I had my lace up boots in one hand, my Vera Bradley paisley duffel bag swinging on my shoulder and I was not going to miss this flight. I’m running through Dublin airport wearing bright blue socks, desperately trying to catch my flight: the last flight from Dublin, Ireland to New York City for 24 hours. It is 3 days until my second year of college starts and I still have to move into my new apartment, furnish the kitchen of that apartment, buy my school books, and figure out the meaning of life.
I hear, “This is the final boarding call,” for my flight and I break into a full on sprint, cursing my poor luck. My flight out of London was delayed, the airline nearly lost my luggage and to top it all, I had to go through customs and back through security in less than twenty minutes. But despite the fact that I was racing through one of the biggest airports I had ever been in, I was determined to get my ass into that seat to New York. I got to my gate red faced and sweaty and the man in front of me in line smiled and said, “You made it.”
I got on the plane and filed to my seat, one of the smallest seats I had ever sat in in my many travels. I sat in that seat, packed like a sardine for 6 hours until I landed in my beloved New York. I took a cab to the hotel I was staying at that night with my mom, and had a late night dinner. Then I crashed for 7 hours.
I woke up to the full effects of summer in New York. i.e. sweating through my sheets, the desire to never put clothes on, and crying about going outside. A stark difference from the overcast foggy weather I had just left in England. After prying myself out of bed, and downstairs for some coffee, I resigned myself to the busy day ahead. That day found my mom, Kirk and I running around the terribly muggy city from Bed Bath and Beyond to the NYU ID center to my new dorm/apartment to the Whole foods to the NYU bookstore to Washington Square Park. By the end of the day, the three of us were no longer speaking, had sweat through all of our minimal clothing, and had huge blisters on our un-calloused feet.
But some how, we got me moved in with food, books, kitchen supplies. After the exhausting day, we went to a tiny Italian restaurant to talk about the past two weeks. I had traveled to England for a Noh theatre program, and my mom wanted to hear all about it. I recounted stories of walking around in socks, long walks to campus, and the Korean girls who stayed on the same floor of my dorm. The next morning, we had our teary goodbye knowing that we wouldn’t see each other until christmas. And then the hardest academic year of my life started.