I wasn’t ready for summer to be
over. It started for me on June 23, and now on August 9, it was over. I left
for Texas the next day. I hadn’t started packing yet. I was just trying to hold
on to what little bit of summer I had left.
Throughout the day I found ways to be
nostalgic. I told myself, don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of time to pack later.
Why don’t you play some Xbox for kicks? I never play Xbox, so I was pretty
desperate to procrastinate. After that, I proceeded to play guitar. Not any
guitar, but my precious Gibson Les Paul Standard. If there was one thing I was
sure I would miss, it’d be my go to guitar. I knew it wasn’t worth the risk of
being stolen to bring it with me, but I certainly felt bad about leaving it.
That’s my best guitar for worship. I designed my whole guitar rig and playing
style around it. I had to leave that big part of me behind for the next few
months. I spent four hours playing guitar until I knew I couldn’t procrastinate
any longer. It was time to pack.
I took out the list my mom had created for me
and began to chisel away at. Twenty-four shirts? Check. Fourteen pairs of
underwear? Check. Folding countless amounts of clothing. A few hours later, I
had everything I needed stacked nicely on my bed. I looked at my closet, once
so full, now barren. It hit me, I’m really moving out of the room I grew up in.
I figured that’d be enough until Mom comes home.
At five
o’clock, I heard the low rumble of the garage door. Mom was home. I rushed downstairs
to greet her. “Hey Mom,” I said unsure of the response I would receive from my
work during the day.
“Hey
Justin, where are the suitcases?”
“I haven’t
put anything in them yet.”
“What?!
It’s five o’clock and you haven’t even started yet?!”
She ran past and began moving up
the stairs. I tried to make the situation seem better by pointing out how I had
everything ready to go, I just didn’t transfer it all into the suitcases
because I didn’t know how we were going to do it. We needed to fit my amp,
pedalboard, and a couple of items for my room in addition to the clothes in
just two bags. Judging by her actions, I don’t think my explanation consoled
her. She hurried out of the room, returning with two large suitcases. “We
better get going,” she said.
By midnight
we were good to go. I finally went to bed with a bad feeling in my stomach; probably
nerves, a natural response. I avoided telling my parents because I felt it was
unnecessary. My mom and dad were still moving about the house at a speedy pace.
They had enough on their minds. I didn’t know how I was going to sleep. It was
one of those nights that you know you need to get a lot sleep but won’t. So
many unknowns about TCU were running through my mind. I tossed and turned for
what felt like hours.
My eyes
opened, and my heart was racing. Uncertainty was upon me more than any time in
my life. Even in the simplest sense, I’d never flown with all of my guitar
equipment before. It is kind of a funny experience getting two guitars through
the security check. You get asked interesting questions such as what instrument
do you play? Are you a musician? Perhaps the best reaction was on the plane.
Apparently one of the Jonas Brothers had been on their flight recently, so
because I had a guitar with me, the stewardess assumed I must be one of those
Jonas Brothers kids. I always enjoy those moments. I did win the Justin Bieber
crush award amongst our worship team at Saddleback Church after all. During the
flight, my feelings seemed to return to normalcy. I felt as if I was leaving on
a vacation, excited for the adventure. We landed in the evening, and reality
sunk in again. I wouldn’t be returning with my parents this time.
Straight
from the airport, we headed to TCU to try and see if we could get into my room.
It wasn’t long after leaving DFW that my dad said, “So, are you going to sleep
in your room tonight?”
“No!” I snappily
responded. “Do people even do that? It’s so far before school. I bet there
aren’t even people there.”
“Ok, you
can stay with us then,” he calmly responded.
I had been
in Texas all of twenty minutes and my parents were trying to get rid of me.
That wasn’t the case, but it sure felt like it. I just didn’t want to face the
reality that eventually I would be sleeping in my dorm room, without my
parents, without anyone I knew.
