1,389 miles (Final Coming-of-Age)

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.