even if my parents have become used to living on their own; even if my mum will undoubtedly tell me I’ve put on weight (it’s almost always the first thing she says).
If I smile and think positive, it’ll all be all right. I need to stop thinking of it as some kind of paradisal retreat where everything's wonderful and I don't have to worry at all.
It’s home after all, nobody said it had to be perfect.
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