Home is where the heart will always be

It had been 85 days since I’d been home. It had been 85 days since I’d driven a car. It had been 105 days since I’d seen one of my best friends. And thankfully, it had been only 30 days since I’d seen my parents.

            But this is a long time to be away from the home I’d known for nineteen years. On my recent trip home for Thanksgiving, I reflected on some of the things I am so thankful to have in my life, things about home that I miss.

            The first thing I realized I missed was the view of endless majestic mountains staring me down as I drive west. I knew I would miss the great Rocky Mountains, but who knew I would miss them so much.

            The next thing I missed was not having to have my Husky card on me at all times. This card, which is just my school ID, is my life; it is my room key, my meal swipe, it allows me to get into my building, and it has my laundry dollars on it. If I lost my Husky card, I would be lost, hence the post-it note on my door that says, “Got your Husky card?” The first thing I did when I got home, I was in my room and as I was leaving I reached toward my desk for my Husky card. Just a habit I guess.

            The next two things I miss have to do with the bathroom. It really shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that I miss having a bathroom to myself instead of sharing with 57 other girls.

            I miss taking a shower without shoes on. It was so nice to just jump in the shower without squeaky flip flops, not to mention the odd sensation that your feet naturally dry before the synthetic material flip flops are made of do.

            And never again will I take quilted 2-ply toilet paper for granted. The cheap sandpaper toilet paper that comes in bulk will do in the occasional public restroom, but I will never be that cheap.

            I also missed my parents, sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing, eating home-cooked meals, and driving.

            So I am thankful for the view Colorado provided me all those years, my wonderful parents who provide me with the opportunity to miss these things because I am at a great school and the opportunity to do absolutely nothing at home if I so choose.

            Home was different and the same. I have changed a lot in the past 85 days, so I guess I expected home to change too, but it didn’t. I slid right into my old routines; home was still home. I am thankful for this, because my heart will always have a place to run home to. Because no matter what I do, where I go or who I become, 10160 Vrain Ct. Westminster, CO 80031 with Pat and Judy Quinlan will always be where my heart is.

          

My love affair with the Boy Who Lived

“And you, if you have stuck with Harry until the very end.” This is the seventh dedication J.K. Rowling writes in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. This isn’t just one of those meaningless or inside joke kind of dedications. I truly felt Jo, as she is affectionately known, was writing that dedication to me.

            Harry Potter is not just a worldwide phenomenon, movie franchise, record-breaking book series, a theme park or the Star Wars of this generation. Harry has been there for me through my entire life. He has filled my life with so many memories. In a way, he made my life worth living. The first part of the finale movie releases in one week, and I couldn’t be more excited.

As I turn 19 on the very day Harry starts to say goodbye to the world, I can see the page of my childhood turning. The new movie release has me feeling nostalgic not only about my childhood, but also about my love affair with the Boy Who Lived.

In part, I have two people to thank for helping me to love this series. My Aunt Kathleen first introduced me to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone as a six year old. She told my mom about a new book that was taking Britain by storm.

My mom then bought the small paperback and began reading it to me every night. She is the other person I must thank. She fell in love with the complex characters and clever story line. She instilled this love in me. I remember listening to the first chapter of the first book and thinking how truly different this book was from anything I had ever heard before. If only I knew then what an impact it would have on my life in coming years.

My next memory takes me to second grade where I read the third book during free time in class. My teacher was so impressed I was reading a book of that size for a second grader.

Then in third grade, I was Cho Chang for Halloween with a blue Ravenclaw Quidditch cloak. I even had a Harry Potter birthday party. My invitation and cake did not have the commercial Harry Potter images because it wasn’t popular yet. I was ahead of the game.

In fourth grade the first movie came out near my birthday. I went to see it with my parents. I remember getting goose bumps as the whole world I had imagined in my head so many times came to life on the screen. I received the movie soundtrack for my birthday and listen to it to this day.

The next few years are a blur with Harry, but deep down he was always there. He was always in the constant search for himself and was fighting the fate that made him who he was. I loved every little twist and turn, every new character, every triumph and every new disappointment.

When the sixth book came out, I was in Atlanta, GA, for a wedding, but I made my parents find the nearest bookstore so I could go buy it. I then read it in a week, which is actually a long time in the world of Harry Potter; some people read the books in a day or less.