That night,
I walked into Milton Daniel for the first time. It was much smaller than I
imagined it. I had never seen a college dorm as nice, but simply had boosted it
up to something that probably doesn’t exist in the world of college dorms. There
are some spectacular pictures on the Internet. Beautiful vaulted ceilings, wood
lined pillars, and laminate wood floors in the dorm room. They make everything
seem much larger than it truly is. I met with the RA at the front desk. She was
a blonde girl not much older than myself. She asked me my name and took my ID
in exchange for a cart and my room key. I was nervous when I found out that I
was in the basement. I didn’t know what to make of it. The only basements I
knew of had no windows, and were in general, pretty claustrophobic feeling. We
walked down the stairs and were greeted by bright, beautiful sunshine coming
through large glass windows lining the wall by the movie theatre. I was
relieved and excited. It seemed like the basement may actually be the cool
place to hang out. I proceeded down the white hallway lined with light blue paint
at the top of the walls. A little children’s hospital esc, but at least it was
clean.
As I turned the key to basement
room 23, I felt my heartbeat accelerate. This was it. Let’s see that hotel
room! The door opened to an empty room,
two lofted beds and furniture crammed underneath. I guess I never considered the fact that you
have to put some work into your room to make it not feel like a prison cell. I
was closed in within the sterile white walls and minimal sunlight creeping in
through the window. Not quite the hotel room I had been told about. I mean, the
furniture was nice, but the whole room was much smaller than I pictured. My
good friend Maddy had bragged about how huge the rooms were. I guess our
understanding of huge is a bit different. My Mom and Dad reassured me that it
would come together and feel a lot less campy. We headed back upstairs to
return the cart. Though it was the same girl at the desk, she asked me who I
was. As ridiculous as this might be, I was a little hurt. I just met her ten
minutes ago, and she had already forgotten me. Talk about a warm welcome.
After a few days, the time for me
to live in Milton had come. My parents weren’t leaving until after the first
week of school, but I still felt a little uncomfortable. I knew they weren’t
extremely accessible. Probably for the best, it would force me to go out and
meet people. I was hopeful this Frogs First thing would help.
The first day of Frogs First
consisted of the common reading. I remember my roommate and I talking about how
dumb it seemed. We knew there was no way we would be graded, but felt like we
should participate just because our faculty member was the head of the honors
college. The event came and passed with ease. It wasn’t nearly as stressful of
an environment as I thought it would be, but it didn’t take as much time as I
wanted it to. The whole day was still in front of me, and I was still alone. I
didn’t know anyone and apparently didn’t understand how to make friends. I
would approach random people in my residence hall to try and meet them, but
very few bothered to remember my name. Some people I met at least three times,
but every time was the first time. I took it too personally. Everyone was
feeling overwhelmed. Still, I didn’t understand why I wasn’t worth remembering.
By the end of the second day of
Frogs First, I had had enough of the loneliness. I texted one of my best
friends back home, Josh, and asked if he’d like to Skype. Anything I could do
to take my mind off my new surrounding, I’d do it. Josh was heading to UCLA in late September so
he was still on summer. Turns out he was feeling pretty lonely too. Most of our
friends were off to college by now. Our Skype session was like any other back
home, a lot of laughter. About ten minutes in, my roommate came in with his new
crew of friends. Josh jokingly said, “Dang! You’re already partying it up in
your room.”
I laughingly responded, “You know
it. Party e’rey day.”
“Let me meet them.”
“Sure, this is my roommate Andrew,
and these are his friends Galib and Crockett.” I could tell Josh was holding in
laughter at the last name. We had joked so much about what we thought Texas
kids would be like. Sure enough, any guy
with a name like Crockett fit the bill.
Andrew butted in, “Hey Justin, do
you want to come to Billy Bob’s with us?”
“Oh man, that sounds like fun, but
I think I’ll pass since I just started Skyping my homeboy here. Have fun,” I
said. Deep down in my heart, I knew I really didn’t go because I didn’t want to
be with his friends. I barely knew anything about them, and from what I
experienced, they weren’t really my style. I’m not much of a party until three
a.m. and get so drunk that we don’t remember anything kind of guy. My roommate
isn’t either, but like every other college freshman, he just wanted to fit in.
