Long time, no see, huh? I'm going to place the blame solely on you and not on the fact that I haven't posted anything in well over a year.
I'm sure you all remember when I first started college. (If not, I have plenty of past posts about it that you can update yourself on if you so desire.) I remember when I first started college. I remember moving up to Rexburg and getting settled in apartment 703 with my best friend. I cried when my family left, but then I got distracted by other things and was temporarily distracted from my emotions.
When I used the apartment bathroom for the first time, I was discouraged by the unfamiliarity and I cried again. Yep, going to the bathroom was too much for my weak heart. In all seriousness, though, the weight of what I was doing came crashing down on me in that moment, and I realized that I was well and truly on my own now. That was terribly frightening, and my fears were only exacerbated by the fact that my family wasn't there to help me. Sure, I could call them or text them, but they weren't there. I couldn't hug them. I couldn't eat dinner with them or play a game with them.
As the semester progressed, though, everything turned out just fine. I haven't cried in the bathroom since. I could go on and on about the wonders of BYU-Idaho and how happy it makes me to be here, and maybe one day I will tell you about that. But I have a different focus for today.
I have lived in this same apartment throughout my college career. I'll be starting my senior year next semester. I've grown quite fond of 703. I've made friends in this place. I've slept in two different rooms, and I've shared a room with two of my best friends in the world and one of the most fake people I've ever met in my life (but that's another story). It has its issues, certainly--it's an old building, after all. We get mold pretty easily. Hamilton the microwave hates my guts. The shower is the most temperamental thing I've ever had to work with. The heater often either works too well or not at all.
But despite all that, I love it here. I love the view out of our living room window with its perfect sight of the Rexburg temple and the sunsets that so beautifully decorate the backdrop. I love our wall of sticky notes decorated with quotes that range from inspirational to hysterical. I love the framed photos of handsome movie characters we have on the window sill. And above all else, I love the feeling of home that this apartment gives me.
When COVID hit and I wasn't able to come back here for the spring semester, I was devastated. In the face of a global pandemic, an earthquake, and temporarily losing my job, the thing that distressed me most was the realization that I wasn't coming back to Rexburg anytime soon. Though I loved my time at home with my family, there were many days where I wanted nothing more than to be in 703. When I returned after a nine-month absence, my heart felt whole again.
I realize that this is the most cliché thing, but it's just a fact. This place is my second home.
So when we got the news that building 7 is being changed to a men's apartment and we'd have to move to building 5, my poor heart just about broke. Fortunately, we got to finish out the semester here, but now we're reaching the end. The boys on the window sill are packed away. My room is the emptiest and yet the most cluttered it's ever been as I'm trying to pack everything up. There are boxes everywhere, and there seems to be a melancholy mood settling over everything like a dust.
As I took a walk earlier today in the rain, I realized just how little attention I've paid to the steps I take each and every day. I've become so accustomed to these paths--how I cross the parking lot to get to the crosswalk, the path I take to get the mail, the familiar path to the laundry room--and now they're all going to be jarringly shifted slightly north.
Sure, we'll be closer to the crosswalk and to the mailbox and to the lounge. Sure, it's nice to have something new. Sure, it's probably better for my own health and safety that I no longer live with Hamilton. But it's still painful.
For the past couple weeks, I've found myself pausing in the middle of mundane tasks, realizing the finality of everything. I may use this same lemon-scented soap, but it won't be at this sink for much longer. There will be a lamp in the new apartment, but not this lamp I've turned off and on countless times. The extra chairs, the jokes about Madison the ghost, that confounded shower--all of it will be gone. We have to start over again. For some people, that's a thrilling thought, but I've never been one for change. Starting from the beginning is a terrifying notion.
But I'm optimistic. I think back to my first couple days here. I remember little 18-year-old Odessa disliking this place because it just wasn't home. But before she knew it, she'd fallen in love with it. If it happened once, why can't it happen again?
Yes, it'll be hard to leave this place. There are countless beautiful, hilarious, sad memories I'll be leaving behind, but it's just so I can make room for new ones. I have all three of my wonderful, wonderful roommates coming along, and a good friend from back home will be joining us as well. I don't feel so alone this time.
So, do I want to cry thinking about how I'll be losing the best view in Rexburg? Yes. Yes, I do want to cry. But seeing as I've already reached my maximum limit of two crying sessions this semester, I guess I'll have to settle for smiling instead. At the very least, I'll try to grin.
Or maybe I'll have a good cry.
Regardless, there's a bit of excitement. It's not as though I'm moving too far. And at least I can rest assured that I'll always have that amazing campus with its beautiful gardens right across the way. In fact, now they'll be a little bit closer.
After Thursday, everything will be different. Next time you hear from me, I'll be in 516. Wish me luck, okay?
"Remember that sometimes not getting what you want is a wonderful stroke of luck."
