I thought November at home was windy, with our traditional yearly power outages, but today the wind slams into you like a wall the moment you open any door. Then you run and it carries you along and if you spread your arms out it feels as though you might take off. I was experimenting with this and ended up doing some complicated but accidental dance steps down fifteen cement stairs. This put an end to my ambitions of flying.
So I moved to the library, where I'm typing this now, and it's unusually quiet except for the wind which is screaming above the roof and flinging dried leaves against the windows. It's been a long time since I've actually been alone, but right now it's just the bookshelves and ridiculously comfortable couch and photos of students past for company.
I came here to write my testimony (which is, notably, not what I'm actually doing right now)—we all have to share ours in our family groups. I have never had a good experience sharing my testimony because I hate being scrutinised and I hate opening up so it always ends in awkwardness, but I like hearing everyone else's so it's only fair. My family group has done six testimonies so far and every one of them has been interesting, but the thing that has stuck out to me the most is how every person has their own struggle. Nobody's life is charmed—now matter how much someone seems like they have it all together, they had or have their own particular battle to fight.
The wind died down for a while and now it's roaring again. When it rattles the bushes against the glass the sound overpowers the chatter of students in the hall outside. My battery's dying and it's almost lockup and I had better face the storm and run back to my loud and chaotic and wonderful room. Hello hurricane!