Home Comforts

I'm happy. I'm genuinely happy, which makes me sad. I'm home now, having travelled incognito the night prior to Mother's Day by a train journey during which I made a new friend instead of, as is my preference, chancing upon one of my oldest. Nonetheless, I am very much happy in my current surroundings and this makes me very sad indeed.

The phenomenon is not unlike the happiness I felt last summer. After A-Levels, I had more than enough spare time to do everything I'd wanted to do for years. This just so happened to be nothing. I rowed 25 kilometres down the Tyne, raising £90 for a local children's hospice in the process, read several novels and novellas which I had meant to read for quite some time and I even earned some dough working in a local shop. The void between school and university was a most blissful one; beloved, as ever, knew nought.

The dawn of university brought with it more novelties and new faces than I could possibly communicate, but given that this would be the case for almost anyone, it shouldn't be too difficult for most readers to sympathise with the gravitas of such a situation. As first term rolled on, I became ever more attached – even infatuated – with my peers. I find it ludicrous to suppose that I may have ever been attached to such depressing surroundings as those of Warwick University, but perhaps my infrequent jogs by Lakeside's lake and my initial attraction to Leamington did something to capture my imagination. Come Christmas, I was somewhat distraught to be separated from what I considered my home. Upon returning, the rose-tinted spectacles of the opening sequence had been washed away by the tides of winter. Despite my companions ever brilliant, the place itself and the feeling of isolation it placed upon me greatly grated my spirits.

I had awaited a change – a revert – of scenery with great anticipation. I knew Tyneside would restore my geniality, and she did not disappoint. Furthermore, I have spent such great times in the company of old friends that I query why I ever believed moving away from home – as I know believe it to be – to be anything other than misplaced adventurism. I am happy here; it makes me sad to know that, like the summer before it, this inconsequential playtime must end abruptly and all too soon.

I miss my flatmates, my fellow mathematicians, and all the insane bunch of film nerds and literature geeks with whom I spend a curious amount of my time. I also know that I cannot postpone the final examinations of the year, and that I must do myself justice in them. With that in mind, I have taken to doing some revision and resolved that returning to the land of labour from here, my world of whimsy, is a necessity. I need only survive three more years in the anus of Britain. Next year looks to be more endurable: living in a town, not a township.