The hallways were so empty, yet overwhelmed with carton boxes and colorful luggage. Nothing was colorful about separation. Nothing was more overwhelming than parting after 10 weeks of living in a family. There was the girl who struggled to keep her dorm door open while forcing her packages out of the area. There was the other girl who was constantly weighing her bags, worried about the surplus. There was this guy who built an “open market” next to his room with all the snacks or necessities he was leaving behind. It said, “help yourself to anything you want!”
There was his friend who was sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the wooden table, motionless. Then, there was me, strolling in the hallways, witnessing the hybrid movements that moved my emotions, that awakened my anxiety bits by bits. This evening, I couldn’t see properly, my tears were too dense, heavy enough to blur my path, to blur the sight of my best friend’s delicate traits, the last sight of my roommate’s black-and-white pictures on the wall. My roommate took her belongings and left a deserted room. She took a piece of my heart with her to Colorado. Looking at her empty room, my heart flinches, for I am grateful to have shared a space with her, shared a new little world of ours.
I went back to my half-empty apartment-style dorm, and the memories of the best 10 weeks of my life kept hollering in the silence of my solitude. I knew that I was not alone, I knew that, in my heart, their faces were still there and their voices were to become my serenade until we reunite again. I underestimated the way a tiny moment could alternate your feelings. It was this first morning away from my second family. It was this first morning I could not knock on my neighbor’s door. It was this first morning I did not drag my best friend to the gym. It was this first morning I felt connected to my friends more than ever, because distance would never stop the sunlight from reaching my window.
Contact Tiffany Saade at tiff24 ‘at’ stanford.edu.