Going home feels kind of weird.
When I was packing my bags before freshman year, I knew that it was likely the last time I would really be living with my parents. Sure, I’d gone to summer camps before—I’d been away from home for months at a time—but when I came back, my life was always centered back in my hometown.
But now, when I arrive home, it feels like I’m visiting instead of returning.
My room is neatly organized for me. My bed is made. It’s so unnervingly clean that I feel like an intruder the first time I slip between my own sheets. When I first have dinner with my parents, I’m a little more polite than usual. Not in a formal or awkward way—I’m just careful to avoid subjects I know we’d disagree on. They do the same. Nobody wants to fight when we’ll only see each other for a few days. When I drive through town, the scenery’s changed a bit. New restaurants have popped up. I don’t recognize the kids on the sides of the roads.
Perhaps the biggest change is the overall impression of nostalgia. The restaurants, the streets and the random landmarks all bring back memories. When I drive past the movie theater, I think of trying to sneak into R-rated movies with my friends, swearing we forgot our drivers’ licenses at home. I think of growing up here—from the chaperoned middle school movie trips to the sweaty-palmed first dates. When I see my friends from high school, it’s mainly to catch up—to learn about all the things we’ve done without each other—and to reminisce about high school.
It’s hard to call a place home when I’m just not there most of the time.
But it also feels strange to call Duke home. You don’t get kicked out of your home during holidays and summers. Even though I go to school here, have made unforgettable memories and—while it’s hard to remember during finals week—am very content here, it still feels like there’s something missing.
Maybe home is a feeling that comes with time. After all, I’ve only been at Duke for two years. It feels like I just got here. But then again, I only have two left. And with half the junior class going abroad next year, Duke doesn’t feel like it’s getting any cozier. Quite the opposite, actually. With senior year already ominously looming overhead, it feels like it’s getting ready to kick me out.
When we were considering colleges, we were told to find our perfect fit—to find our home for the next four years. Now that I think about it, that phrase seems oxymoronic. How do you create a home—find a true sense of belonging—in such a short period of time, in a place that’s not even meant to be permanent?
The “college experience” is so built up—so overhyped—that it turns into a disappointment when it doesn’t meet our expectations. And it doesn’t help that when we look around, there are so many people who make it all look so easy. There are people who seem like they have really found their home here—involved in organizations, doing research, balancing classwork and jobs—people who just seem happy. But through anonymous platforms, we also see the other end of the spectrum—people who feel left out, who feel like they can’t find their place here.
College is a strange time in our lives—a transition period, as cliché as that sounds. I think it’s unfortunate how strongly we emphasize finding ourselves during these four years, which really aren’t much more crucial than the four years before or the four years after.
Many people do find a home at college. But for the many that don’t, it’s okay to be a little uncomfortable. Everyone’s college experience is different—for that matter, everyone’s life experience is different. There are many times and places that we will feel completely at home, and those times and places are different for each of us. This doesn’t have to be one of them.
Pallavi Shankar is a Trinity Sophomore. This is her final column of the semester.
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