On Nov. 9, 2023, two weeks before Thanksgiving break in my first year in college, I wrote in my journal, “I am at NYU, but I just wanna go home.” While I was usually able to fill up my blank pages with paragraphs, I could only get this one sentence down on paper. As mid-November was approaching, my mind was beginning to slow down, and I was surprised to feel the city of New York dragging its feet a bit too.
While the city supposedly never sleeps, it certainly felt like it was taking a little bit of a snooze. Countless taxi drivers had their vacancy lights lit up, restaurant after restaurant had no line and bars had a surplus amount of room on the dance floor. The constant ringing in my ears seemed to simmer down — it even felt like there were fewer ambulance sirens.
While I was born in the United States, I was only in the country for two years before I moved to New Delhi and then to London, where my family and most of my friends are now. Though Thanksgiving is not celebrated in either of my two home countries, I knew that it was a time dedicated to celebrating the blessings in your life and giving thanks for family, food, good health and home. But the spirit of Thanksgiving wasn’t resonating with me because I was neither at home nor did I feel like I was in good health. I was plagued with homesickness, and being stuck in the city added to my disillusionment with my first year of college.
Naturally, going to college is a new chapter in all of our lives, as many of us are living away from our parents for the first time and are out in the world on our own. Before move-in day, I was constantly watching YouTube videos of people’s NYU Welcome Week experiences, which included making lots of new friends, exploring the city and going to parties. It seemed like the ultimate college experience tied up in a silk bow. Before my eight-hour flight from London to New York, my body was jittering so much out of nervous excitement — I was soon going to be one of those girls I had been watching from afar.
But New York City felt a little more claustrophobic and limiting for me than expected. Even though I was meeting so many people every day, I didn’t seem to connect with anyone the way I did with my friends from home. Luckily, I had my randomly assigned roommate, but she was the only person out of hundreds I felt at home with. Despite being an extrovert, I was exhausted. I felt like I was the problem. I was in the greatest city in the world, at my dream college, but all I wanted to do was go back to London.
I missed going to Primrose Hill and sitting in the park with my friends until sunset. I missed walking around Marylebone High Street, going to my favorite bookstore, Daunt Books, and buying an endless pile of books to add to my to-be-read list. The pubs, the free museums, the antique store on Flask Walk in Hampstead –– the list goes on. But most of all, I missed my friends, the majority of whom ended up staying in the United Kingdom for university.
The exception was one of my best friends, Ben, who attends school only a two-hour flight away from New York City and came to visit me for the break. Finally, a part of my home was coming to me. I used his visit as an opportunity to explore uptown by walking around Central Park and doing some Black Friday shopping on Fifth Avenue. I even almost spent $60 to ride one of the horse carriages that takes you around the park, but Ben talked me out of it. Although we usually opt for a fun night out, we decided to stay in on Thanksgiving day, ordering Chinese food and binge-watching the first season of “Community” until we fell asleep. For the first time in a long time, I remembered what home felt like.
I realized that home is not made in a month, or even two. My first home was New Delhi, and I spent 12 years there, growing and evolving with my classmates whom I had known since I was 4 years old. When I moved to London, it didn’t truly feel like home until 6 months in, despite visiting there all my life to see my mother’s family. I met Ben in my senior year of high school, a full year after moving to London, showing that even through my first year in London, my home was still being assembled, piece by piece.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither is a home. It takes months and months of trial and error to meet the right people, and as an international student who is so far away from home, it’s easy to forget that.
Fast forward to one year later, and I have decided to stay in New York City for Thanksgiving again –– not only because Ben is coming to visit me, but also because I want to stay. It wasn’t an easy or quick road to find my home here in the city, but along the way I found the people I always thought I would meet on day one. It’s just that I met them on day 71 or day 105, and perhaps I will meet them tomorrow.
Contact Aryana Arora at [email protected].
