Lost In Transit
Lost In Translation (2003)
I heard stories about you from friends, in movies, books and songs, but I wasn’t sure who you would be to me. When we first met, you were dripping with life, bouncing off the walls with energy to spare. You had this otherworldliness to you, as if you bent the rules of possibility and created a space where the impossible became commonplace. You were a beautiful mess of a canvas, soaked in one colour but overflowing with celebration, intellect, and youth in revolt. A hand-painted portrait of dignified debauchery. You formed families among unlikely friends, turned strangers into brothers and sisters, and introduced lovers. You were relentlessly yourself, refusing to compromise who you were, while creating spaces for new voices to be heard. You were a mirror that reflected the endless possibilities within myself, something I failed to see at the time. You could be tough, unfair, and mean - a mix of logical and illogical, rational and irrational. You were one big, giant contradiction; a reflection of the company you found yourself in.
Our first year together, you became my home. Four walls that were previously suffocating and all-consuming became a space for rest, play, and growth. In our new space, we were invincible, a marriage between opportunity and willingness, coming together to create something shining, even in the dark. A new world where religious rules didn’t define conduct, ideas were accepted readily and wholly, and support was unapologetically unconditional. In our new world, youth was a requirement rather than a risk. We drank together, we smoked together - we did all the things parents warn their kids not to do. Home became a place of experimentations in identity, different hats being put on and swapped for another at a moment’s notice. We were friends and enemies, students and animals, the leaders of tomorrow and the problem of the day. Classes came quick and fast - professors saw us as numbers, just disembodied voices circling a drain that would whisk away anyone brave enough to dropout. Academics were an inconvenient part of a contract the majority of us didn’t know we had a choice in signing. We came to you lost and confused, in transition, not only in life, but in spirit as well. You accepted us like lost children in the night, ready to flourish but scared and confused, wandering aimlessly in the dark. School was a challenge but it was one that pushed us to be better than we were yesterday. Each lecture was an opportunity to be more, to know more. But school wasn’t understanding, it didn’t provide a space for strange, inarticulate, and emotional ideas. There were rules to follow, outlines to fill in, and deadlines to make. School was indiscriminate - regardless of circumstance, stress, and health, there were exams to take, essays to write, and projects to complete. We went through hell together but made it out on the other side just a little bit better than we were yesterday.
Our second year together was the hardest. People say that the second year is the easiest, that home feels a little more familiar, that strangers have become friends, and the air gets a little easier to breathe. On the surface that’s all true, what’s not apparent is the undertow that threatens to drag you down. My room became a prison, depression stood guard, and anxiety was a cruel warden. I barely saw you and when I did, I wanted to run. You were the same but now I was different, you changed me and I couldn’t tell who I was anymore. You said we could talk, that your door was always open, that it was nothing to be ashamed of but I couldn’t admit that I was falling apart at the seams. School replaced sleep, the day replaced the night, I was alone but finally comfortable. When the world fell asleep it’s judgement didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
Our third year together was a time of upheaval. I learned how to ask for help. The future I etched in stone fell apart, and all those late nights alone from the previous year looked in the mirror and saw something new. Dreams became goals and the sky began to fall. Change was a chaotic and incoherent force of nature - an unreasonable, delirious, disconnected cyclone that picked up my ideals and plans and scattered them throughout myself. Once the storm was over, I searched through the wreckage in my heart and found things that seemed so important before were gone, and that was fine, I was fine. The clouds parted and the sunlight danced in my eyes. You took my hand and showed me old sights and sounds that seemed just a little bit different. School was warming up to my presence, professors saw a human, not a number, words came easier, and theories began to combine and connect in my head. We worked through it together, we failed each other sometimes, but we always came back to each other. Some days were still hard, some felt like I was locked up again, but this was progress.
Our fourth year together was so intimate, so familiar, but all the while we knew we had an expiry date. We were good together, better than ever, comfortable but working hard on each other. We knew how to push each other's buttons, our faults and flaws, and how hard we were striving to do better and be more. We tried to wring out every bit of joy out of our last year together, we spent drunk nights exploring the bars that became second homes, we overloaded on responsibilities, and took every risk possible. High jumps ended in scraped knees but were accompanied with a crooked smile. Judgement disappeared and happiness took its place. Some goals were met and new ones became the things we couldn’t stop talking about. The dust kicked up by the downfall of the past finally settled and the future, though vague, had a form to it. School was good, professors were friendly, encouraging, and offered inclines to provoke us to rise to the occasion. New ideas spiralled in the clouds, swirling and mixing before taking shape as words on a page. And then it came to an end. Abruptly and unexpectedly, but maybe that’s how it would always happen. The end is always a surprise, in a way, even when you see it coming from four years away.
Life without you is different. I haven’t figured out if that’s good or bad yet. I keep in contact with the friends we made together and they remember you just as fondly as I do. I want to thank you - for the up and downs, for the growth that sometimes seemed like regression, for the family I made, and for the sense of home I cultivated. We knew our time together was temporary, each second borrowed, your halls were a rest stop on a long journey that is much too short. I promise, I won’t be a stranger, if I’m ever in town I’ll visit. I might not come inside and take off my jacket, but a drive through campus would be enough.