Brackenbury

It was the night of September 26th, 2013 that I first slept in 1F. Comparing to the rather warm Septembers in Texas, Durham was already experiencing a quite chilly autumn. I had arrived in the city after all the stores were closed, so I hadn't had a chance to go to a store to buy a bedding set. Thus, the first night in Durham was a cold and uncomfortable one--I slept with my big winter jacket on, wearing two pairs of sweatpants, and trying to make my airplane pillow work. The bed was so small; the mattress caving on one side (I fell off the bed twice). The furniture was not pleasant to me, the curtains were pretty hideous. The toilet lever was ridiculously hard to flush.

I hated it. I went to sleep with that craving of wanting to wrap yourself with a blanket and crawl up next to your mom as you both watch a cheesy romantic comedy. I missed my bed. I missed my pillow. I missed home. The silence was deafening.


Tonight is the last night I spend in 1F. Tonight the walls are bare once again. There is no huge Mexican flag, no crucifixes, no picture of Mama Mary, no clothes about to burst from the wardrobe, no footballs, no letters, no birthday cards, no stuffed animals, no pink blankets. Tonight the moonlight shines upon empty furniture.Tonight feels as cold as the night of September 26th, 2013.

The bare walls had been painted with laughter, worry, love, despair, and joy. They were decorated with bits and pieces of me. The coldness was replaced by life (and warmth, after I learned how to turn on the radiator). The autumn went and the winter went and the spring went and the summer went (and I almost lost my mind when I realized how hot it could actually get in here-- 30 degrees Celsius is not pretty when there is no wind coming through and you have a propensity to get horrendously flushed).

Next thing I knew it was all over. One year. The hardest year of my life. The happiest year of my life.

Flat One saw my first real attempts at cooking and how good they were and how everyone thought I was an experienced cook. Flat One hosted formidable dinner parties with lots of cake and singing and even piñatas and witnessed friendships being formed and strengthened. Flat One was karaoke central. Flat One was the clandestine cinema of Durham. Flat One saw me laugh like I hadn't in a very long time. Flat One sheltered me in my anguish, my tears, my physical pain, my spiritual struggles, my emotional bleeding. In Flat One I loved. In Flat One I fought. In Flat One I lived (now I'm getting borderline corny, so I'll stop).

I lucked out. Incredibly. I got an en-suite bathroom, wi-fi, a very spacious kitchen. Oh, and a Bhanu and a Raja and a Konrad and a Ridwan (and sure, even a Stanny). Sure, it was quite a walk home, but I got to smell the scent of lavender in the fresh summer nights walking home from Cathsoc and I got to see the foliage change on North Road and I got to contemplate the blue skies and the gray skies and the black starry skies.

I'm not going to lie--at first I cursed my luck. I didn't want to live here, with five guys, far from town, and, even worse... far from home. When I went to Texas for Christmas, someone asked me how I liked Durham. "Oh, it's great... I just don't think I would stay. I want to come home". My heart ailed when I had to return in January.

And now my heart aches at having to leave. Funny how fast we change, huh? So, I think that, in order to avoid the pain, my heart will just stay here. Because I love Bracks. I love Flat One. I love 1F. I love my boys. I love my kitchen. I love my awesome shower. I love my home. This is my home.

So here I am. It is after midnight. I have not finished packing, and I have to be out of here by 10 a.m. tomorrow. Just like that. It's funny, how things change so quickly. One moment you are here celebrating your birthday with the people you love and the next you are closing up your laptop, taking your last few bags, and locking up the door behind you for good. Hardly any visible signs that you were even here (except for the couple places where the paint came off the wall when you took down the photos). All too fast. The heart cannot handle it. It stays. It remains in the peeling paint, the dust under the bed, the circular marks of tea left on your window sill by your favorite mug.

The heart stays in Brackenbury. And Brackenbury stays in the heart with all its stories. The failed baking attempts. The time someone tried to make a bath of a shower. The off-key singing. The coughing with strong chilies boiling in the kitchen. The pot of strawberries that never got planted. The blinding sunlight coming in through the window. The creaking and slamming of doors. The smiles with dimples. The dancing to Pharrell's "Happy". The long hours of essay-writing. The ironing-board/desk. The filthiness of a kitchen used by five men. The amounts of moldy food thrown away weeks after it was supposed to. The "that's what she said" references (countless, so countless). The quiet tears. The embarrassed attempts at exercising. The loud Hindi conversations. The even louder Hindi impressions (KELLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!). The hugging lessons. The uncomfortably tight Ceilidh in the common room. The marathons of The Office. The "I just happened to come to the kitchen at the same time as everyone else" because we all wanted to avoid work. The conversations outside Konrad's door. The interrogations to Raja about his hair. The awful (and hilarious) teasing/joking that is just too much to be mentioned here. The getting ready for June Ball and feeling like a work of art. The coming home to a hot shower and tea and shortbread after a damp football game. The comfort of someone bring you that special tea you like when cramps are beating the hell out of you. The witnessing of something beautiful and sacred springing to life-- becoming a little strange, dysfunctional family of sorts.

So, so much love. Good-bye, 1F. Good-bye, Flat One. Good-bye, Bracks. Good-bye, home.



"Even when my body blows away, my soul will stay" --Ingrid Michaelson