As I walk through the crowds on campus, the rush of people and noise makes me feel both part of the city and on the outskirts of it.
I didn’t think homesickness would still find me in my fourth year. It’s not so obvious anymore, like when I’d cry to my mom over FaceTime or when I counted down the days until Thanksgiving weekend; it’s quieter now. It simply sneaks in while I’m sitting in the silence of my one-bedroom apartment, or when I’m pushing through Sankofa Square and suddenly there’s a slight tug in my chest, longing for the past.
Homesickness is often treated like a first-year problem that you’re sure to overcome by April, once you’ve figured out the subway line and feel a newfound confidence around the city. But the truth is, it just takes a different shape.
In my fourth year, homesickness has almost more of a weight to it now as graduation approaches. There’s a constant pull of wanting to hold on yet move forward. I feel it when something that’s a “last” comes around, like the last first day of school, or when conversations turn toward graduation and “what’s next.” Then, I go back home for a weekend, and I notice how much time has passed; my childhood bedroom feels like a time capsule of my teenage self. Family routines are different, old friends grow busy with lives that no longer overlap with mine, and as I walk down familiar streets, I feel like a visitor. I notice how much I’ve grown and how home doesn’t fully feel like home anymore, but neither does campus.
I’ve started to accept that homesickness isn’t something I plan to outgrow. It still catches me off guard at times, but I’ve stopped seeing it as something to try to fix.
The other week I was on the phone with my two best friends from home and our conversation stuck with me. One of them moved far away from home, and whenever I visit her, I can see how much she thrives there. She has built a whole life in her university town, surrounded by people and places that truly feel like they’re hers. But when we talked, she admitted that she still misses home deeply and that it seems to grow like mould every year, even if she feels entirely established now. My other friend stayed in our hometown, and although she’s still “home,” she feels the same pull after moving out of her parents’ home.
Hearing both sides made me realize that homesickness might not just be about location. Maybe it’s really about change and missing a version of your life that no longer exists. We have all built new routines and grown into new spaces, but we are still learning to let go of the comfort of the past.
Now, I try to just let that nostalgia have its moment. I don’t try to explain it away. I let it sit by my side for a bit, like an old friend who needs to be remembered. Sometimes that means shamelessly calling my mom every day, or sending my dad pictures of my dinner, asking if it looks fully cooked through. Other times, it’s just acknowledging the feeling and letting it wash over me. I let myself miss home without feeling like it means that I’m discontent with where I am.
As graduation gets closer, I know that feeling will probably come back in even more new ways. I will miss this version of my life too, the friends I’ve made, the late nights of studying and the small comforts I’ve found as a university student. But maybe that just means that I have more than one home and more than one version of myself to care about. Perhaps that is just what growing up is.