Goodbye, Galesburg.

"Goodbye" is such a loaded word.

When it means forever, it's a sentence in which the period is louder than the word itself. But a "goodbye" can also be a huge relief, like kicking off boots heavy with snow and putting your feet up by the fire. Or running your fingers through newly-cut hair, the rest now laying on your bathroom floor. One word, and for all its simplicity, it can have layers of meaning or peel the layers away until there is nothing left to say.

I guess, unsurprisingly, goodbyes are as various as the reasons people say them. So here are my reasons, and ultimately my goodbyes, in all of their manifestations. Here's to the good, the bad, and the people who were a part of the journey.

I am leaving Galesburg, Illinois behind. Four and a half years ago, I was an awe-struck freshmen stepping out into the big world (and onto the small campus) of Knox College. I've said goodbye plenty of times since, and I've parted ways with friends over countless spring breaks and summer vacations, terms abroad and graduation ceremonies. Looking back, college seems like a mirage of blurred faces that came into and walked out of my life, an endless tangle of intersecting timelines that is knotted, chorded, and left unfinished. And like any good tangle, there's a lot of people and memories to sort and sift through. So, in complete deference to Julie Andrews and The Sound of Music, let's start at the very beginning. That's a very good place to start.

Year One: God, I was so young and unassuming. I was farther away from home than I had ever been, a sheep bumping and bleating alongside other equally confused sheep. That first day, I remember looking out over the Gizmo patio from my dorm room window, and I thought to myself, I literally know no one here. I could get kidnapped, murdered, or simply walk away, and no one would know to ask questions for at least a week, possibly two. Well, needless to say, that all changed:

Highlights:

• KKG Semi-Formal: Meagan and Allison were among the first friends that I made at Knox, and it all began when I tried to bail on a campus-sponsored scavenger hunt. A month or so later, both of them got a bid from Kappa, and at this point, Greek life epitomized the unknown world
  
  of college. Bids, parties, rituals, and deep, dark secrets guarded by intimidating, all-knowing seniors...what's not to fear? Normally, we would spend our nights watching the Game Show Network or Allison would read to us from Cosmo, but this was no normal night. This was their first semi-formal, and I went along with them for moral support. Upon arrival, we found a corner table cast in shadow and shyly kept to ourselves the whole night. Eventually, Mike and I, the stranded dates that we were, stole Meagan's camera and filled them with sexy, GQ-worthy pictures of ourselves.

• Reba and George Strait: Alex U. has been a lot of things to me over the years: friend, roommate, brother, and a whole lot of et ceteras. But early on, in the bright beginnings of our friendship, we quickly bonded over all things country: classic morals, sweet tea, and above all else, music. I would end up spending Easter at his house, and he would spend Spring Break at mine (it's hard to resist Florida). But one night, we went into the city to watch Reba and George Strait up close and personal. And man, they put on a show.

• Snowpocalypse: It was my first winter, and I was in for a shock. People felt the need to tell me time and time again that a blizzard that shut down campus, blocked doors, erased sidewalks, and cancelled classes wasn't normal. Looking back, I guess it isn't, but I wish it was. From my Floridian eyes, Galesburg had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Those two days were filled with Bodies (the game) by candlelight, unexpected snowball fights outside of P-House, and flips down the hill outside of Post into a bank of snow.

• Flunk Day: The day that is always tomorrow...until it isn't. I remember the trumpets blaring from the quads and muddy people with clothes hanging half off their bodies. Upperclassmen broke into Seymour, running through the hallways and streaking the walls a free and forbidden dark brown. And that's only how the day began. So this was college? Unrestrained debauchery, questionable decisions made too rashly, and Lady Gaga and Lincoln impersonators in the spotlight? Maybe not, but it was definitely Knox. If there had been a formal initiation, Flunk Day was it--and I was finally a member.

Year Two: There is nothing more unfoundedly confident than a sophomore. After year one, I started feeling good. This wasn't my first rodeo, after all. I was a seasoned veteran of this "college" thing. Or I was a fool. The latter is much, much more likely.

Highlights:

• Nostalgia House: Beginning sophomore year, my friends and I applied for a theme house so that we could a) live together and b) host events meant to make people feel...well, nostalgic. We had some great moments in that house, like going to see Lion King 3D on the school's tab or making skittle vodka in our living room. We were all about cheap vodka in all of its varieties, like any mature college sophomore would be. We also put on an event for Halloween, and I obviously bought Barney Stinson's suitjamas for the occasion. I should have known that NPH would condemn my attempt at facial hair. 

• Sideburns: If you're ever known as "that guy who..." I recommend stopping whatever it is you're known for and thinking about your life choices. My life choice: giant, yes!-finally-facial-hair mutton chops. I was that guy with the chops. But, honestly, I don't regret them entriely. That was probably the first choice that I made just because I wanted them. It was a simple, selfish choice made for no other reason besides wanting them. I'm glad I grew them out, and I am equally glad I shaved them off.

