Ah! A new blog already and I’ve barely written anything on my other. I must be fickle. Why else, when I at last sit down to write something serious here, do I suddenly have an urge to write fiction? In all honesty, my real life is interesting enough at this point, that I shouldn’t need to resort to fiction to entertain either myself or my readers. It’s just that often, it’s hard to remember what in my life no one has any idea of and what they already know. Once you fall into a routine, life becomes normal again, even though there are a million new little things you could share with people. Of course, there are all the people I’ve met. About twenty new classmates, along with the upper semesters and teachers, who are all at least slightly familiar to me at this point. It’s a new experience for me to be dropping names and have my family and friends have no idea who I’m talking about. Then there’s the rhythm of the days at school. Biking in the half light that’s 7:20 a.m. right now in Boise with my new bike lights shining and my nose freezing off. Arriving and slinging my backpack down as soon as possible, due to the weight of books and uniform. Saying good morning to a dozen different people as we all try to digest the lecture and take appropriate notes. Breaking from the first class and speed dressing in my chef’s coat and apron, while twisting my hair into a bun. Reporting to lab with uniform, recipes, knives, and schedule to become immersed in the work for three hours. Not realizing how quickly the time is flying by, as I assemble, chop, mix, and wrap. Cleaning my cutting board and knives. Helping the sweepers, so that I can mop the kitchen floor and then grabbing my knife case and heading to my locker. Taking off my coat and being startled at all the new stains. Deciding if it’s worth carting home and spot washing. Bundling the knives and any clean uniform pieces into the locker until tomorrow and heading back out into the cool air – pleasant after mopping however many square feet of floor comprise the back kitchen. The bike ride home, with the odd feeling of a morning having evaporated. Homework typed out on the computer and printed for the next day. Recipes converted to the proper size. Deciding whether to cook dinner or risk reheating something on the stove. The odd job refereeing or a trip to the grocery store or library. Trying to fit in a chat with my Mummy, so that I can unload any new happenings or just for the brief feeling of being at home. Calculating how late to stay up writing, reading or cooking so that at least eight hours of sleep are possible. Crawling into bed and setting the alarm. So strange for the first few days of college, but so rhythmic now. Even the new classes already feel comfortable and this is only my second day. Even with all this, though, Thanksgiving break is something I’m looking forward to more than I ever looked forward to a vacation before. I enjoy my classes, I’m learning new things, I’m more comfortable with everyone and every procedure every day and yet there’s still a slight feeling of unreality. Every weekend, I’m waiting to go home and never feeling like I’ve quite gotten there. I’m enjoying the new freedoms of my own car, setting my own hours and my own meals and schedule. Underneath everything, though, I miss being completely immersed in the freedom of knowing where I am and who I’m with. Knowing what the reactions to my opinions and actions will be, being able to stand and discuss what I learned with mother, as she prepares a meal. Maybe that is why I prefer to write fiction, rather than discuss all the new things in my life. Fiction, strangely enough, is a constant. I create the same fiction no matter where I am staying, using the same methods – a keyboard and some melancholy music. Real life, though. I’m realizing, perhaps, why my siblings didn’t really discuss school at home. Maybe they just didn’t think of it, but perhaps they were basking in the feeling and rhythm of home.
Apparently, I’m not in the most uplifted mood this evening. Don’t be mistaken. I can bask in the ability to cook and bake and create all day, read about cooks and bakers and creations all afternoon, write about cooking and baking and creating for my only homework. This is precisely what I love to do. But I’ll enjoy it more when someone invents a way for me to instantly ship my creations to Taiwan, so that I can cook for the people I most want to give back to and share my new abilities and lessons with.