I don’t blame him. Might as well take what friends you can get when it’s only
the second official day of school.
Once Andrew and his friends left
the room, I began to tell Josh the truth. Not only were people not liking me,
they weren’t like me at all. I showed him pictures of these southern kids and
they look nothing like us. They were big, hairy, with strong boxy features, a
sharp contrast to our “pretty boy” California look. He was a little taken
aback. He’d never seen people like that either. Additionally, no one dressed
the way we do in Orange County. V-neck shirts, skinny jeans, cut-off shorts,
cardigan sweaters were the norm where I’m from; essentially, the hipster look.
The kind of thing you find at Urban Outfitters, H&M, and American Rag. I’m
not sure those exist in Texas. I told him how people here dress like they are
forty years old. Sperry’s, Polo, Lacoste, and awkwardly feminine colored short
shorts. All of which are things no one in their right mind would be caught dead
in in California. It’s as if I had
walked into a polo magazine. I’m such an outsider.
The next day, I came face to face
with my worst fear- college kids being just like high schoolers. I hated high
school. I loved my friends, but I was bullied and taken advantage of
academically so much that I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Capo Valley
High School. I rooted against my school because I disliked us so much. My hope
for TCU to be a new chapter, an escape was starting to fade away.
I walked through a dark hallway
with the herd of all other students in my class. We were entering into the
basketball stadium where we would receive some sort of commencement speech I
guess. It was chaos; all the smiling professors in elaborate robes waiving and
whispering words to each other. I didn’t really know what was going on. My
roommate and I grabbed a seat amidst the flood of purple, it wasn’t worth
trying to find people in this mess. Within five minutes of sitting, I came face
to face with my fear. Some jerk behind me said to his friend, “Hey, look at
this faggot in front of us. Cut-off shorts and vans- he must be one of those queer
bag Californians. What a faggot.”
I turned bright red, as my roommate
started chuckling to himself. I was helpless. Three days into school and the
bullying already began. I don’t even know what merited that kind of thing. I
most certainly was not gay. I thought he looked like a fag with his bright pink
short shorts and sperrys. With my roommate laughing, I knew I was alone in the
fight once again. “High school part 2, here we go,” I whispered. I sat
motionless and speechless for the rest of the event.
It’s funny
how much “college preparation” I did in high school. I took ten AP classes, one
IB course, and one Honors Accelerated course. I certainly was well prepared for
the academic side of college, but didn’t have any preparation in high school
for, at least for me, the scariest part of college- everything but the
academics. I remember convincing myself that going to a school more than one
thousand miles from home where I knew no one was unmistakably the right idea.
What I failed to consider was how scary that transition would be. I didn’t
expect a new culture, new lifestyle, and unfamiliar personalities. Of course,
that’s exactly what I received, a brand new life. It’s what I asked for, but
wasn’t what I expected. The weight of this decision began to take its toll on
me.
The next
few days were the last my parents would be in Texas. They told me we could
spend time together after classes if I wanted. My mom encouraged, “Don’t feel
like you have to spend time with us. It’s more important for you to be making
friends and spending time with the people you meet at school.” She said that to
me so early in the game, that I believed in my heart that I wouldn’t want to be
them. I’d be too busy with my new friends.
Classes
provided me with no more hope than the first few days of pre-school activities.
I’d go and sit down and meet the kids next to me. One of them said to me, “Hey,
I don’t care.” You can bet I didn’t sit next to him the next class. I was looked upon differently for not joining
the fraternity boy trend, but it’s simply not who I am. My saving grace back
home for a bad day at school was coming home and playing guitar. That was one
of the biggest transitions for a hopeful musician as myself, the limited time I
could spend playing my guitar. I knew I couldn’t simply plug in my electric
guitar and practice for hours on end like I did at home. I now had to consider
all 35 or so guys living in the basement. It continues to frustrate me to this
day. I’ve literally gone from playing two to three hours a day to maybe
forty-five minutes. I’ve recently discovered ways around it, such as playing my
electric guitar unplugged. Needless to say, this is still a transition I’m
getting used to. All I want to do is music, yet this whole dorm situation is a
giant obstacle to it. I was in over my head trying to avoid being a disruption
to everyone around me, especially my roommate.
