How Many Times Do I Have To Tell You?

I reckon that it's a tradition in all families that they raise you to make your own decisions, and when you're finally able to, they try and convince you otherwise.

I made up my mind a while ago that to get the things I wanted, I needed to leave home. What I want, a good education, a publication deal, fame, whatever, can't all be found in the city that I've lived my whole life in. 

Yes, there is an esteemed university in my city.

Yes, I love my family with all of my heart.

Yes, I'm still going.

Granted, my family have coddled me all of my life to make up for the vacuum in my heart that they are convinced was left there when my mother died, and we're probably closer than a lot of families so it will be difficult to separate. I suppose I can't blame them for not wanting to let me go, and I'm still struck with moments where I want to delete personal statements, delete UCAS accounts and cower under my bed with my favourite stuffed toys.  I get over it though, because ultimately, I want to see the world (at least the rest of the country) and I want to be something more than the girl too scared to leave her native city.

I don't think that the "university experience" can be found at home. I go to lessons, I live on campus, but then I come home every weekend and ask for money when times get hard, or grab new possessions and clothes because I can't get rid of anything. That never screamed adventure to me. Now, being five hours away from home with an agonisingly sparse suitcase of clothes and supplies with such a distance that I can only return every holiday - that's adventure to me. 

Difficult? Absolutely, that's the point. But when I'm homesick and lonely, I can look into the distance to try and find the grey blob of my home and realise that I worked for this, and now that I'm gone, I have to keep going.

The End

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