The world feels like it’s ending. I’m not sure if it’s the increase in political extremism, the unending string of climate catastrophes or because it just has that tendency. I’m starting to think it’s the latter. With college ending, my younger sister turning 20, the paleolithic history YouTube videos that helped me survive COVID-19 and this, my goodbye to The Fordham Ram, I’ve been thinking a lot about the world ending. Or, rather, worlds.
It’s not nearly as original a thought as I might like, but I have always felt that everyone had a handful of worlds that they existed in — and that existed within them. When I was 10, and coming up with this theory, those worlds consisted of my grandparent’s house, my classroom, my neighborhood and the entirety of the vast, chilling universe that stretched around us. They wound on and on, spinning around me like the stars in the night sky. It’s only been recently that I’ve understood that, like those stars, those worlds too can go dark.
This past year is when I saw the first world blink out.
Last October, I turned 21, crossing the final threshold from childhood into adulthood, and woke the next morning to news that my grandfather, whom I called Papa, had passed. He was the first true loss I had ever suffered, and it was devastating. There’s no other word for it. I went for a walk in the New York Botanical Gardens, and spent the rest of the day curled up on my floor. It wasn’t just a chapter that ended in my life, but a world lost. A world where I was three feet tall and furiously making tuna fish sandwiches for our grandparents with my sister; where I was 16, visiting London and gagging on black pudding while my Papa and the English waiter chuckled; where I was 18, listening to yet another lecture on what it was like growing up in an English collier town; and where I was 20, and my Papa said that I’ve got a real gift, that he wished he could write like me. That world is dark now, and accessible only through shared memories, photo albums and the memories falling further and further from my mind.
It really wrecks me sometimes. Not only my papa’s passing, but the realization that everyone’s childhood is expiring. My baby cousin is 12, and he looks it. All arms and legs, like a foal. His older sister, “Baby Kelly,” is 16 now. I still remember when she was all blue eyes and white blonde ringlets, scared stiff when my sisters and I came screaming and singing and yelling to play with her. She’s studying for the SAT now, and rolling her eyes every chance she gets. I can’t even think of my sisters without getting emotional. The older one is about to turn 20 — her childhood’s as finished as mine.
I was told the homesickness would go away a few months into freshman year, but it honestly still knocks the wind from me, even now.
It’s not all horribly depressing, however. Truthfully, most of it is amazing. I’ve loved growing up, loved becoming an adult, loved finally feeling comfortable in who I am. My 15-year-old self would be shocked to see how confident I’ve become, how extroverted. Some days, when I’m wandering Manhattan in between my Lincoln Center classes, I almost pinch myself because the fact that I’m studying creative writing and learning from published authors in New York City doesn’t quite feel real. My 17-year-old self would certainly be proud, as would my 18-year-old self, who worried I wouldn’t make the most of my college experience. But I have. I’ve met my best friends here, and learned so much.
My time at the Ram has been one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had. Entering B-52 — our cramped closet of an office — as a sophomore terrified of whatever InDesign was, I never would have expected to find such a home. When Volume 105 is over, and all we have left of it are the shared jokes, the pictures and the sweatshirts, I’ll miss the little world we created in it. To Isabel, I’m so glad that you’re one of the first people I met freshman year, and so ecstatic that we’ve shared so many wonderful memories since. I honestly would not be who I am today had I not met you, and I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished at the Ram and WFUV. To Nicole, I’m so glad that we’ve sat beside each other (ever since I escaped the annex), and gotten to exchange so many unnecessarily intense discussions about pop culture. To Michael, I’m so grateful for your friendship, and how my grammar’s gotten better because of it. To Sophia, Jamison and Hannah, thank you so much for being lovely and deleting all my oxford commas. To Ilaina and Lauren, thank you for being such terrific people to work with. When this world blinks out, I’ll miss you all.
There’s a lot I’m looking forward to in life. Publishing a book, traveling the world, seeing my sisters grow up and exploring my own interests are just a few. Obviously, there will be more losses, more worlds ending. I’ve realized it’s best to simply kiss them goodbye, wish them well and look forward to exploring the next one.