Monday
night, I called my parents to take me to dinner. I needed to get away. Tuesday,
I had no day classes, so I spent the day with them at a water park. Wednesday
was their last night in Texas. That was one of the scariest days of my life.
All I wanted to do was escape this horrible TCU place, and this would be my
last chance to until Thanksgiving.
I hopped
into my parents’ rental car. My mom asked, “Where do you want to eat? Do you
know of any good local places?”
“We could
go to Joe T’s. I really liked it at frog camp.”
“How do we
get there?”
“I don’t
know. Let me see if my iPhone will get us there.” For the next thirty minutes
we proceeded to drive in circles around the Stockyards area. Technology can be
so frustrating sometimes. Once we were about to give up, I we finally saw the
sign. We got out of the car and started to walk toward the door. My mom
commented, “Look, all the police officers are here eating. It must be great.”
Seemed logical to me. If the locals are all here, it’s probably pretty great.
We were
taken to our table in the corner of a beautifully themed room. Nice portraits
of Ranchos and cowboys lined the walls, the sound of the mariachi band in the
background. Our meal seemed normal. My dad kept cracking jokes, our
conversation flowed like any other. But there was an elephant in the room. I
didn’t know when it would come up, I just kept on a good façade.
About ten
minutes after our food came, my mom starting to cry. She was struggling to
speak, “I’m really going to miss you Justin.”
“I’m going
to miss you too,” I whispered.
Then my dad
interjected, “You need to stop it Rana, you’re going to make him start crying.”
We made it through dinner, but it all came out during the car ride back. I let
down the façade, and told my parents how unhappy I was. I disliked my roommate,
I disliked the people and how poorly they treated me, and I hated that I had
been tricked into thinking this was a Christian school. No one I had interacted
with at this point was following after God. I didn’t think I signed up for a
secular school. I wouldn’t have sacrificed going to some of the top 25
universities I had gotten into if I had known. All my mom could say was, “I’m
so sorry. It’ll get better. It’s only been a few days.”
My dad
offered similar advice, “You have to be strong. You’ll be rewarded for sticking
it out. It’s all going to work out ok.”
Like
everyone who is upset, I had no ability to look into the future. I not only
couldn’t see it being ok, but didn’t want to. I had already gone way out of my
comfort zone by going up to a bunch of random people to meet them. I felt I had
offered up myself in the best way I could, and no one wanted it. I was thrown
to the curb.
The
goodbyes in the parking lot were painful. As I opened the door of the car, I
felt stranded. I couldn’t get back in. I had made the choice to come here, and
I owed it to myself to give it another chance. After hugging my parents
probably three times each, I turned away and began the long walk back the
campus I was now trapped at. As I walked I realized my expectations for TCU
were so far from reality. It seemed so logical now that going to school 1,389 miles
from home would probably be pretty different, but I failed to make that
connection during my college decision process. I know my frustration with high
school played an influential role. I was so fed up with the people who wrote me
off that getting away from all I knew seemed like the ultimate solution. Now at
TCU, I realized the enormous amount of good I left. I left my two loving
parents, grandparents, friends I’d known since elementary school, and the place
I loved most in high school, Saddleback Church.
Oh yeah, and the happiest place on earth, Disneyland. I am a true
California kid, I dress like a musician because that’s what I know, not a polo
magazine. I took advantage of the wonderful surroundings of Orange County I no
longer have access to most of the year. It’s funny how sure I was I didn’t want
to be associated with my home, yet I missed it and appreciated it more than I
have at any point in my life.
I couldn’t
turn back and watch my parents drive away. I wouldn’t do that. I kept my head
up, and walked into the darkness with my eyes wide open.
