I'll let you in on a little secret: I'm not really cut out to be a good college student, in all her stereotypical glory. I only just realized this sobering truth in its entirety this weekend, during the Centennial celebration for my lovely alma mater.
In the days leading up to the start of the Centennial festivities, I had whipped myself up into a reminiscent frenzy, thinking back fondly on sun-dappled courtyards and classes full of critical thinking and writing and reading; adrenaline-fueled days and nights of dance practices, performances, and midterms, with little time for sleep or food, but plenty of coffee; and the general freedom to pursue learning in its various manifestations that college affords us. I imagined myself descending upon my college campus (which, I should probably add, lives right across the street from my medical school campus) in a triumphant return, mingling with friends from various circles, both academic and social, and shedding all remnants of the social awkwardness that plagued me through much of my freshman year. It would be wonderful, I thought, and was exactly what I needed after a long seven weeks fraught with frustration and heartache, with small happinesses sprinkled throughout. Take me back to where my young adult self first began, I thought, and my heart and life will flourish once more, invigorated by the tree-filled vistas of college.
Here's what actually happened: I rather enjoyed a talk by a prominent genetics researcher, due partly, I'm sure, to the fact that I was able to sit alone in a large venue for the talk. I tried to ask a question about gene therapy at the end of the talk, but the question period ended before I found my way to the mic. However, the question period did include a woman asking an inscrutable question about seahorses and platypuses (surely the plural of that should be platypi?), and another woman inanely telling the speaker that his IQ must be "as high as a hot summer day in Texas," which was mildly infuriating because, well, a hot day in Texas is slightly above 100 degrees F, and an IQ of 100 indicates average intelligence.
I went to Alumni Pub Night the following evening, again anticipating self-assuredness and effortless mingling, a cool beer in my hand throughout. I spent the evening chatting with friends who all still live in the same city where we went to college, and I drank a very sweet cider which, at first sip, I wasn't sure was alcoholic. (It was, I later discovered.) I stood about awkwardly silent at times, unable to muster up the social energy to shout over the loud music just to have small talk with people I see all the time anyway. I saw almost no one I had been friends with in college, but had since lost touch with. I did, of course, see people who had never been my friends in college. I was also mildly alarmed at the number of men there shooting close-lipped smiles at any women who happened to glance their way. One of them asked my Taiwanese friend if she was from Korea as I stood by acting nonchalantly deaf. I feigned my disinterest so well that the next time I looked around, she had slipped away from the entire scene, leaving me frighteningly within range of Mr. Smiley's advances. I retreated post-haste. The night passed by in a vaguely-bored blur, and I woke up the next morning utterly exhausted from having only 5 hours of sleep the night before.
My next, and last, attempt at partaking in the Centennial festivities also fell flat. I headed over to one of the dorm common areas as the sun was beginning to set on Saturday evening, excited to participate in a reunion with both alumni and current students involved in South Asian Society, my extracurricular of choice when I was in college. Of course, I was the second person there, and the other girl there and I sat around coloring (the activity was intended for children of alumni who were on campus for the weekend) for about a half hour before anyone else showed up. In the mean time, we ended up talking to the wife of an alumnus, a dentist, who was spectacularly rude enough (at least in my opinion) to tell me that she thought the idea of being a specialist in pediatric genetics was "depressing," and that being a doctor was "a hard life." Thank you very much, woman with whom I have no connection. I am aware that the life ahead of me isn't going to be easy as pie. I appreciate your words of wisdom. Eventually, other alumni from our club trickled in, and we enjoyed some catch-up conversation before everyone else headed off to the glitzy "Finale" event, held in one of those amazing tents, complete with open bar and tons of free food. I hadn't bought a ticket to the Finale since I had originally planned to attend the football game earlier in the day, and I wanted to give myself plenty of time to study for my exam coming up on Friday. Sadly, I decided right before the game to skip the game and study in the afternoon instead, and by then it was too late to buy tickets to the Finale. I had originally told myself that I would study on the idyllic campus of my daydreams for a couple hours before watching the light show that was to take place on the Academic Quad later in the evening while my peers were at the Finale, but after watching my friends walk off in their nice clothing, I just felt too defeated by the whole affair to stay around, and instead I bought Taco Bell and went back "home" to watch television online with my Dog-in-Law. I later heard that the light show was was downright breathtaking, but I couldn't bring myself to drive all the way back to campus for the later showings. I just gave up the whole night, and, indeed, the whole Centennial affair, as a bust.
I've realized, as I hinted earlier, that I don't naturally function very well in prototypical "college" situations. I don't like shouting over loud music at bars. I hate talking to random guys at bars. I'm not very good at mingling. I am, at heart, an introvert, and when I'm in big social situations, it helps me tremendously to have one person, be it a significant other or close friend, to cleave to throughout the event. I have a couple people in my life who have played such a role for me in the past, but I don't feel like I've had a huge group of friends who make my heart swell with emotion because they so wholly represent college to me. Actually, I should amend that: I can call to mind a few situations and friend groups who do indeed make me feel that way, but I don't feel like I am able to recall the emotion when placed back in the same friend groups or situations. All of that just seems lost to me. Is it like that for most people? Am I the odd one out? I really just don't have a clue. All I know is, I'm fairly certain I like the idea of college far more than the reality of it.
