Philadelphia, PA

So. Here's how it is.

I am not brave, or strong, or good. I'm basically a twelve-year-old stuck in a twenty-six-year-old's body. I crave security like a drug, even though I know that true security does not exist. I would like nothing more than to be looked after, mollycoddled and pampered all the days of my life, safe in the arms of people who I know I can trust, fully and absolutely. I want controlled measures of excitement, while knowing I can flee to safety at any point I choose. I don't want to have to think for myself. I want dinner on the table, money put into my bank account every month, friends and family a bus ride away.

On the other hand, if I sort of twist my mind in a different direction, the way it was twisted when I ticked 'yes' on the card they sent me asking me if I wanted to enrol in Penn, I do still want to do this, with every fibre of my being. Because, as the old chestnut goes, everything in life worth doing is scary. Because, in a masochistic sort of a way, I like the thrill of knowing that there's not so much of a safety net now, that if I screw up I have to bear the consequences. Because just being in this city, being back in the States, reminds me of what life was like as an undergraduate, and how excellent that life was.

It's a delicate balance. It would help if I learned to be brave.