Love should be easy. Life is hard enough. (anothergoodday) wrote,
Love should be easy. Life is hard enough.

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Dear regrets,

Currently, I am sitting in my new room. It's actually my old room but now it's an Herbal Garden, complete with a home for my laptop (aka desk) and my beautiful Asian Lily bedspread. My iLive is filling this "new room" with Taylor Swift, accompanied by the sounds of birds, bugs, and breeze from outside my open window.

And on the shelf directly above my desk, staring me plain in the face, is a photo, a photo that I so carefully chose, a photo of my fifth floor girls from Western Michigan University. The seven of us, a group. A group that I at least somewhat belonged in, even though from early on I knew I'd be leaving them in only a few short months.

It is hard, in many ways and on many levels. People ask me if I like OU and I tell them yes, a very routine, stock answer. Is it the truth? Well, yes, I suppose it is. I don't hate OU, I don't even dislike it. But I didn't switch schools because Oakland was calling my name. Home was calling my name. Boyfriend, family, my own room and house were calling my name. And as much as I regret going to Western in the first place, as much as I regret letting people talk me into something I didn't want, almost just as much I regret coming home.

Sometimes I think about my dorm, which I loathed, and I miss it. And I often think about the caf, although responsible for horrible eating habits and probably some weight gain, and I miss it. And I think about walking around that campus, classes spread out whenever over the course of my week rather than crammed tight in three days, and I *long* for it. And I look at that photo and I miss those people, people I didn't think I'd go eight months without seeing. And it breaks me down to tears.

I tell people that Western wasn't the right place at the right time, and that is the truth. More than anything, I found it difficult to adjust. I loved going home and hated coming back and when I read past entries in here about my time at Western, I know that it wasn't all in my head. I loved Western, but it wasn't for me.

Unfortunately, I went there. Unforuntately, I was talked into sigining my attendance card to WMU and even MORE unfortunately, I met my boyfriend only a few weeks after this decision. A big part of me finds it unfortunate that I got a taste of it, because had I not, I wouldn't know what I was missing. And if I didn't know what I was missing, I wouldn't be missing. I wouldn't have memories, good and bad, haunting me. I wouldn't say, "Well, our club tennis team at Western..." and then have to catch myself in realization, even after eight months, that Western is not my school. It was, once, but it's not anymore. I left it. And quite clearly on my OU transcript it says "Transfer" and I cringe at that word. I hate that word. I hate being a transfer student, reminding me constantly that I fucked up the first time, that instead of getting it right and spending four complete years at a school that I take some serious pride in, whichever school it may be, I made the wrong choice. I wasn't supposed to do it that way. I was supposed to pick one university, the right university, and love it through and through and never look back.

So this transfer student has some regrets. She is sorry and sad and missing and *confused.* And let me tell you something -- she hates it.


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