Whenever I tell people in my Atlanta college that I'm from Ohio, my answer is always met with a laugh. "Ohio?" They'll snicker. "What even is Ohio?"
And to that, I always laugh in agreement. I have had my fair share of hating on Ohio - it's a small state where nothing starts and nothing ends. It's in an obscure place on the map. It's oddly shaped, like a small, weirdly curved square, and it's completely masked by the presence of New York and the allure of Chicago. For many, Ohio does not seem to exist.
But when I think back to my time in Ohio - my time at home - I am surprised by a sense of nostalgia and longing.
I go to school in a big, bustling city. Atlanta is a place where business is booming and the political atmosphere is changing. Atlanta is the place where things start; it's the place where people go to to be part of something. Atlanta is where things happen.
Places like Ohio are often left behind in this process. Ohio is a consistent, never-changing state that is rooted in conservative ideals and old-fashioned approaches to life. I cannot even come close to counting the amount of Karens that reside in my county. When you pass through the suburban streets, there are too many Trump flags to count. Ohio is being lost in the noise; it's turning its back on change and choosing to embrace the past it once had. And this is ever evident in the population - Ohio's population is shrinking and the average age of its residents is increasing (Miami University). People have turned to opioids and other drugs as companies exit Ohio and leave many jobless. You will not see the flamboyant aura of change when you visit Ohio. Instead, you will find a place that lives in nostalgia and passes time with an appreciation for leisure.
My father always tells me that his first few nights in Ohio were intimidating. As an immigrant from China, my father came from Shanghai, a city that never sleeps. Ohio seems like it's always asleep. He recalls that the quiet nights were unnerving, and even during the day, the silence was looming.
It is true that Ohio is a place where not much happens. Almost every store - save for the fast food restaurants - in my town closes around 9 PM. As soon as the sun sets, the people in my county tuck in for the night. People awake bright and early so that they can come back from their work shifts a few hours early, just to spend the rest of the night relaxing and recovering in preparation for the next day. You will not find much to do in Ohio - for me and my friends, spending our nights at a park or driving around aimlessly were frequent choices of passing time. We have a few historical buildings and a popular donut place to brand ourselves by, but other than that, there are few other things to describe Ohio with.
When you turn left out of my neighborhood, you enter a suburb that consists of a little over 20,000 people. Our buildings are a bit old and decrepit, and our public works are not of the best quality. During high school, I would drive down one road to reach my school, a trip that took around 15 minutes. On winter days, I would peer out of two small holes that I had scrubbed into my icy windshield. In the mornings, the feeling of exhaustion and sleepiness were almost tangible - it was evident in the hum and sigh of the cars, and it was seen in the gray skies that washed everything in monochrome. In the late afternoon, when my town's residents were finally released from their jobs or school, the traffic seemed to pick up as everyone was excited to get back to their homes and their families. On spring and summer days, the sun is high and powerful in the sky, and the sky is as blue as the ocean.
When you turn right out of my neighborhood, you enter farmland. You will drive past large, tumbling rows of emerald-green cornfields. You will pass by small houses with barely any neighbors in sight. You will see tall, vast buildings for storing corn and other agricultural produce. Horses are not a rarity down this road. There are so many Trump flags down this path that it is almost frightning. However, the fluffy, white clouds adorning the blue-sapphire sky is a helpful distraction from the outdated politics on this side of town. The cornfields, while stereotypical, are breathtakingly beautiful - the striking, green stalks seem to stretch on for miles, and after driving for a while, it feels as if you are swimming through them. The fields are a beautiful contrast to the blue blue sky, and on summer afternoons, I simply marvel at the sight around me.
When I first got to Emory, I was in for a complete culture shock. All around me, everyone seemed to be from a place that was always going, always had something happening (such as New York or New Jersey), but for me, I was still acclimated to sleepy Ohio.
Perhaps this contrast was for the better - it made me appreciate the lackadaisicalness of Ohio. It made me appreciate the summer nights when my friends and I had nothing to do but sit in the park and do TikTok dances. It made me miss the 16 minute car ride for Dairy Shed ice cream. It made me long for days during quarantine, when there was nothing else to do but stare at the back of my neighbor's house through my dining room window.
The thing is, it isn't just my new, busy city that makes me miss Ohio - it is the onslaught of college life and the introduction of adulthood. Now, I don't have time to do nothing like I used to. It's always go go go, and there's never a time when I don't have something on my plate. As soon as I open my eyes in the morning, I'm making a mental list of every single thing I have to do for the day. Time is of the essence, and every hour goes by so much faster now. The days feel as if they have already ended when they have just started. No one told me that 24 hours could go by so quickly, and I feel as if I have lived weeks in seconds.
Of course, college is not without its perks - I am surrounded by great friends, a beautiful campus, and things to work on to keep my mind active - but gone is the simple, easy time that I took for granted in Ohio. Now, it is a privilege to do nothing. It is a privilege to wonder what I should do next. My time feels as if it's no longer mine - it's in the possession of all the assignments I must complete. By contrast, even though time seemed to stand still in Ohio, it still felt like it was mine to control.
I used to hate Ohio. I hated its conservative approach to time and life. I hated that nothing happened. I despised the early bedtime of my town. But now, I long for it - I look forward to visiting my family and simply basking in the feeling of doing absolutely nothing. I even miss the cornfields.
To the underclassmen from my school, I ask you to treasure the time you have left. Whether you're staying in-state for school or seeking to get into out-of-state colleges, this time in your life is fleeting. These are the last few years where doing nothing is okay. While Ohio is always there to stay, your lack of responsibility is not. Once you go to college, everything starts, and it will feel like nothing will end.
Even though I will not be returning to Ohio after I graduate, it will always hold a place of fondness in my mind. While my state has its fair share of questionable political leanings, it's still the place of my childhood. It's still a place that I will always call home. Ohio has taught me the value of living in present, while college has taught me how to live in the future.
Of course, Ohio is still subject to my own self-deprecation when I meet people for the first time, but I will always remember what it gave me. It gave me a contrast to this new life that seems to never slow down. It reminds me that even when things seem to be too much, Ohio and my family are just an 8 hour drive away.
People always say that distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I believe that is the case with my own state. Ohio is not a place of grandeur or dazzle, but it is still Ohio - my Ohio.
Memories from Ohio
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