Arnold
New member
- Joined
- Feb 21, 2026
- Messages
- 20
I've lived in seven states and two countries. Seven. By the time I was ten, I could pack a suitcase faster than most adults. I've been the "new kid" so many times that I stopped bothering to learn names the first week because statistically, we'd probably move again before I got good at remembering them anyway. 
Being a military kid has given me a lot—resilience, adaptability, the ability to make friends in about thirty seconds flat. But it's also given me this weird, hollow feeling when anyone asks that simple question: "Where are you from?" Because I don't have an answer. I'm not from anywhere. I'm from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and saying "I'm an Army brat" is just a way of saying "I don't belong anywhere specific."
So now I'm writing my oklahoma university essay and every prompt is basically asking me to define myself, my roots, my community. And I'm sitting here like... I don't have roots. I have tumbleweeds.
Last summer, my dad got stationed at Fort Sill in Lawton, which meant we were in Oklahoma for the first time ever. And on a random Saturday, we drove up to Norman just to see what was there. Y'all. I walked onto that campus and something broke open in my chest. It wasn't just pretty—it was solid. It was permanent. There were buildings that had been there for a hundred years. There were traditions that had been passed down for generations. There were students walking around who looked at me like I could be one of them, like I could finally stop moving.
I sat on the South Oval and watched people for an hour. A group of girls practicing a dance routine. A guy reading a textbook in a hammock. Two professors eating lunch on a bench, deep in conversation. And I thought: This is what it looks like to stay. This is what it looks like to belong to a place.
My oklahoma university essay is about that moment. It's about growing up with moving trucks and goodbye parties and always being the one who leaves. It's about the exhaustion of constantly rebuilding your life from scratch. And it's about choosing, for the first time ever, to stop. To plant myself somewhere and see what grows.
I'm terrified, honestly. What if I get there and still feel like an outsider? What if the roots don't take? But another part of me thinks: maybe belonging isn't something you're given. Maybe it's something you choose. And I'm choosing OU.
Anyone else a military kid writing about home? How do you explain to people who've lived in one place their whole lives what it feels like to have never had one?
Being a military kid has given me a lot—resilience, adaptability, the ability to make friends in about thirty seconds flat. But it's also given me this weird, hollow feeling when anyone asks that simple question: "Where are you from?" Because I don't have an answer. I'm not from anywhere. I'm from everywhere and nowhere all at once, and saying "I'm an Army brat" is just a way of saying "I don't belong anywhere specific."
So now I'm writing my oklahoma university essay and every prompt is basically asking me to define myself, my roots, my community. And I'm sitting here like... I don't have roots. I have tumbleweeds.
Last summer, my dad got stationed at Fort Sill in Lawton, which meant we were in Oklahoma for the first time ever. And on a random Saturday, we drove up to Norman just to see what was there. Y'all. I walked onto that campus and something broke open in my chest. It wasn't just pretty—it was solid. It was permanent. There were buildings that had been there for a hundred years. There were traditions that had been passed down for generations. There were students walking around who looked at me like I could be one of them, like I could finally stop moving.
I sat on the South Oval and watched people for an hour. A group of girls practicing a dance routine. A guy reading a textbook in a hammock. Two professors eating lunch on a bench, deep in conversation. And I thought: This is what it looks like to stay. This is what it looks like to belong to a place.
My oklahoma university essay is about that moment. It's about growing up with moving trucks and goodbye parties and always being the one who leaves. It's about the exhaustion of constantly rebuilding your life from scratch. And it's about choosing, for the first time ever, to stop. To plant myself somewhere and see what grows.
I'm terrified, honestly. What if I get there and still feel like an outsider? What if the roots don't take? But another part of me thinks: maybe belonging isn't something you're given. Maybe it's something you choose. And I'm choosing OU.
Anyone else a military kid writing about home? How do you explain to people who've lived in one place their whole lives what it feels like to have never had one?