Then it started coming to an end. The seventh book was released on July 21, 2007. I went to the midnight release party at Barnes and Noble with my two best friends and my very tired mother. I still count this as one of the best days of my life. Something about that night was so magical (pun intended).

I finished the seventh book in Hawaii looking out toward the ocean at the sunset. I don’t think I could have closed my time with the book Harry any better, except maybe if I was at Hogwarts itself.

Now it is time to start saying goodbye for real. The movies that have recreated Rowling’s creative genius into a touching and exciting adventure are ending. The three actors that portray the series’ lead characters are being interviewed about life after Potter. But what about the rest of the kids in the world who have carried Harry with them their whole lives? What do we do? Is there life after Potter? I’ll let you know next summer when the final installment comes out on July 15, 2011.

So yes, that dedication was for me, because I have stuck with Harry until the very end. And I hope you have too.

Me, as Ginny Weasley, and some friends, Harry, Voldemort and Elmo included, before the sixth movie premiere in 2009. 

Why Freshmen Dorms are for freshmen

When most people think about college, they think about their experiences in class, the social life and probably the aspect of their living situation. Most people probably lived or live currently in a dorm. Well to me, there is nothing like life in a dorm, and here is why.

            Where else in the world do you share one bathroom with seven sinks, seven showers and 10 toilets, with 57 other girls? Where else in the world do you live in a room with a bed, a desk, a dresser, a closet, a fridge and that’s it? Where else in the world do you instantly have built-in friends?

            That’s one particularly unique and outstanding quality about dorms. The community of people is like a family. My hall is especially close to one another. Smith Hall, 129 Hemenway St. is a little off the beaten path of campus. It is one wide red brick building with three floors. Where one fourth of the population of Smith is girls. I am not exaggerating. Of the three floors, two are completely boys and the second floor is half girls, half boys. But I feel like everyday I come into Smith and see a new boy I’ve never seen before.

            But on the other hand, there are the usual suspects sitting in the second floor common room, which is conveniently (or not so conveniently) located very close to my room. I see these kids every time I walk to the bathroom. Sometimes they say hello and sometimes they don’t. I hardly ever join in with them. You might call me anti-social for doing this, but you don’t know Smith Hall.

            Smith is unique to Northeastern because everyone calls us a family. And granted we kind of are, well some of us. Everyone knows a majority of the people who frequent the common room. But (and that’s a big but), these people have come together simply because they have one thing in common, the place that they live. Some legitimate friendships have resulted from what we call “Smith Love,” for instance Chelsea and me. But for the most part, these people come together on Friday nights before going out, Saturday mornings to recount the happenings of the night before, and they even go out to breakfast on Sunday mornings in their pajamas.

            I have absolutely no desire to do this with them because I would rather make a true connection and friendship with someone based on what we have in common, not just our address. But I admire this Smith family; however, I’ll really admire them next year if they all stay friends. My guess is that they’ll part here on April 30 and maybe say a friendly hello in passing, but nothing more. For me this will be ok.

            I think a freshmen dorm is designed for its exact purpose. It serves as a little community the first year of college then everyone takes the different paths they choose.

            Let me give you a good example of how a freshmen dorm has served its purpose. The Smith Hall Council, whom we elected in the first week of school, planned a HUGE Halloween party…well sorta. It was advertised for a month. “There’ll be pizza, candy, music and a costume contest,” the signs read. Sounds like fun, right? Wrong.

            My group of friends dressed up as the 90s icon the Spice Girls. We took an hour to get ready, we had great costumes, and we were pretty excited to go to this “great” party. We went down the elevator and walked into the lamest sight I’ve ever seen.

            The pool table had off brand candy on it. All the pizza was gone. A laptop hooked up to some speakers played homecoming-esque music, the bad kind. And the costume contest…well there were a few people dressed up. Only nine people actually put in any effort. That would be the Spice girls, some lumber jacks, and two girls in a Smith Hall inside joke costume. Well those are the people who won the costume contest and a free movie ticket. Thank God Chelsea won most creative for her wild hair for Scary Spice, or this party might not have been worth it.

            The rest of the people who were at the party were sitting in chairs on their laptops not talking to anyone. The people who planned it looked even less enthusiastic about the situation than I did.

We stayed for thirty minutes. I would rather have been back in kindergarten putting my hand into a brown paper bag filled with cold spaghetti squealing because it’s supposed to be brains. 

