Destination Berkeley IV; Process
Exchange had always in my head been embellished by a few distinct things. One of those, was the experience of sharing a room; not once did I even consider getting a single room. Coming from someone who’s always changed in a separate room, is an extremely light sleeper, hates going to public toilets, sharing a room (and an apartment) has been, well, quite something else. Now I’ve found that I’m only home when I have to be; I cannot study there and barely relax when I’m there. “My” room has transformed into a place that I don’t even recognise or acknowledge as my own. I share my room with a female (graduated Cal student) and the apartment with another three males (exchange/transfers). Sharing has been a test of tolerance and flexibility. I’d like to say I’ve passed, but with how I view certain aspects of the shared living arrangements, if I have passed, it’s only barely. It’s a huge risk, and one I would take again only hesitantly, cautiously in the future especially if there’s no prior connection.
An undeniably problematic issue for me is time. What was once a readily accessible commodity in surplus has now been taken hostage by simple tasks: cooking, cleaning, travelling and most dominantly, deciding. Every decision here is deliberate, considered and even instinctive, thoughtless choices such as where to eat, how to get to places, what time to be out until, where I should walk to feel the most safe, what to buy, how much I should buy, have taken enormous chunks out of my day. Frankly, even my writing is taking longer. That comes down to mainly two reasons: I have been very overwhelmed and I have not been in the right head space. Berkeley’s not easy. It’s not a place where you can come to relax and still pass. Couple that with living by yourself, doing everything yourself, having disjoint sleeping schedules, lacking communication with flatmates and it all becomes a bit too much .
I thought it would be easier. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. Take for example the first night in San Francisco where I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, hadn’t and couldn’t find anything to eat (as I am coeliac), to just a few nights ago where my roommate to my absolute distress, threw up twice over the floor of our room (including my bed and some possessions).
It all comes back to one question: Why did I leave home?
As much as people have told me I look grumpy around campus (I seriously have had people comment on that), I do often find myself enamoured by the beauty, the spaciousness, the laced up flowers the forests, the burnt skies , the squirrels, the stamped buildings, literally everything that makes up this uni. (1) It’s a tough uni, and I’m not having an easy time, but I love it all the same.
Do I find myself being irreparably altered? Yes.
Am I growing as a person? Definitely
Has my independence increased? Check.
And most importantly, would I take such a chance again?
I take my two Australian eyes away from my computer for a moment, just a moment, and I find my answer. With a faint, yet definitive smile I type out: Without a doubt.
Footnotes;
(1) Consistently beautiful and colours seemingly chosen by a child, sunsets here are breathtaking.
This is the fourth article in a series. The previous articles are available here;
