I have yet to step foot on Queen’s Campus–in fact, I haven’t since March of 2020. I still remember the naïve sighs of relief from me and my roommates, we get to go home early. As the reality of the situation sunk in and we understood that our return to school would be much longer than initially anticipated, my friends were itching to return to campus.
I, however, was not.
The financial freedom of being back in my hometown was relieving to say the least; my parents provided me with groceries, and remote learning allowed me the time to find a job. I got to move in with my boyfriend after enduring long distance at separate universities for the first six months of our relationship. The pandemic returned to me a part of my life I was missing so badly and didn’t even know it.
Over the past year I kept planning trips to Kingston and putting them off, not wanting to endure the four-hour drive from my hometown alone. The longer I put it off, the harder it was to convince myself to go. I met an amazing community of friends, and had settled back into a regular routine. The idea of returning to school felt reminiscent of uprooting an entirely new life I had built for myself, again.
As I pack my things to return to the foreign world of in-person classes, I ponder the fact that I’m beginning my final year at Queen’s––something I’ve tried my hardest not to think about. Despite my hesitation to return to campus, this school, this city, and the abundance of lifelong friends who came along with the last three years have been one of the best things to ever happen to me. No matter where I am, leaving is hard; stories always come to an end on paper, but they live in hearts forever.
I’ll see you soon, Queen’s.