No Place Like Home

No Place Like Home

I think I’ve had senioritis since I was five.

My whole life I have known Bryant is not the place for me to spend my life, and I have been anxious to move for the last five years of my life, but I simultaneously have cherished every memory here.

Since 7th grade, my heart has been set on leaving after high school. I found dream schools all across the country, none of which were in Arkansas.

My thoughts are surrounded by omnipresent shadows of adulthood as I am reminded that there is more to life than mysterious Mi Ranchito re-opening date, and Saturdays wasted aimlessly wandering around Target. While college is shoved down my throat constantly, it is different to think about how my last day of high school is merely nineteen months from now.

Chinese-on-the-Go lunches do not exist anywhere else but here. I have grown up going to the donut shop off of Highway 5 on Sunday morning, and my doctor still has a baby picture of my in the hallway of his office. I know it is a little early for me to become homesick for Riverfest weekend and Salt Bowl night, but despite the fact that the next year of Bryant memories are still waiting for me to make them, I know this is the last time I will capture this experience.

My mom always took it personally when I mentioned wanting to move halfway across the country when I got the opportunity, and my dad always questioned if I realized what moving meant for me. A 23-hour long drive, or a $400 flight home never seemed like too much trouble to me until I realized I have 19 months until my last day of school.

The real world excites me. I’m desperate to make a difference, but I don’t know if I’m ready to yet.

As I get older, this decision becomes more urgent. I know only a certain number of opportunities to leave Arkansas will be placed in front of me. The world excites me in ways I can’t explain, and I know I want to see all of it I possibly can, but I also want to see my siblings grow up. I want to be able to come home on the weekends and beg my mom to do my laundry for me, but to do so would mean giving up one of my chances.

Within the next 12 months I will have to decide what’s the most important thing to me; my freedom or the comforts at home, and I’m not ready for that yet.



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