Coming back this winter made me realize how I’m starting to change in my time away from home, whether I want to or not. I find myself enjoying things that I’d frown upon while I was in McRoberts or growing out of some of my older fetishes. I’m finding parts of my character that I want to fix, some for better and some for worse, yet I’m finding endless comfort in staying the way I used to be. As I wait for the start of another semester, I’m split between trying to grow into something better suited to life at Cornell or holding on to what I’ve always been in Richmond. Ideally, I’d want to do both but I’m finding it hard not to sacrifice a bit of one to achieve the other.
I’ve learned how to act chipper and give hugs out of mannerism but in the back of my mind, I know that I’m still so socially awkward and conscious of people seeing through the mask that doesn’t fit. I could try justifying myself by saying that the loneliness that comes with living alone makes it inevitable to seek attention and embrace like this. But then I’ll pause to look at myself and see that going out to places and attempting to act like a social butterfly simply drains me. I still cringe at artificial affection but seek and practice it more and more often. Tracks by Akon and Rihanna are infitrating my playlists and taking over what used to be my digital shrine of Radiohead and Feist. My goal to not drink until legal on campus fell apart last summer and I’m no longer excited by good restaurants and coffee shops like before. I keep asking myself, “Well, as long as I’m having a good time, it doesn’t matter… right?” Long story put short: I’m starting to lose track of who I am and what even defines fun for me. Half of me feels bored sick of the Audrey Chun that I’ve been for the past 20 years and wants to radically change into someone new. Half of me feels ungrounded and ashamed of being so easily molded by my surroundings as if I were jello. 
Glop.
