home is what the heart remembers

yudhister.me · 1,151 words · saved by 8 readers

[more personal than usual. I turned twenty yesterday, so I figured I'd indulge in a little introspection. Normally I think about my life as ~starting at sixteen, but I was conscious a little before that. This is me trying to remember who I was] When I was 15, I used to take a bus to school. Wake at 5:40AM --> catch the 5:55 --> stare with bleary eyes out across farmland and reservoirs for three-quarters of an hour --> bike another three miles --> be late to 0th period by a couple minutes. It was fun. One of the two regular drivers was mute and always waited for me to show up before starting his route. I never talked to the other one. The first time I took the bus back, I was wearing a full-body banana costume and carrying 30lbs of camera equipment. Left the bike at school because I realized I couldn't manage everything, got very tired (you try walking uphill in a plastic bodysuit at the end of summer in a desert with 30lbs of camera equipment), missed the bus, was refused water at Star

[ more personal than usual. I turned twenty yesterday, so I figured I’d indulge in a little introspection. Normally I think about my life as ~starting at sixteen, but I was conscious a little before that. This is me trying to remember who I was ] When I was 15, I sometimes used to take a bus to school. Wake at 5:40AM –> catch the 5:55 –> stare with bleary eyes out across farmland and reservoirs for three-quarters of an hour –> bike another three miles –> be late to 0th period by a couple minutes. It was fun. One of the two regular drivers was mute and always waited for me to show up before sta

home is what the heart remembers

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