            Thanks Smith Hall for being my home this year, but don’t invite me to any more parties.

Mothers and fathers have days, but parents have a weekend.

This past weekend, which was parents’ weekend, got me thinking about parents and the relationships we have with them. Even though I only got to spend just a few days with my parents, it was good to see them. But seeing them also gave me an interesting perspective on my current experience.

            I have been in Boston at Northeastern for officially eight weeks today. A lot has happened in those eight weeks. I have made many discoveries, I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, I’ve smiled at new ideas, I’ve made new friends, I’ve been through quite the whirlwind of life. The exciting thing is that is hasn’t even really begun.

            The weirdest thing to me, however, is that a lot of what I’ve been doing and discovering, I can’t even begin to explain in full to my parents. My whole life my parents have been there. They always supported me in what I did, and heard about every little detail. Now I give them an overview over Skype.

College is giving my peers and me a chance to fully experience life without our parents telling where to be and when and what to do. We have to take the morals our parents gave us and jump into life headfirst. The tricky part is that our parents have to trust us enough to do that, or be wise enough to let us make our own mistakes.

            Walking through campus on Sunday, I saw parents with their children everywhere. I heard sound bites like, “I’ll be fine, dad,” and “but mom.” Yep, even though we’re in college now, we still have that attitude.  It is interesting to see where the people I’ve been around for eight weeks come from.

            Because like it or not, we all come from our parents. Love them or hate them, eventually we become them. But if it is a comfort to know, college is shaping us into unique people with unique characteristics.

            Take me for instance. I have my mother’s sweet tooth (although I’m not willing to try chocolate covered bacon), my father’s feet, but I love to write unlike my parents. And I hope that one day I have the work ethic of my mother and my father’s sense of direction. But I also can’t imagine trying to run my own business.

            The weekend was a good chance to see how my parents have been without me around. The conclusion: they are still boring, but they are my boring parents, and I wouldn’t ask for anyone else.

            So maybe we should always have a “parents’ weekend” to take the time to appreciate the little things that make our parents such an essential part of who we are and who we become. 

Above: The light house at Provincetown in Cape Cod. We went to Cape Cod for parents' weekend to escape the city and flocks of other parents at NU. 

Freshman makes paper with her first byline

This would be the headline of my story this week if one were to be written about me. I would be the freshman, and I would have some great quotes that sound very intelligent. Something like…

            “It feels great to see my name in print, even if it is a college newspaper,” said freshman journalism major Maureen Quinlan. “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

If you haven’t guessed already, this week I had my first experience as a real life journalist. I was working under deadline and felt all the pressure and stress of being a journalist.

As much as I was stressed and complained about it, I loved it. It felt exhilarating to not know if I was going to finish my story. It felt great when I got the interview I didn’t think I would. It felt amazing to talk to someone I had never met before for a quote. It felt great to see my name next to an article. It felt good to get constructive criticism.

It didn’t feel so great when I saw 50 percent of my story cut, but I understand. At least my story made it in the paper.

I wrote a story for last week’s issue, but because of space issues, it didn’t make it in. Never fear, this week it is in the Inside section where it belongs. That just means I got a double byline this week.

I felt incredibly grown up walking from place to place, getting interviews, and writing my story between classes. I felt like a real journalist.

When I realized I hadn’t started a story I was assigned a week ago, a classic Maureen freak-out began in my small dorm room. But after taking a few deep breaths, I remembered something. Isn’t this what I want to do with the rest of my life? I want that last minute assignment that goes on the front page because I got the story done in a day.

With a little encouragement from my best friend, Jenna, I decided to stop freaking out and just do it. I did that and was a lot less stressed as I put words on the page.

More than anything this week I proved to myself that I could do this. I really can do anything I put my mind to. I can be a journalist.

So check out my stories for the student newspaper, The Huntington News. My story about Alcohol Week and a story about the vintage travel poster exhibit at the Boston Public Library.

 Alcohol Week starts  

Exhibit takes viewers up, up and away

The signs at the exhibit at the Boston Public Library. 

Just my luck

They say the Irish have all the luck, but lately I haven’t been feeling so lucky. Sometimes life just serves us the worst of things, and we are left thinking, “Really, what did I do to deserve this?” But my recent bad luck has also left me with new perspectives.

            Don’t get me wrong. I know that everyone has a hard time sometimes. Life gets tough and very hard to bear at times. But the reassuring thing to remember is that the bad times won’t last forever.

