The Nuclear Family

The Nuclear Family

It's strange to think that this time last year, going far, far, away was all I wanted. Now all I want is to go back.

I started a semester away program this week hundreds of miles away from my family, my friends, my house, my dogs, my bed, and anything at all familiar. While the experience I'm having here is so exciting and eye-opening, while all the people here are kind and funny and unbelievably smart, there's something in me that overwhelmingly aches for home.

Shouldn't I be feeling liberated, free, finally grown? No parents in sight, no squabbling with sisters, no getting scolded for not emptying the dishwasher or taking out the trash. No little passive aggressive comments over the dinner table, no fights about aforementioned little comments. When I'm at home, my family drives me insane. Like, off the walls insane. But tonight I realized I would probably give everything up to be with them right now.

Family is a funny thing. You have to learn to accept that you don't get along and still love each other. If you had friends like that, they wouldn't last very long. But blood is blood, and as long as the bad doesn't become the extremely bad, you put up with it.

I realized the other day that the day of summer that I remember the most fondly is my last day of summer. I spent the entire waking day, or 10 hours of it, in a small car with my family on the way to my new school. It started out pretty alright-- my sister and I watched Pride and Prejudice, as she had just finished the book for the first time. Eventually tensions rose as we stopped at a rest stop for a fast food lunch and my mom and sister began critiquing and discussing the unpleasantries of pre-prepared fast food as I tried to eat my lunch. 

Of course, once back in the car, my sister spilled her orange soda all over my already hot and sticky body and my seat. I screamed at her as I looked for wet wipes to mop up the sickly sweet mess. "You're the WORST" I declared. I don't remember her response. It was definitely equally as unkind.

The car went silent for a few hours as we drove through suburban Pennsylvania. I watched the final episodes of Stranger Things on my iPhone and listened to my favorite 80s synth playlist while gazing out at the passing parking lots and fields, trying to ignore my family's chatter that my earbuds couldn't block out.

As we got closer to my destination, my mom asked me for about the fourth time that car ride how to search her email inbox. Frustrated after telling her over and over, I snatched the phone and aggressively showed her how. "You don't have to be so rude!" she snapped. 10 hours in a confined space had done its work.

But that's the day I remember most, and feel most nostalgic for. I guess that sums up family-- you fight, you hate them, you're annoyed by them, and you love them and miss them like crazy when they're not there to bother you.

I've called or FaceTimed my family every day I've been here, and there have been no unkind words. I'm sure that will change when I go home in 3 months, but I'd rather be near them while they scold me than listen to their niceties with my phone pressed against my ear, miles away from them. But whenever I get a little too homesick, I just remember my sister spilling her Fanta on me and refusing to apologize. And that helps just the littlest bit.

The Adolescent Bucket List, and My Failure to Check the Boxes

The Adolescent Bucket List, and My Failure to Check the Boxes

The final girl. A classic slasher/horror trope, the final girl is the one that escapes the jaws of death, defeats the killer or evil, and emerges victorious from the bloodbath. How does she do this? Easy. She doesn't engage in any of the behaviors that her teen counterparts do. No smoking, drinking, drugs, and certainly no sex. Think Jamie Lee Curtis' character in Halloween. The other teenagers all get axed (usually after having sex) but Laurie, the pure, virtuous babysitter, is allowed to survive (for now...). It's a misogynistic and unrealistic way of looking at the world, to equate partaking in anything mildly scandalous with deserving death.

I'm the final girl. Or it feels like it sometimes. Except this time, making it out alive without even a scratch or having engaged in anything rebellious doesn't feel like a victory. It just feels wrong.

It started in seventh grade when my friends and I began to attend these public dances at a local middle school. We'd go for the fun of dressing up, to dance, hoping to meet someone. At the age of 13, I knew that these dances were the home of what could possibly be the most shocking act I was aware of: hooking up. Remember, this is hooking up in the seventh grade sense; just making out, I guess. I never got the chance.

My mind at these dances was populated by contradicting thoughts. Is this something I want to take part in or not? One part of me craved the experience, a first foray in the world of adolescent sexuality. Another part worried about the logistics. How was I supposed to get myself into a situation where hooking up happened? Did I have to talk to my partner? Would I screw up while kissing them and make a fool of myself? What would people say about me? In the days before I was diagnosed with anxiety, these questions tormented me and banished me from the world of preteen make out sessions. I heard my friends tell their hookup stories and wished that I could have the courage and the experience that they did. I stopped going to the dances, because spending a night fighting my anxiety was too painful.

And then people started drinking. It was like hooking up all over again, but with added risk. This time, if your parents found out you would really get into trouble. I avoided scenes that I knew would involve drinking, because I was scared to try it, and scared to be judged for not trying it. I'm not saying that drinking makes you brave or noble or anything, but I felt ashamed at my Puritanical ways. It's not like I think drinking and sex are sins or, like, the lure of the devil or something. My aversion to them is merely personal, a self-reflective insecurity that shuts me out of taking risks. A combination of being afraid of the act itself and how people will perceive my fear of the aforementioned act holds me back. I'd rather be safe than sorry; rather stay home alone than reveal my diffidence.

Because I've barely experienced anything in my seventeen years of life, I feel like I've failed teenagehood. What teenager has never been to a party, never snuck out of the house, or never been hungover? Have I failed some duty I owe to myself by living by the rules? I can't say that these years have been boring-- I've found plenty of entertaining and exciting things to do with my free time. They just don't involve the things I feel they're supposed to-- crushes, first kisses, breaking minor laws. Isn't they're some adolescent bucket list that I'm supposed to have checked off by now?

I don't mean to advocate either way for these things. Health class 101 taught me that you don't need to drink, smoke, or hook up to be cool. And in no way do I aim to shame those who do do this stuff. I mean, they're the majority. And it's completely alright. I merely mean to say that sometimes I feel like I'm doing my teenage years wrong. My life will never reflect the teen movies I was raised on. 

The final girl. Sometimes I wish I had some scars. Some mistakes I made, the trouble I got in. Final girl feels to naïve, too safe. 

Talking to a friend about this, she reminded me that I'm young. There's time for all of this, and there's no right way to do life. There's no right way to be a teenager. I guess she's right, but I can't help but feel wrong, like I've failed by making it out of high school with no regrets, asides from regretting that I have no regrets.

I don't have an answer for other teenagers that feel like me. I don't know if I'll feel like I've spent these years well. But if I can impart something on you, it's that I hope you don't doubt yourself, whatever you're doing. I hope you're able to do what you want to do with your adolescence, without being afraid of what others think of you, and without fearing what you think of yourself.