My first days back had been a much more daunting task than I expected. My heart still longed for the warming touch of my family. Before my eyes could even readjust to somehow brighter Northern California sun, I was thrust back into the system. Classes were harder, my mind longed to code, but my heart was still with my friends and family. My official diagnosis? I was home sick, very home sick. I called my parents every night, but the pleasing melody of their voices was no longer enough to cure my undying longing for family compassion. Don’t get me wrong, everyone at the RSA makes an amazing and nice family, but they aren’t my family. I pondered. By Wednesday a lump in my throat formed, “how on earth could I possible survive another three weeks?!” I stretched the far reaches of my intellect: nothing. Nothing, nothing at all came to mind. I was lost, not lost of hope, but lost of solution…. in some ways much worse.
Friday night, I looked up from my dinner plate into the eyes of one of my fellow RSA students. Something caught my attention. Her look, her poster, it was all to familiar. She was home sick. i was not alone. And neither was she, I glanced from face to face, morale was low, all of our hearts had been left on the doorsteps of our parents home. By the end of dinner I was doubting the structure of the entire program, how can we function if we can’t learn to adjust? A solution rang out. It was faint, emanating from the lips of the eldest girl. Bonding. A single word, a single phrase, yet a single elegant solution. It was perfect.
We pounced at the opportunity. Crowded in the downstairs guest bedroom, we explored each others past. Some were groggy, some translucent, some dark, and some pleasant. All were ours, no longer contained by the cages we had protectively created. Our pasts and now our presents were one. We were one. We were family. As I slouched (at 1:00am) into my room, my heart was heavy. Not because I was sad, but because for the first time since the program began: my heart washere.