For someone who really doesn’t like commitment, I get attached to certain things pretty easily. For someone who is usually pragmatic and realistic, I often get lost in fictional worlds. For someone who typically despises emotional expression of all kinds, I can get pretty choked up. For someone who is usually so quick to flee any situation that resembles any kind of permanency, someone who readily invites changes of people and scenery, I was not ready to leave this behind.
I guess nine years is all it takes for me to grow to really care about something. And, if we’re being frank, I didn’t really start caring until about five years in. I guess I just couldn’t believe that I could believe in something so deeply and fully. I couldn’t understand how something could feel so real and perfect. I didn’t want to accept it, and I didn’t truly appreciate it until it reached its imminent end just days before I was set to leave on my first true international experience. I shouldn’t be leaving in this condition. This emotional rollercoaster is so ridiculous; I don’t know how I’ll feel in the next ten minutes. One moment I’m reminiscing, laughing about all the good times, smiling at the jokes. The next second I feel a lump in my throat, and I have to shut my eyes real tight to hold back the waterworks that I know will stream down my face if I don’t do something quick.
It was real. It was raw. It was human. It was incredible and great. At times, it was painful to see and difficult to deal with, pushing me to what I’m sure was beyond the limits of my frustrations, knowing that things could be better in so many ways. It was new to me, very new. I wasn’t used to it, the way things happened, the way things started, the peculiarity of it all. Surprisingly, I wasn’t too surprised when I found myself enjoying nearly every moment of it.
I rooted for my friends, hoping they would find love in the end. I cheered as obstacles were overcome and everything was set in place to work out just as I thought it should. When familiar faces returned, I beamed and reached out to hug the old friends I thought I had lost for good. More importantly, I cried.
I’m not good with goodbyes. I can’t handle the bittersweetness of it all. I’m an optimist; I tend to believe that there’s always something better, something more out there. A firm believer in the mantra “the best is yet to come.” I’ve never doubted it until now. It was easy leaving high school behind. I knew I was moving out of the suburbs of western New York and into Boston, the greatest city on Earth. Sure, I would miss my friends, but I knew great things were in store for them whatever they decided to do with their lives. That’s the good thing about being friends with the smart kids and the overachievers in high school; you never have to worry about whether or not their lives will treat them well. It was easy when I ended my soccer career at the ripe old age of five. I just straight sucked at that sport, and if we’re being real, I’ve been told that I was often caught standing in the middle of the field watching older boys play baseball instead of chasing the ball like I should have been doing. I guess some things never change. But this. The light at the end of this tunnel is a mere glimmer. I have faith, I have hope, but I can’t be certain. Things were so great, and I know nothing will be the same now that’s it over. I don’t understand how things could get better than what this was.
I knew it had to end. Any longer and it would have felt forced. It just wouldn’t have been right. “The Office” changed the face of television, bringing a quirkier sense of humor into prime time. The mockumentary genre, in my extremely humble, not well-informed opinion, seemed to skyrocket once the ratings for “The Office” did as well. What started as a show making fun of the typical office experience blossomed into so much more. You find yourself falling in love with the characters, hoping for the best for them, wanting them to be successful in their endeavors, giving yourself the ultimate face-palm over the stupidity that some of them exhibit. But you love them all the same. I’ve loved them for 201 episodes, longer than I’ve ever loved most things in my life. Like I said, I’m horrible with goodbyes. But goodbye, Dunder Mifflin. TV has been forever changed since you were brought to the States from Britain. I will sincerely miss going to sleep every Thursday night completely and utterly satisfied by your performance. That’s what she said.
Jordan is a health sciences student in the pre-med program from Rochester, NY. She is proud to say that her work has only been featured in Woof Magazine, because she’s super exclusive like that. When she isn’t dousing herself in glitter with the hopes of becoming Ke$ha, Jordan enjoys long plane rides, embarrassing herself in Zumba class, baking sinfully delicious cupcakes and spending money that she doesn’t have on Newbury Street.