my personal essay. i love it. true story, true emotions.
I knew I wasn’t prepared for it. I had spent weeks planning how
to get there. I had wasted time packing my bags. I had
overanalyzed my appearance and even got a haircut. But I knew I
wasn’t prepared for it.
The car ride was nerve-wracking. I had just finished my
last exam, and the bell had barely dismissed class. There I was,
heading down the open highway. The van almost seemed to be
dragging, and my mind was always racing light years faster than
the winding road ahead. Houston, I thought. What’s that going to
be like? The whole time questions fluttered in and out of my
mind. Doubt and my own conscience attacked my confidence like a
sledgehammer. I slept very little, agonizing over every minute
until I arrived.
I stepped onto the grounds of the Emerson Unitarian Church
in Houston, Texas, around 2 in the morning. I was shoving myself
towards the door, but was at the same time frozen in my own
steps. There was this feeling in my stomach, a frigid, blinding
fear. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was definite and
constant, no matter how I smiled and reluctantly walked forward.
I dragged my luggage, as well as my diminishing self-confidence
drearily along the gravel road, not knowing what lied ahead, and
dreading every second.
I entered the double doors, which seemed to me the only
thing separating the ‘normal’ world from the complete chaos
inside. Houston Rally had begun. I entered. There were too
many people in front of me. My eyes, slowly adjusting to the
light change, were burning. My cheeks were flushed, my breath
shallow. My hands were beyond cold and clammy. They were
soggy, sticky hypothermic masses, shaking and clasping each other
as if they were magnetized. I studied everyone. I said nothing.
I worked my facial muscles into a swollen simper, and nodded at
every person I met. Don’t let them know you’re afraid.
It seemed like everyone was in ultra-insane mode. I
observed everyone and told myself over and over again that I was
NOT one of them. I was me. I was unique. I was fine. Little
by little, however, the personalities I met and began to befriend
chiseled away at my thoughts. Sometimes I was amazed by the
stories people told. Other times I was entertained. Many times
I caught myself relating. It was intense, surprising, but most of
all, satisfying.
The entire weekend itself was a blur, dotted with
conversations and sleep-deprived moments of insanity. I entered
the van as we embarked homeward Sunday morning, my head clogged
with infinite feelings. I was relieved to be heading home, but
then at the same time, I was sad. Instead of making sense of my
spinning mind, I nodded off, not paying much attention to the
emotions.
Later on, as the road wandered on, I decided that rallies
weren’t for me. A month later, I pondered the idea of going to
Plano Rally, though I was very much against it. Two months
later, I wondered how those personalities in Houston, Dallas,
Oklahoma City, Shreveport, Austin, and everywhere else were
doing. I wondered how they were feeling, if they remembered me
and the silly, inane conversations we shared.
When April rolled around, I found myself in a van yet again,
this time heading for the Plano Rally. Rally withdrawal had
gotten to me.
