Author: / Stella Ramos /

Freshman Flux

 

By the end of my freshman year of college, I was exhausted. Brimming with memories, I was anxious to return to a bed bigger than a twin, my dog, and my mom’s home cooking. When I arrived home after a four-day road trip from my university in Los Angeles, the first thing I did was cry. Something not drastically out of character for me—my body tends to expel emotions through leaking water—but this time, the tears came from a different place.

I could tell upon entering the back storage room that was now my summer residence, that home wasn’t quite home anymore. There were ways in which I no longer fit, and bittersweet nostalgia permeated my space. The saltwater leaking from my eyes reminded me of the weight, permanence, and timing of it all. A chapter in my life was over—there was no going back. I had to grapple with the realization that life at home went on in my absence.

Some of my friends made the decision to stay in Los Angeles for the summer, others jetted off to travel, but many of us went home to work or spend time with family and friends. We went home because it was supposed to be the easiest and most convenient, a break from the adult-ish responsibilities at school. I told myself it was likely the last summer I would spend in Seattle, so I wanted to soak in the bits of youth I could still hold close; camping with friends, living at home (not paying rent), working under twenty hours a week, etc. I was excited to be home but wasn’t wholly prepared for the new emotional space I’d be returning to. 

Everything was in flux.

When I’m at college, I’m there until I go home. When I’m home, I’m there until I go to college. Both feel like home, and yet both also feel like an elongated sleep away camp separating me from reality. Because of this, I’m never fully settled in either space. Once I accepted the nomadic vibe of it all, I felt empowered by existing in two spaces. It gave me a sense of independence and pride that I recall craving in high school.

But there are ways in which tip toeing in between two worlds can get lonely. High school friends can’t quite grasp your new college self, no matter how many stories you tell or Instagram profiles you show them. College friends can guess the person you were before they met you, but they’re in your life now and don’t have too much time to play catch up. The ever-present truth—which will become more evident the more you switch between living, working, life spaces—is that you’re the only person who knows your total and complete journey. And that’s pretty fucking cool, if you ask me! Learn to trust your intuition in this unexplored territory, and don’t be afraid to take steps forward. 

For my last semester of college and all throughout finals week, I dutifully romanticized my return home to Seattle. I fantasized about evergreens and freshwater lakes, reconnecting with high school friends, spending time with family, and wafting in my lack of schoolwork. I needed those fantasies to get me through the hard homestretch of college, but simultaneously set the bar too high for what things would be like at home. Although I am happy to see my family and friends and be refreshed by the green and blue environment, I also miss Los Angeles and my life there more than I planned. By romanticizing what my life would look like here and over-simplifying my expectations, I set myself up for failure.

I changed in college, probably in a lot of small ways that I can’t fully articulate, and home is a vivid reminder of my life prior to this shift. So, it feels funky… and if you feel this way, too, know it’s completely valid.

I’ve changed and maybe home hasn’t (or at least as much), so why did I expect to fit perfectly back into an out-of-date mold of myself? That’s way too limiting and unrealistic. Lesson learned: you’re no longer obligated to do the same things at home or see the people you no longer feel connected to. Latch on to that empowerment and shape home to fit who you are now— even if it feels unnatural at first. Change is uncomfortable, sure, but it’s also powerful. Don’t restrict yourself by limiting your expectations of home; adapt, adjust, and find solace in the small moments of security you’ll find cuddling with your dog or sleeping in until noon.

 

Don’t Joke About Suicide

Too often I hear remarks and jokes about suicide. We all have caught on to the reality of how many teens die from suicide annually. With anxiety and depression rates in teenagers skyrocketing, the statistics have only become more daunting. Approximately 105 Americans die from suicide every day and suicide is the third leading cause of death for people ages 14 to 24, according to Suicide Awareness Voice of Education, SAVE.

I tolerate a lot of dumb jokes–and make a lot of dumb jokes myself. However, there is one kind of joke I consistently call out: those that make light of suicide. Hearing someone say they want to ‘shoot’ or ‘kill’ oneself always leaves me with a sickening feeling that I can’t ignore.

If someone is serious, it is important to notify someone as soon as possible. Family and friends of those who have committed suicide consistently regret not “saying something.” Often, our society plays off warning signs around suicide and depression as normal “teenage” behavior. A friend could say they feel like killing themselves in a joking manner, but it’s important to treat these remarks seriously. It could protect those in your community and diminish the laid back nature surrounding suicidal remarks.

If someone is joking, they are taking this reality that many face, too lightly. A senior at Hale, who struggles with multiple disorders including depression, feels many people don’t realize the impact these jokes can have.

“I think everyone’s heard it and everyone’s said it. It just isn’t something to joke about. You have no idea what the person next to you is going through and what their relationship with suicide is. Even a small comment could devastate someone.”

Two years ago, I lost a close family friend to suicide. I took it hard, and was hit with the reality of the way suicide can impact family, friends, and a community. Like any death, there’s no easy way to come to terms and cope with what happened. I spent the majority of my childhood growing up with my friend Oscar, and in many ways I considered him a brother. I didn’t get to see Oscar as often once I moved to Seattle, and when I heard of his death I was hit with deep regret for not reaching out earlier. Attending his funeral in Bellingham left me in a haze of confusion, I hadn’t dealt with death before and it took me a long time to feel okay about it, grief is an ongoing process. Even now, there are days where I get especially sad or regretful thinking about him. Suicide leaves a family broken and a community blindsided with loss.

Although before this loss I never thought suicide jokes were tasteful, afterward I became incredibly sensitive and aware to just how frequently I hear people make side comments and jokes about suicide. Suicide jokes are insensitive, but they’re also outdated. I find there are much more creative ways to explain your momentary discomfort.

 

Painting by Tracey Emin