The end of an era

Missing this place with all of my being

Warning: the following will be incredibly sappy and emotional, and I might have to stop a couple times to prevent myself from openly crying in the airport.

It’s over. This morning I emptied my room, turned in my keys, and had my last breakfast in the dining hall (during which, funnily enough, “The Freshmen” by the Verve Pipe was playing on the radio. Weird.) My two Ontario boys and I piled our ridiculous amounts of luggage into the back of a cab and, after being attacked with bear hugs from our friends, headed off to YVR, where I’m now waiting to board my flight home.

There’s a Vanier-sized hole in my heart, and I’m this-close to bursting into tears thinking about all the things I’m going to miss over the summer. No more body slamming my friends’ doors when I want a study break. No more impromptu trips to the beach on sunny days. No more meeting for dinner at 6 o’clock sharp every night (plus ten minutes of waiting for Alison). No more sitting out on the field, showering with flip flops on, ham and swiss sandwiches from Stackables, or living just a few steps away from the most amazing people in the world. It’s ridiculous how much I’m going to miss that place.

Of course, there’s still so much to look forward to. This summer is going to be amazing, with concerts, beach-going, and not taking the bus everywhere for a change. I’m also super stoked to be an advisor in Totem Park next year (my friends are already plotting elaborate ways to prank my floor), although I have a feeling I’m always going to be a Vanier girl at heart. And I now have friends all over Ontario and the rest of the country to visit. It’s just, as Emilie kept saying, “the end of an era”. And what an awesome era it was.

So I guess this is goodbye for now, UBC. Thanks for an incredible, hilarious and unforgettable year. You stay beautiful for me, and I’ll see you in four months.

Edit: Shoutout to Logan for making my move out possible. Thanks for driving me around Kits in the Jetta to find boxes. I’ll think of you every time I find residual sand in my TOMS from Jericho.

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