We managed to survive our first week of school. I am not exactly how sure, but we did. I lost myself in my work, not focusing on my life back home. I would count down days till I could finally return home, return to my loved ones. For Fourth of July, we were allowed to return home for the weekend. But in order to accept my reward, I had to suffer through a straight 4 days of class. The work load increased, the pace of the class picked up, and my mind was focused on getting back home. I found myself slowly starting to enjoy my classes, mostly because I had new friends to collaborate with. I started to form friendships with my instructors, slowly starting to develop my place in the class.
The moment I was released from my last class, I was jumping off walls, ready to get home. The train ride seemed like 5 minutes long, and I entered hot, sweaty Fresno. Home.
The weekend slipped by, with eventful surprises along the way. I regenerated some juice to push me through these next 4 weeks. I was determined to make the most of the rest of my time in Berkeley: have fun, then come back home.
Back on the train, dragging me back to class the next day. But suddenly something happened. I arrived back in the beach house, and a feeling emerged.
I was beyond elated to be back, almost as if it was home….