The academic year was over before I finished reading the books I was supposed to read, learned what I was meant to learn, saved up enough to go home for the summer, before I became the person I wanted to be.

But there are certain things it’s wiser to keep to oneself, certain kinds of happiness that are worth protecting, even from loved ones.

What a relief, I thought. This was my friend, and I knew her. We spoke the same language, sang the same songs, could read each other’s faces. I could relax in the way I only did when feelings could go unsaid, when I could talk and talk and didn’t need to explain how much it mattered.

What would these small changes add up to? Who and what was I on my way to becoming, and with such ease? (…) I felt like I would never stop anticipating my own arrival, waiting for the moment when I’d finally feel at home, no questions asked. And then, when it finally happened, who would I be then?