nostalgia, part 5 (because yes, I went to college for five years)

Coming back to Provo for the third time was not any easier. The roommates from before had all graduated or moved, and I was starting over again. I found another cute house at the last minute, and moved in, yet again with eyes full of tears. I spent the first few days, again, filling out the application for BYUH and feeling guilty that I was considering turning down the TA job with my favorite professor. For who knows what reason, I stayed again. (Probably because I only had one year left, duh).

Unfortunately, I did not feel any reason to be intimidated by this year's group of roommates. And even more unfortunately, there was never to be any friendship forged with most of them.

But it was fantastic for my study habits. Taking 17.5 credits in the fall and 19 credits in the winter would have been utterly impossible if I'd been distracted by any household amicability. Fall semester, an assignment in my advanced writing class resulted in my essay winning a school contest, for which I then read the essay in front of a very large (space-wise), darkened audience (thankfully I couldn't see how many or how few people turned out to hear it). In the front row sat my dear friend Collette, who has been with me for many of the more surreal moments of my life. This was no exception- we sat next to the Samuelson's, didn't recognize the school fight song, and sat through a 10-minute video of Jimmer saying "Guys, I wish I could be there, guys, guys, it's amazing to be a basketball player, guys." And then I read my essay and then we ate lunch with a bunch of amazing and important people, and then we laughed a lot, because that's what we do.

That semester, I took my first contemporary dance class. And it was the only thing that got me through those four months.  Every morning, I joined a group of the most amazing dancers, who were also some of the most kind, welcoming people I've ever met. We danced together, prayed together, worked through injuries and got awesome abs together. This was what dance was supposed to be. A connection to the divine, and a connection to humanity.

In the winter, I took five French classes and a couple others, TAed again for Humanities 202, and honestly thought I might die. Somehow I made it through that one, too, thanks to a few truly great friends in classes. We took photographs, made up a Romance language, and memorized more French history than I knew there was.

Then somehow, that semester was over too, and as soon as I could, I sold my contract, packed up all of stuff, and moved two blocks south, away from that place I dreaded returning to every night, and into the most beautiful house in Provo, filled with the most beautiful people. And then I walked in graduation, during which I couldn't stop wishing I was doing that on an island, surrounded by people I knew, instead of a sea of 3,000 I'd never met. My brother sent me a lei, both of my parents came, and it was wonderful and happy and...really anti-climatic because I had classes starting again on Tuesday.

Spring term was full of credits, but also of fun and sun and restored faith in humanity. Outdoor movie nights, twinkle lights, late-night chats with the world's greatest roommate, and lots of secrets spoken in French. It was a dream. By the end of those two months, I had actually come to (eek!) love Provo, attesting again to the age-old truth that places are nothing more than the people you know there.

And then I took three finals, turned in a portfolio, and left that campus for the very last time.

Over and out, college.