This is it. And it’s all the things you never thought it would be.
This is the extra baggage, the insecurity, the loneliness in a crowd, the emptiness of what you never expected. The bitter truth. That this isn't really freedom, it’s breaking out of a prison to find you’d actually rather be back there.
Because it’s familiar. Because you’d rather play a part in a routine you know than act in a role that you didn't know. Because it’s your house, but not really yours, your freedom, dictated by someone else, your life in the hands of an acceptance letter.
Because grammatically wrong suffixes don’t make cousins your siblings. And your hair never gets used to the change in salinity of water, so it decides to behave like straw. And the many accounts you opened on different social networking sites to feel surrounded by people don’t help. And because you know that all the salt and water your tear ducts can produce cannot wash away the stains of grief on your face.
Because traveling the world sounds fun at first, but all that the newspapers have to say washes away your naivete that makes you believe the world would be a beautiful place to see. And because the most beautiful cities have dark allies, hideous crimes, shocking truths.