By Nozhan Hashemi
August 27, 2024. The day I packed my bags and, with a heavy heart, said goodbye to the city and the home where I had grown up in Mashhad, Iran. Mashhad, a semi-arid city in northeastern Iran, holds a culture where faith weaves deeply into the fabric of daily life, shaping both public and private moments. It’s over 6,200 miles from Springfield College, my new home in a very green and lush area, and yet I knew I had to leave because if I stayed forever in the home and city where I was born, I would never be able to travel and reach the goals I had set for myself. But then, what happens to the feeling of belonging? The feeling that you own a place, or it owns a part of you?
I decided to make this sense of attachment invisible, yet I knew that the sense of losing it would remain somewhere deep inside me. I arrived at Springfield College as a first-year student in Computer Science and English Literature, with two heavy suitcases full of clothes, spices, and local food, and I greeted my new home, Gulick Hall. The first thing I’d hear from every freshman passing by was, “Who designed these tiny windows?” It’s true – even a toaster would barely fit out of them. Some students joked that the rooms were so small you could almost jump from one bed to another at night. The only “at least” I heard from students was, “At least Gulick has AC.”
Two months went by, with all the freshman dramas and Gulick stories, and I was actually beginning to feel a sort of connection with the place, starting to enjoy it. Then, on November 7, while I was dusting my room, I got an email saying Gulick would be closed at the end of the year to be replaced with something new. Once again, I felt that sense of attachment slipping away, as if every place I live eventually vanishes after I’m gone. I paused my cleaning and asked myself, “Why am I even cleaning this place when it won’t even exist next year, in a way?”
After a few moments, I realized that, again, I had to let go of the attachment to a place to gain something better. Maybe it’s like a butterfly in a cocoon – the cocoon is its place, where it feels it belongs, but when it emerges into the world, it realizes how many new opportunities await. Perhaps that’s the essence of growing up: learning to say goodbye, not because you want to, but because life asks you to. As I prepare to leave Gulick Hall, I hold on to this truth – each place I leave behind brings me closer to who I’m meant to become.
And I believe this happens to all of us; we must be ready for a better future and say goodbye to our dear past and Gulick Hall.
Photo courtesy of Nozhan Hashemi