With this year's spring break likely to be spent frantically searching for jobs or an excuse to stay in school for another few years, this winter break marked the final time many AU seniors visited home before plunging into the "real world." However, ever since the first Thanksgiving break freshman year, when we raved about how fantastic our new college lives were, it seems like each subsequent visit home has been progressively more bittersweet.
Nights out with high school friends, for example, are great for reminiscing, but also great for realizing how different our lives have become. Friends back home have engagement rings and sorority functions, while we have a sweet job lined up for the assistant to the Undersecretary of Agricultural Affairs and a one-bedroom apartment we share with five people.
And rehashing old stories from high school inevitably gives way to long awkward silences, which any self-respecting AU kid will attempt to fill by asking who everyone supports in the primaries, a question frequently met with blank stares in the normal world.
But while lying around in a food-induced stupor for days on end is always refreshing, during the holidays it can be difficult to reconcile the life you lead as a college senior in D.C. with your former life in the suburbs.
For me, Christmas break is synonymous with sitting on the couch wedged between my immigrant parents and watching four-hour concerts on Russian television together. This is our "family time," and any attempt to escape is seen as an affront to the family and a rejection of my heritage.
Three days in and having had my fill, I told my father I was going out to have drinks and see a movie.
"We have drinks and movies here! Why you have to leave?" he demanded.
Leaving the house presents its own problem. For some reason, parents think, on your flight home, you actually traveled through a space-time continuum that placed you back in a 16-year-old state of mind, and therefore, you are now jumping at the chance to have unprotected sex in the parking lot behind Stop-N-Shop.
Getting permission to drive the parental car (mine was sold the day after I left for college) and negotiating a reasonable curfew takes considerable self-restraint, as I'm almost always on the brink of shouting, "Do you really think if I was going to get drugged and raped, it would happen in a white-collar suburb rather than in the former murder capital of the U.S.?"
Once I'm out, I never cease to be amazed at the lack of available entertainment options. My town has one bar, the McKinney Tavern, a favorite haunt of mid-40s divorcees and NASCAR fans who gather there to watch big races. For dining, there are the typical "ethnic meets American" chain favorites: Olive Garden, Chili's and Outback Steakhouse, as well as a local joint tellingly named "Steak Kountry." So, after about a week, having seen every movie out in theaters and loitered in Wal-Mart until 3 a.m. every night, I'm pretty much ready to get back to civilization.
For all its drawbacks, however, home does provide a comforting return to an infantile state of dependence we no longer enjoy. After leaving this time, I know I'm going to miss having food prepared for me, having my laundry done and having someone care when or if I'll be home. So what if your parents live under the impression that you're a teetotaler virgin who's never tried pot? At least you're eating homemade lasagna for dinner instead of fistfuls of Cheez-Its and cold leftover Chinese. Leaving home is great, but coming back, as boring and mundane as it is, can also be a much-needed vacation from the rest of your life.
Olga Khazan is a senior in the School of Public Affairs and a social commentary columnist for The Eagle.
