“Sitting in the library of my old university stirs up feelings I didn’t know I’d have. It’s like coming home to find that there’s something different, but you don’t know what. I never assumed the hustle and growth of the university life would stop just because I was gone, but I didn’t expect it to grow so much, and not at all. Coming here has made me sad. Sad for the time I loved and will never have again. Sad for the relationships that won’t ever be the same. Sad that no matter how much I felt like a time traveler on the drive here, I’m not, and the university’s changed, and I’ve changed, and things will never be the same again.
“I’m sad because as I sit here, I know the truth and why it is the truth. I know that this place is my home, but it is not where I belong, not now, not anymore, maybe again, someday, but not today. The ultimate truth is that it was right to leave. It was heartbreaking, but it was right.
“The world stops for no man. No matter how much I miss this place I call home, how much I envy those still here, I can’t be here. That chapter in my life is closed. I may reread when given time, but I may never relive, and it will never be the same.
“I never knew nostalgia could be so heartbreaking.”
I wrote that while hanging out at BYU-Hawaii’s library. I wrote this also:
“I always thought summer break was my favorite time on campus, but returning here without the noise and chaos only college students can create only reminded me of the emptiness of the hallways. The empty places left by me, and students like me: those who came before.”
It was ward temple night last night, and I thought, “Hey, why not make it an all day adventure?” So I did. Well, I tried. I left my parents’ house a little before one, dropped my sister off at Ko’Olina, and made the drive to Brigham Young University-Hawaii. I made a few stops along the way—if I was going to make an hour and a half drive last all day, I better stop at least a couple of times. I promised a friend I’d get her some Wahiawa red dirt, so my first stop was to my high school. The only place—other than college—where I ever started and finished school. Summer school was in session, but none of my old teachers were around—I checked. It felt a sense of finality when walking around my high school. Even though there have been many times in my life since I graduated where I’ve thought, “I haven’t changed at all since high school,” I know I actually have. I’ve grown, and by growing, I’ve out grown high school. Of course there will still be times in life that will make me feel like I’m back in high school, I know that sense of finality will help me through those times. It doesn’t matter what the cheerleaders think they know. Some people’s opinions just don’t matter.
My second stop was at the Dole plantation; it was a matter of a small errand. I also stopped in Haleiwa. But those aren’t the stops that broke my heart. Those made me feel home. Those made me feel like the big blue box I was travelling in might actually have time travelling capabilities. It was my final stop that made me know in my heart of hearts that I could never go back.
I had done my homework. I knew the school was on break, and the chances of anyone being home were slim, but I went anyway. I walked around campus, breathing in the smells, allowing myself to revel in the past. Jake and I had walked these halls, both as single people, and as a married couple. Change is something I’ve always known. It’s always been a part of my life, so I don’t know why I was so surprised by the change I felt at BYUH. After walking around for a while, I sat in the library for a bit, texting a friend, and recording my feelings on the bits of paper I had in my bag. I still had over two hours to kill before I needed to be at the temple, so I went by the Reading/Writing Center again. There was someone home, but I didn’t know her. I knocked on the door, expecting her to tell me the obvious: they were closed. Instead she opened the door, smiled, and asked what she could help me with. I explained that I used to be a tutor, and I just wanted to leave a note for Carol. She welcomed me in, telling me that I could, of course, leave a note. I wrote a note, well more of a story, drew a couple of my signature cats, thanked the girl and left.
I didn’t cry. Not yet anyway. All my thoughts had been thoughts, scribbles on bits of paper. Realizing I had only two options: go back to the library, or go back to the car, I opted for the second—even if I wanted to go back to the library, I’d still need to go to the car first to get my jacket (10 minutes in the library is one thing; over two hours is quite another). I felt prompted to call Jake. As I walked to the car, I started to voice my thoughts, and that’s when the tears came. It was the knot that had been in my stomach ever since arriving on campus. That horrible feeling that I didn’t belong there anymore. That it had outgrown me, and didn’t need me anymore. I didn’t feel unwelcomed by any means. People smiled as they always do, but there was this new label on me that I didn’t have before. I was now an outsider. I didn’t belong. I told Jake about everything I was feeling, and how shocked I was to feel it all. He kept assuring me that we could move back. We could work at the university as professors, but neither of those things would work. I finally explained to him that we could move back, and we could work at BYUH again, but it would never be the same. Nothing would ever be the same.
The only other time I felt something like this was the night Jake told me he had talked to my dad about marrying me, and my dad had given his blessing. I cried. I didn’t know why I was crying, but I remember old memories flashed through my head: staying up late playing Barbies with my cousin, pretending to be the Little Women in my grandma’s basement, picking apricots, being warned about the consequences of eating too many apricots, eating too many anyway and getting sick. Things were changing, and things would never be the same. Too much had changed.
The knot comes back just thinking about it.
I always thought nostalgia was supposed to be happy. It was supposed to be something that kept me warm on cold nights, but my trip home has made me sad. I know I need to leave, and I know that I’ll come back. I know that when I come back, it won’t be like it was before, and that’s sad, but that’s good, too. At least, that’s the thought that keeps me warm tonight. I need to grow. I can’t grow at home. I’ve grown all I can here.
“I’m sad because as I sit here, I know the truth and why it is the truth. I know that this place is my home, but it is not where I belong, not now, not anymore, maybe again, someday, but not today. The ultimate truth is that it was right to leave. It was heartbreaking, but it [is] right.”
I went to the temple, and I realized that Hawaii is so much a part of who I am, and so much a part of my very soul, that I will never leave it behind, but I realized more than that. I realized why everything felt so strange, like I was home, but I wasn’t home. I am home because this is where I grew up, this is where I grew, but I am not home because my home is laying in a bed in Idaho, feeling sicker than a dog, and wishing he hadn’t played kickball so hard at his family reunion. This is my home. This is my family. But in a way, this is my past; they are my past. My present, and my future is missing. That’s why everything has felt so strange. Hawaii used to be everything: past, present, future, but when I left, I took my present and future with me. I’ve come home to a place that can only offer me my past. I left my present and future on the mainland.
The temple is a holy place, a place of love and beauty. Two different lines from two different verses of the same song, but both are completely true. It’s amazing how Heavenly Father can share a message with us that we didn’t know we needed, but the moment we listen, and truly hear the message, we can’t fathom how we didn’t figure that out before.