• Joining Sigma Chi: I didn't join a fraternity my freshmen year because I didn't see myself as someone who would belong in a group of hyper-heteronormative men. I didn't want to go through the pledge process, and a year later, be someone my brothers would change their minds about. Everyone is allowed their insecurities, and these were mine. At the time, they were real, tangible fears. And then the brothers of Sigma Chi told me loud and clear how unfounded they were. I owe a lot to that group of guys, past and present. I think we all try to find a place to belong to, people that would be willing to call us their own, and a purpose in some larger plan beyond ourselves. I'm incredibly lucky to have found that, and there are some links that can only be broken by Death itself. I believe that I forged a few of those.

• First terp: Originally, I auditioned for terp. so that I could get closer to Steve Selwa and Andy Glass. Then I wasn't cast in a dance with either of them. Instead, I was cast in what is still the most erotic, all-male dance that I have had the honor of being in. Every time I run my hand across my chest and look longing into the distance (which happens often), I think of the glorious Bobby Mueller..... That was a joke. Sorry, family. But in all honesty, I did appreciate how close we got in the aux., and as my first dance ever, I am proud to have been a part of it. A lot of fantastic friendships started that term, and there are no other people in this world I would rather get half-naked on stage with.

• Senior Week: Some things should never be written down, and some details are best left in the foggy, oh-so-blurry haze of the past. So we'll leave it that way. I will say that the seniors that graduated that year are the seniors I will always remember as "the seniors" of Knox, and I will always be the sophomore who wanted to be like them when I grew up.

Year Three: There's a strange shift in college when the underclassmen become upperclassmen: the pupil becomes the master, Obi Wan becomes a knight, Frodo takes up the ring, Simba claims his throne, and so on. Junior year was a year of notable transformation, and a lot of that had to due with the fact that college was already halfway over. I got my bearings, planted my roots, and now, it was time to take my growth and give it a direction.

Highlights:

• India: There's already a whole blog about this. Refer to "Living Life in a Curry" for more details. That was a shameless plug, ladies and gentlemen.

• New Years in Chicago: What I didn't write about in my earlier blog is what happened as soon as I got back. In quick summary, it involved hookah bars, Minecraft, and a Harry Potter scar that I still have. Thank you, Timmi and Jack. The important thing is that after being away for so long, I wasn't sure what place I would still have when I got back home. And if I had a place, would I still be able to fill it like I had pre-India? So much had changed, and I wasn't sure all of the pieces of my earlier life would fit as perfectly as they had before. In some ways, they didn't. If anything, they fit together better, and I have that trip to the city as evidence. And when I left the city and stepped off the train into the snowy streets of Galesburg, Anna Roser called me. She asked me to come over and hang out; after all, we hadn't seen each other since spending Christmas in Paris. I didn't even drop off my bags on my way to her apartment. I had a place, I had a home, and I was back.

• Zeta class: A year earlier, I joined Sigma Chi. This year, it was time for me to stand on the other side of initiation and watch as pledges found their own places in the fraternity. No one could have done a better job as Magister (pledge educator) than Sean, and I remember standing outside on the porch with him, cigarette smoke mixing with the cold, crisp winter air. And we would talk. We would start with the pledges, what they said, how they're doing, what they need from us, etc. But then we would also talk about literature, life, and all those areas when the two seemed to collapse into one another. We didn't sleep a lot that week, and looking back, I doubt whether we slept at all. But nothing binds a class more than emotional life talks, an ungodly amount of caffeine, and sleep deprivation.

• The Hangover: On a quiet spring day, if you stand still and listen closely to the tolling of Old Main's bell, the campus will whisper stories to you from years passed, and they are full of exploits and adventures us ordinary mortals can only hope truly happened. Within those legends, and perhaps foremost among them, are the ladies (and Joe) of the Hangover. Days at the Hangover were full of Snuggies and Boy Meets World, springtime kiddie pools, mother lovers, stolen chips, and life talks with Regina about uncertain futures, unknown plans, and our twenties as a defining decade. This was my home, and now the people that made it up are scattered around the world, waiting for their epic return. Until then, stay beautiful, ladies!

• Ben the Birthday Boy: When Ben visited Galesburg for our twenty-first birthday, he wasn't planning on becoming an overnight celebrity. Granted, our birthday was slightly lack luster in the middle of the week and was hardly fitting for a blossoming starlet like Ben. The scene: an empty bar cast in a red, neon glow. Rum buckets and our IDs are drunkenly propped up against each other, and the table glistens with stale beer. Some moments are imagined as momentous and magical, and reality can't help but feel....anticlimactic. It's like a first kiss and the teeth clash: you're left with the sense of that's it? Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's not it! A few days later, we went to Kappa formal and had the time of our lives. We had beautiful dates (shout out to Meagan and Susannah), a dance floor (more for me than Ben), Long Islands, and open tabs. Now, when I mention my brothers, the raving masses inevitably ask, "Oh, your brother with the great hair?" Yes, that's the guy. Yes, he's single. That also was a shameless plug.

