Find Me the Point

Written by Emma on March 30th, 2005

Sometimes I can stand this school. Other times I hate it. Despise it. This comes at times, mostly, when I am reminded of how far away I am from people I want so badly to see. It happens also at times like late this afternoon. I started walking, enjoying the evening sun and long shadows, making a game of staying in the sun, and I happened to cross paths with two guys. They were not particularly attractive, nor did they look very athletic. They weren’t wearing brand-name or stylish clothes. They looked a little nerdy, but not like gamers or geeks. Just normal people. The kind that make up so much of the bland majority of Lamar. I only realise how much I miss normal people when I come across the few here at Southwestern, which can be not very often at all. So many preppy, so many jocky, so many hippy. There seems to be a lack of originality here, a lack of those who’ve been shunned by society just enough to come up with their own unique way of looking at the world. A school of clones. That’s where I feel I am. But it’s a good school. Where is the balance? People, or school? Teachers, or students? Atmosphere or environment? Life seems like an endless task at trying to figure out what outweighs what, which is more important, what needs more attention, what counts more. I’m tired of all the balancing.

On my walk, a strange thing happened. I sat on a little hill, a knoll, I suppose, for a while, staring North, until it started to get cool. You can see for miles looking North from SU, becuase it’s so flat, and we seem to be on a little bump in the ground. If there were any distinguishing landmarks, instead of just water and radio towers, I might be able to tell you how far, but since every town looks the same from afar, and I know I can’t see the Metroplex or Waco, I have no clue. I started walking back to the dorm, and suddenly, to my left, there was a combination of feelings and smell, mostly from my left, that made me think of Scotland. Aberdeen. Whinhill Gate. Sitting on the grassy hill near our garage, ‘behind the flats’, though that part of the hill isn’t actually behind the flats. Clover. Daisies. Cool grass. Bright evening sun, but cool air, cool breeze, the sun is warm, but you can’t quite feel it because the air is sucking up the heat. You don’t want to put on your jacket because you want to let your arms enjoy the sunshine, it doesn’t seem right to cover them, it seems like a surrender to the fact that the day is slipping away. That’s what came to mind as I walked, suddenly. I stopped, enjoying it. Then, a puff of air blew from my right. Hot, dry, ‘oven air.’ The kind I associate with Texas. Arlington. Airport. Butler. The kind that tries to choke me as I step from land of rolling wet green hills, rain, and cold winds, to cool, dry, sanitized airplane air, to Texas. As I walked through Aberdeen, clouds of Texas air puffed on me from time to time. It was unusual, but I think it was fitting. I think very few, if any, realise what a torn girl I am. Nobody likes to look beyond considering that if I dare be anything but completely grateful for my opportunities I must be a spoiled, ungrateful brat. I am grateful. But that doesn’t mean I’m not torn. I don’t wish I was only from one place. The thought of that horrifies me, I even can’t imagine it. I’m not belittling it, I know it’s the case for the vast majority – my mom, dad, little brother and sisters, even – and I know it’s not horrible. It’s just not within my brain to imagine living any one place, having to choose. This will cause me trouble in the future, I know, so don’t bother telling me. I’m not asking for pity, simply stating my case. I’ll figure it out on my own.

This school is not home, it will never be home. A house here will never be a home. This school is a smiling face with a hollow inside.

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