three ninety two

Alabama

While driving home the other day, I had this funny feeling of coming home from a long weekend — yet, in reality, it was 392 days.

[Cut to me the night before. Alone in my now old apartment. Collapsing. Crying. Whaling.]

I knew leaving would be hard. It was my choice to go, but that doesn’t make things any easier. It was inevitably over. My time in Mobile was done. This was a bittersweet chapter in my life. Never had I felt so loved, connected, and lonely. Living in the same neighborhood as eleven of your friends is something I highly suggest for someone to experience during their twenties. Yet, I would also caution them not to.

Texas

When you grow up here, it becomes ingrained into your identity. You’re a Texan. “There’s no better place than here,” “Texas Strong,” “Texas Tough.” Heck, we pledge our allegiance to Texas every day in school right after pledging our devotion to the United States.

There has always been something about this place that never truly felt like home. That’s why I ran to a school eight hours away. I went through the “country phase” in middle school and quickly came out of it. So part of me still doesn’t feel myself here, but the family’s here. So, I guess I might as well be here too. More opportunities here. So, I think I should move back.

392

Three hundred and ninety-two days.

That’s not a long time in retrospect. Only one twenty-fourth of my life (as of the time I’m writing this). Though, an impactful year. I moved away. Fully independent financially and living with a roommate, paying for electrical, water, gas, and other miscellaneous bills.

[Cut to me now, sitting in my room, staying up late, writing.]

I keep thinking about it all. I wonder if it was real. The past year I spent in Mobile with my friends, my community, and the church that brought me back to life.

I don’t know.

I mean, I know it was real. I have the memories, the laughs, the scars, the pictures, and so much more to prove its validity. The smells, billing statements, and the times I was spooked. I have everything from this past year to know that it was real. Still, I lay in my bed tonight, and it feels like it might not have happened like a fever dream of what I wanted from life. Yet, if it were indeed a fever dream, where I got what I wanted, I would still be over there with a job I liked, living with my best friend and doing life alongside my closest friends.

What a privileged life I got to live for those few days, now to readjust to life back in Texas.