Year Four: After a long, arduous four years, we have finally arrived to senior year. I am no longer the wandering-but-not-lost freshman or the side-burned sophomore. I have come out and travelled the world. I have been reckless and wise, made mistakes and found my way out of them, and grown in ways I could not have guessed during Year One. And this year is my last chance to leave a mark on this campus.

Highlights:

• The Navajo Rez.:  Our trip to the Rez. needs its own blog, and it has changed so much about the way I see living, teaching, and traveling in fundamental ways. Do I begin with the Duderino or our Harry Potter marathon? How about chipped teeth or the late-night miracle of Pita Pit? Do I dare to mention detours to the Painted Desert? Probably not. Did you know there are at least 72 stars in the sky? And there are almost as many rattlesnakes waiting to be found by Daisy. Maybe, in a different vein, I should begin with the prayer the Navajo men say each morning towards the rising sun. Or the girl who was sent to a boarding school and told to forget her language and become more American, more white. There are few trips with as many inside jokes and profound truths side by side. If you are willing to listen to me shi na, shi ja, shi je--with your eyes, your ears, and your heart--then I would love to tell you all about it.

• Student teaching: As a South Florida boy, I wasn't used to homecoming parades on hay wagons or coming out to the football game, huddled in a jacket and sipping on a hot chocolate. But for a few months, I was able to act as the sophomore English teacher at Knoxville High School. I was Mr. Rogers for the first time, and I loved every moment in the classroom, baggy eyes, coffee cup, and all. It took a lot for me to get through student teaching, but if I was given the choice, I would have kept going, kept teaching, kept investing in these kids who were my very first students.

• The Human Project: Being: My friendship with Jmaw has a beautiful beginning. Some may call it obsessive friend-crushing (Jmaw included), but I would call it fate. So when he decided to choreograph a piece that explored the ways in which people perform their gender, I was excited to be a part of it. I wouldn't consider myself a dancer by any stretch of the imagination. But I have been a part of pieces that told important stories, asked essential questions, and revealed basic, raw truths about humanity on a stage with an audience. What does it mean to be a man? A woman? What binds us together or keeps us at a safe distance? How tight can a man-skirt possibly be?
  
  
  

• Proconsul: The familiar sound of the Smash Bros. opening song floated up to my closet of a room, and in that moment when everything seemed so familiar, I remembered how terrified I used to be of Sigma Chi. When I was a sophomore, I would take alternative routes to avoid passing the porch and any lounging Sig who might want to talk to me. I was very, very intimidated. Three years later, however, I was helping run the show. But the road was not an easy one: actually, there were a fair share of bumps and bruises along the way. I doubted myself and the choices I was making, but with every step, I had (and have) a brotherhood behind me.

Year Five: I walked across the stage in June, and with a diploma in hand, went on strike in August. Thus, the year began.

Highlights

• Strike: Granted, picket signs and union-blue t-shirts weren't part of my plan, but if teaching has taught me anything, it's that things don't always go as planned. Each day meandered idly under a blinding hot sun, and only the ALS Ice Bucket challenge and the wavering hope for a contract kept us cool. I got used to going to "work" with sunscreen and a lawn chair as the standard uniform, and I survived on Steak n' Shakes' $4 menu and the food people from the community donated. Which essentially meant an endless supply of Dilly Bars. There are a lot of adjectives I would use to describe the strike, and pleasant isn't one of them. But I will say that I had a crash course in getting to know my co-workers. I was new, but the district I was joining was being shaken to its foundation. Veteran teachers were questioning their place in the future of the school system, and I was doing the same. A lot of those questions still stand, and there is an all too necessary conversation that is happening across the country. I'm not sure what answers we are going to walk away with, but at least the teachers are fighting to have the voice they deserve.

• The Family: If you weren't thinking of a Galesburg adaptation of The Godfather, you should be. The family is crazy through and through, whether it's the night before a snow day or closing Alcapulco's with one last margarita pitcher. For four years, Galesburg has meant Knox, and Knox has meant home. But Galesburg in its entirety is my home now. Again, I was lucky to find a group of people willing to bring me in and call me their own. Our time together should have been longer, but I can't say enough about the time that we did have.

If you have read this far, I give you credit. Writing this was a primarily selfish act, and I needed the space to remember and reflect on how much I am leaving behind. I don't want to close this chapter of my life without remembering how much my story is tied to this place and time. For every memory recorded here, there are ten more left unwritten. There are words left unsaid and stories left untold. And I could write, and write, and write about everything that is buried between the lines of this post-there is always more. The more I write, and speak, and remember, the longer I have before I have to say that final goodbye. The longer I have to hold on before it's time to let go.

Maybe that's why "good bye" is such a necessary word: it says what needs to be said so that we can move beyond the memories and into whatever happens next. As of right now, "Santiago" is an abstracted idea, and there is nothing and no one to make it concrete. It's easy to cling to the known, to hold on to what is sure and steady. But when something is solid, tangible, and already present, it can become the very weight that holds you down. So I'm letting go, recognizing the weight of what that means. The life I'm leaving behind me was a good one, but now it's time to look forward.

It's time to say goodbye.