monster vs. monster

breaking the silence
August 11, 2009, 6:11 pm
Filed under: thoughts | Tags: ,

rainy window

I’ve spent the past few weeks moving across the country, and it has been a grueling process. I left a lot of love behind in my home state. What I would have given for a manual on how to leave home. I made a few fumbling attempts at farewells, but the weight of my leaving did not really hit me until long after I had seen my friends for the last time, so that in my saddest moments I had no one nearby to comfort me. But, thankfully, my homesickness was sucked into the stress of parents’ houses and parking permits and plane rides, so that after a few days of aggressive bad moods I had exhausted most of my negative emotions. I felt tired but ready to settle, anxious to unpack and get to know my neighborhood and truly embrace living here. 

I arrived on my new side of the country to an apartment I had never seen before, a hot and sticky Rhode Island summer, and silence. Penetrating silence. I found myself wandering without purpose around my humid, half-empty apartment  listening to the quiet. I couldn’t find npr on my radio, and I couldn’t think of any music that wouldn’t make me desperately homesick. I put away books, washed dishes, read the paper, all without any sound save the clanking or rustling of the things I touched. But then something wonderful happened this afternoon. I was sitting on the couch knitting in silence, arguing with myself about whether or not it would be crazy to wear my ipod in my own living room, when the breeze from my open windows picked up and was suddenly cool, and huge heavy drops of rain began to fall. My apartment filled with the thick, soothing sound of rain. I put on an album I accidentally stole from my best friend, and the old familiar songs didn’t sound melancholy against the summer rain. They sounded surreally beautiful, almost cinematic. And so the silence was broken, and I began to feel at home.


March 18, 2009, 9:39 am
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brown treesMy first visit to Brown left me with mixed emotions, and I have spent the last few days thinking and writing and talking incessantly in a vain attempt to sort out all my thoughts. I worry that I might lose myself in this new, strange place with these new, very different people. I have never done well with change, and I do not like the unfamiliar. I like to feel informed and important. It calms me. Still, a cross-country move could be a great opportunity for growth. This winter brought great sadness into my life, and with sadness comes self-reflection and self-evaluation, and I feel that over the past few months I have strengthened my sense of self and established some idea of what I want from life. Perhaps I am ready for that big, terrifying change.