            It is known that you will lose yourself at some point in your college career. Did I expect it to happen? Absolutely. Did I expect it to happen so soon? Not exactly.

            A few events in the past week have left me feeling not like myself. I wake up and wonder “Whose life I am living?” because it certainly does not feel like mine. I am not the girl who gets bullied or forgotten. I am not an unmemorable person so affected by other’s opinions.

            One thing I always loved about myself was that I never thought I cared what others thought of me. But I’m realizing that sometimes what other’s think of you does matter. The specific opinions do not matter to me. Hate me or love me, I’ll always be me. But when people express those opinions, I tend to loose it.

            I want to thank everyone near, far and in my heart who have been there for me the past few days, especially my roommate, Niki, my friends, Abbie, Chelsea, Becca, Ellie, Taylor, Seth, Jenna and Katie. And a special thanks goes to my mother who is there no matter what I did or what time of night it is. I owe my life to these people.

            But enough about my sob story. I need to remember something very important, a quote I live by, even if Marilyn Monroe said it (although she is a natural red head). “Sometimes things fall apart, so better things can fall together.”

            I have to trust that God has a plan, that this won’t last forever, that things will get better, and I will land on my feet.

            I am beginning to see what a turbulent journey college will be. Although, part of me wishes high school wasn’t getting involved. Life is a process and a rite of passage. It wouldn’t be any fun if it was easy, now would it?

I am learning by experience that I cannot control everything in my world. Sometimes my world is going to get turned upside down. I just have to deal with it in a mature and professional way, no matter how angry or hurt I am. I hope I’ve done that. If I keep my sights on the future and keep grounded in all the good things about my life, I know I will make it through.

“Someday I will be a successful and happy journalist. Today, I am a student at an amazing university in a vibrant city. And I will always have the love that surrounds me.” This will be my mantra.  

            I might have current bad luck, but the thing about luck is that it’s always changing. 

Things, they are a-changin'

The first thing people would say to me when I told them I was going to school in Boston was, “Wow, that’s far.” But the second thing most would say was, “Wow, that’s different.”

            Many have asked me if I’ve noticed the difference between Boston and Colorado yet. And the answer is yes… and no. But what I can tell you is that things, “they are a-changin’.”

            Who can say I didn’t expect change when I moved to a new city with a new environment and new circumstances shaping who I am becoming. I did; I am not naïve enough to think things wouldn’t change, but I perhaps the fact that I was anticipating the change is why it has been manageable.

            Here is what has been different. First and foremost, I have a new unbridled sense of independence. Of course as an only child, I have always had an independent spirit, but never before have I made every decision for myself. I choose what I eat everyday, when to go to sleep, where and when to go out. I also think I was well prepared for this independence. I think I can make responsible decisions that I will never regret.

            Next, the most noticeable thing I see changing is friendships. I have made some pretty solid friendships, which I feel is incredibly lucky. There is Abbie from Portland, Oreg., a six-foot tall blonde with a great of sense of humor and amazingly huge heart. There is Becca from North New Jersey, a fellow Catholic school survivor with a sweet demeanor. There is Kaitlin, a short blonde, proud South New Jerseyan with a bubbly laugh. Then there is Chelsea from upstate New York, another blonde who talks 1,000 miles per hour with sassy sarcasm and a fellow lover of TV. I eat all my meals with them, and we recently went on a shopping trip together bonding over our love for jewelry, shoes and periwinkle purses.

The fact that I spend all my time with my friends is a new concept. At home I would go home and eat dinner with my parents. I would be lucky if I saw my friends outside of school on a school night. But here I never see any of these girls in class; I only see them at meals and outside of “school.”

A few other things that have changed are my bathroom habits, my living environment and attitude, and day-to-day schedule. Using a community bathroom hasn’t been terribly difficult yet. Although, shaving my legs has proven to be a bit of a challenge.

I have never lived with another human being so close to me before, and let’s just say it takes a certain adjustment I haven’t quite gotten used to yet. And every day is different. Some days I think I can predict what I’m going to do with my time, but it always changes. Like I said, things are a-changin’.

But some things never change. I am still a blunt red head with a sweet tooth who likes to go to bed early. I still love Colorado. Just ask my friends; I talk about it all the time. But who wouldn’t talk about such a great state. Things might be a-changin’, but for now, I’m pretty ok with that.