The Long Therapy Session of Getting to Oxford

Up until school re-started this Spring Semester, I couldn’t quite sense the reality of Oxford. I tried “getting into the mood” by packing my bags bit-by-bit; I read most of the books required for my English classes, and everyone knows I’ve been on a sort of bragging spree on going to Oxford. Instead, I’ve felt like time had been running out in some ambiguous way, and that I would stumble or forget many items. I made list after list, but none of them instilled confidence in me that I was actually going to Oxford.

Oddly, the greater part of the anxiety over my packing, planning, and the business of travelling has been expressed by my family. I was reminded that no matter how old we get, we’re always “children” to those who raised us. There is an odd mix of my lack of anxiety over the “small stuff” and their level of anxiety over the “big stuff.” I know I’ll hear, “I told you so,” because inevitably, I will have forgotten something, but the truth is that if this is true, then I’ll figure out a way to deal with my oversights.

I’m not sure if I’ll be missed at home; I think my family probably will feel like I left them in a frenzy, and will sigh, “Good riddance!” They’ll finally have some privacy and won’t have to “clean up after Joanne” for all my chaos and haphazard surroundings. They will never truly understand me. I will miss them a lot, and I can never express how much I appreciate them because I think they don’t want to hear it from me. They’d rather “see” it from me – like, through being more orderly in their world. Sadly, I’m just an odd duck who thinks and feels too deeply, looks at too many angles of any given idea, gets too passionate, and is far too sensitive for their tastes. This is one area of my life that I feel like a total disappointment and like I have fallen short, despite my academic and life accomplishments. It is a curse to have the ability to be expressive while not being able to convey the same. I am a verbal klutz to my family, and if not that, then I am simply not properly understood for all the language and generational barriers of a bi-cultural household.

I am really quite lovable, but different personalities result in different realities that sometimes don’t coalesce. Some things don’t ever change – both within ourselves, and within those individuals who have walked with us far too long to see in the moment. I want to say, “I love you” a million times and then some, but it would not be enough because my actions do not seem to adequately reflect my sentiments. I understand this deeply and wish I were different at times, but I’ve come too far to give up who I’ve become. I don’t think they know how much I adore and cherish them. This is the unfinished business that I’ve run into as I’ve been getting ready for Oxford: we’re never fully grown up where our parents are involved; we’re reduced to the amalgamation of our pasts, and for a vast many, the present is elusive. Further, to add to the dysfunction of being human, we’re quick to prognosticate for those who are younger, pointing out our insecurities onto those who look to us for guidance, acceptance and love.

In this long and arduous leading-up process to the Oxford Study Abroad semester, I’ve learned something else about myself: I cannot plan certain tasks out too early because those tasks cannot be executed until it is time to do them. Alas, I speak in generalities, but to illustrate my point, I tried to heed my father’s advice to start packing early. When I did, I found myself digging through all of my neatly packed clothing regularly because I still needed those items in my life. Daily, I reluctantly rummaged through my neatly packed suitcase and ended up with a bigger mess than I started with than before the process. Anyone who knows me well knows that I live by a certain order of chaos. I know my chaos well, and apply order when the time is upon me to do so. It is my way to economize on my time and energy. The “big stuff,” however, was easier to understand and execute: getting my passport, my Embassy/State Department letter, establishing new bank accounts for Oxford, exchanging currencies, getting doctors’ appointments out of the way, medications updated, and reading all the books that I could, to give a few examples. It was “required” and unless these chores got done, I was not going to Europe – it was as simple as that. And, of course, the more fun part of the “big stuff” is shopping for the things I have to have for this trip, much to my chagrin as well as my pleasure.

My friends, classmates, colleagues, bosses, mentors, counselors, and professors have been far more mindful of the clock ticking down to March 5th than I have been. I’ve verbalized my departure date frequently because I needed to feel that Oxford was actually going to happen for me. I put up a Facebook page so that I could solidify the reality of studying abroad. I felt like the recipient of the famously coined line by Shakespeare that all of life was but a play and we were all but actors upon life’s stage (slightly revised). I had to take my “exit stage right” cue, reluctantly.

Finally, now, the reality of Oxford is unfolding. It was crystallized when Professor Perea, the Writing Center director asked if anyone could work more hours (tutoring). I wanted to jump in and volunteer, but was promptly reminded by my supervisor, Mary, that I would not be present to help fill in the schedule. I actually felt sad in a strange way – like I was leaving something very important behind – like I was really going to miss everything, even though I was moving on to something as grand as studying abroad. This is an unfamiliar sensation for me and one that is uncomfortable. I love my life at PCC and I love the paths I’ve crossed along my PCC journey. Getting to Oxford has been one very long therapy session for me and I hope that being in Oxford will open out even greater insights! Adieu.