I’m home. I’m sure I should write on the change of scenery, but that’s not too important. Culture shock on coming home doesn’t seem to be an issue. I am appeased, and pleased, and so content on my arrival. I wanted to come home, and here I am. The end. Though just about every file I wrote while in China, I just discovered that they have all vanished. I’m not sure if I should feel the sharp pang of loss, grief, maybe even remorse? I don’t really feel any sort of despair. I guess I’m just too renewed by the present.
The past is very much the past. I suppose that’s obvious enough, but even here in my father’s kitchen, there is so sense of regret. I have been redeemed and saved in the eyes of those who judged me, held me under while I scraped and clawed at the surface, reaching towards something greater than myself. Just a breath of air. But I achieved. What I know now is a sense of accomplishment, of capability, of possibility. No longer is it the swell of what is and what will never be, but instead of what is and what will be, who I will become, who I want to become. I can mimic and deflate, or I can be myself and beckon the future. The question is still, though, who am I?
The perks of being a student, that question I’ve realized, is of very little importance. What truly matters is not “who am I” but who I can be, who I want to be. Those little tragedies that plague our consciences, maybe those that even provide comic relief in the face of true turmoil, that incessant honesty is what shapes you into a person worth knowing. The honesty, the trusting of your own calling, and becoming yourself. There is no answer to that silly question, because it will never be the same. We are all in a constant state of change, and disillusion, but that’s ok. That’s life.
Walking onto the steps of the Columbia Library, those massive, rising steps, I looked up, and I couldn’t help but smile. I almost cried, as if I was staring up into the eyes of someone else, someone twinkling, and probably laughing at all my past hardship. I felt strong, and ready. Though it’s easier now to know what I want. I’ve lived on my own, worked for things I’ve known I’ve always deserved, but being there, staring my future straight in the face, and having it smile back with open arms, that is something I will never forget. Why would I want to? Those open arms did not just represent a future, but a promise. A promise of greatness to come, of possibilities and achievements I can and will achieve. My brother Gavin’s very right, though. I watch him push forward, working to achieve, and true accomplishment is no easy feat. There is no open door; you have to make it budge, find the keys, you have to deserve it. I deserved it. I made it.
I received a call today. I’ve been busy migrating between the northeast, Connecticut and Jersey, attempting to complete my array of errands. I’d been waiting to speak to Gavin for awhile, but with all my being supremely busy, hadn’t really gotten around to emailing him back until this morning. Skype seems to provide the best means of communication, and the shrieking ringtone cut through the air up to my pulsating ears. Jogging to my computer, that similar last name appeared and there he was, picture and all. Gavin, I think, is one of the few people who has believed in me all along. His long, lost sister was never truly that far away, merely a bit off track. He pushed me, he helped me and even now, he’s never left my corner. It goes beyond just being a sibling. There’s more to that relation than just blood. We’ve experienced life together. I have a younger brother, too, and maybe it’s a sense of being older that makes you want to look out for those you feel need you. There’s a sense of responsibility and love that mingle together to create something stronger. I couldn’t say what it is. Family?
Anyway, babbling on with my Gavin, spilling all the glory of my recent days. I finally got my schedule, and I’m taking the Anthropology of Estrangement, and oh, how I cannot wait! M. Taussig (according to culpa) is a seriously controversial figure, and estrangement seems to have the ability to go in any direction. Who knows, maybe I’ll learn something… 
But just talking with Gavin, my brother never ceases to amaze me. Maybe that’s cliché, or corny, either way, it’s very true. At times, no doubt, we have our qualms, but recently, I’ve realized that I truly can rely on him for anything and everything. That’s not something you can say about just anyone. He looks out for people (me), leads in a way that is more than just schmoozing. It’s a gift. I listen to him and I am astonished. Even more astonished, because he believes that I can do great things. My art, my music, my words. Who knows if he’s correct or not, but it’s definitely a nice stroke to my ego…
The call ends, and I grab my guitar and run upstairs, feeling inspired. Music is much harder to write than essays. There’s something inhibiting about your own sound. I always feel like its not good enough, but I’m hoping to get over that. I have a lot to say, I always have. I have a lot I can say, and maybe, in time, that will show. My songs seem scattered now, but they’re coming together, piece by piece. I couldn’t ask for more. Here, in my father’s kitchen, back in the US of A, ready to embark on my future. Schooling, arts, and happiness all are feasible. I’ve never been this sure of anything, of myself. I feel whole and real, and monumentally good. I want to be the person I am capable of being within every aspect of myself. I retreat to this blog to bear my soul, not just with words, but with my talents. I can write, maybe. I’ve been trying to write music (it’s much harder than it seems…), but I profess with more than just words, with drawing and songs, and movements. I guess I’m a just a compilation of hipster/emo/whatever else they’re selling these days, but I’m ok with that. Maybe I don’t know who I am, but I definitely know what I’m good at.
