15 days, 10 hours, 38 minutes, and 50 seconds.
15 days, 10 hours, 38 minutes and now 34 seconds.
In 15 days, 10 hours, and 38 minutes I will commence my third year of university.
I’m excited, but I’m also anxious.
I say “Hello again” to the gates of purgatory. Still the same with its academic buildings Swartz and Fisher, the Commons and the Library flanking the sides of the quad. Its suites, townhouses, and apartments spread across the campus. But, the environment, the feeling of purgatory has changed, just a little bit.
This year I begin a whole new life at purgatory. Instead of a Biology/Pre-med student, I join the ranks of the English students. Stepping into a world filled with lovely words, thoughtful prose, and the inevitable all-nighters typing away at a computer trying to complete an essay that is due at 8 am the next day.
I start fresh or dare I say this year is a re-do of sorts. A second chance to get things right, the way it’s supposed to be.
However, I cannot ignore the dark stain, like spilled ink on white paper, in the sky over purgatory.
A stain in the bright clear blue sky with its tentacles creeping steadily stagnant in its place.
A stain soaked with the memories of heartbreak, pain, and nothingness. A stain wretched with all things detrimental to one’s identity, to one’s sanity.
I keep an eye out searching, checking not once but twice. Checking for any spread of its tentacles. Checking for advancements to block my view of the beautiful bright sky once again.
I will try and try again and again to keep myself underneath the radiant light of day. A new life filled with ambition and drive. A do-over from the life underneath the dark stain in the sky.
I will try and try again and again to hinder its plan of leeching the warmth of happiness from me once again.
I cannot help but think. You see, thinking brings forth clammy hands, racing heartbeats, a tight chest restricting the flow of breath.
I cannot help but reflect on the words of my favorite poet Sylvia Plath in her novel, The Bell Jar:
“How did I know that someday – at college, in Europe somewhere, anywhere – the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn’t descend again?”
And thus, I begin my third year at university anxiously excited about the possible fresh start, the new, the better, healthier life in purgatory; or the looming probability of the stain’s spreading dark tentacles or the descent of a bell jar.
Nevertheless, wish me luck.