In the days leading up to the start of the Centennial festivities, I had whipped myself up into a reminiscent frenzy, thinking back fondly on sun-dappled courtyards and classes full of critical thinking and writing and reading; adrenaline-fueled days and nights of dance practices, performances, and midterms, with little time for sleep or food, but plenty of coffee; and the general freedom to pursue learning in its various manifestations that college affords us. I imagined myself descending upon my college campus (which, I should probably add, lives right across the street from my medical school campus) in a triumphant return, mingling with friends from various circles, both academic and social, and shedding all remnants of the social awkwardness that plagued me through much of my freshman year. It would be wonderful, I thought, and was exactly what I needed after a long seven weeks fraught with frustration and heartache, with small happinesses sprinkled throughout. Take me back to where my young adult self first began, I thought, and my heart and life will flourish once more, invigorated by the tree-filled vistas of college.
Here's what actually happened: I rather enjoyed a talk by a prominent genetics researcher, due partly, I'm sure, to the fact that I was able to sit alone in a large venue for the talk. I tried to ask a question about gene therapy at the end of the talk, but the question period ended before I found my way to the mic. However, the question period did include a woman asking an inscrutable question about seahorses and platypuses (surely the plural of that should be platypi?), and another woman inanely telling the speaker that his IQ must be "as high as a hot summer day in Texas," which was mildly infuriating because, well, a hot day in Texas is slightly above 100 degrees F, and an IQ of 100 indicates average intelligence.
I went to Alumni Pub Night the following evening, again anticipating self-assuredness and effortless mingling, a cool beer in my hand throughout. I spent the evening chatting with friends who all still live in the same city where we went to college, and I drank a very sweet cider which, at first sip, I wasn't sure was alcoholic. (It was, I later discovered.) I stood about awkwardly silent at times, unable to muster up the social energy to shout over the loud music just to have small talk with people I see all the time anyway. I saw almost no one I had been friends with in college, but had since lost touch with. I did, of course, see people who had never been my friends in college. I was also mildly alarmed at the number of men there shooting close-lipped smiles at any women who happened to glance their way. One of them asked my Taiwanese friend if she was from Korea as I stood by acting nonchalantly deaf. I feigned my disinterest so well that the next time I looked around, she had slipped away from the entire scene, leaving me frighteningly within range of Mr. Smiley's advances. I retreated post-haste. The night passed by in a vaguely-bored blur, and I woke up the next morning utterly exhausted from having only 5 hours of sleep the night before.
My next, and last, attempt at partaking in the Centennial festivities also fell flat. I headed over to one of the dorm common areas as the sun was beginning to set on Saturday evening, excited to participate in a reunion with both alumni and current students involved in South Asian Society, my extracurricular of choice when I was in college. Of course, I was the second person there, and the other girl there and I sat around coloring (the activity was intended for children of alumni who were on campus for the weekend) for about a half hour before anyone else showed up. In the mean time, we ended up talking to the wife of an alumnus, a dentist, who was spectacularly rude enough (at least in my opinion) to tell me that she thought the idea of being a specialist in pediatric genetics was "depressing," and that being a doctor was "a hard life." Thank you very much, woman with whom I have no connection. I am aware that the life ahead of me isn't going to be easy as pie. I appreciate your words of wisdom. Eventually, other alumni from our club trickled in, and we enjoyed some catch-up conversation before everyone else headed off to the glitzy "Finale" event, held in one of those amazing tents, complete with open bar and tons of free food. I hadn't bought a ticket to the Finale since I had originally planned to attend the football game earlier in the day, and I wanted to give myself plenty of time to study for my exam coming up on Friday. Sadly, I decided right before the game to skip the game and study in the afternoon instead, and by then it was too late to buy tickets to the Finale. I had originally told myself that I would study on the idyllic campus of my daydreams for a couple hours before watching the light show that was to take place on the Academic Quad later in the evening while my peers were at the Finale, but after watching my friends walk off in their nice clothing, I just felt too defeated by the whole affair to stay around, and instead I bought Taco Bell and went back "home" to watch television online with my Dog-in-Law. I later heard that the light show was was downright breathtaking, but I couldn't bring myself to drive all the way back to campus for the later showings. I just gave up the whole night, and, indeed, the whole Centennial affair, as a bust.
I've realized, as I hinted earlier, that I don't naturally function very well in prototypical "college" situations. I don't like shouting over loud music at bars. I hate talking to random guys at bars. I'm not very good at mingling. I am, at heart, an introvert, and when I'm in big social situations, it helps me tremendously to have one person, be it a significant other or close friend, to cleave to throughout the event. I have a couple people in my life who have played such a role for me in the past, but I don't feel like I've had a huge group of friends who make my heart swell with emotion because they so wholly represent college to me. Actually, I should amend that: I can call to mind a few situations and friend groups who do indeed make me feel that way, but I don't feel like I am able to recall the emotion when placed back in the same friend groups or situations. All of that just seems lost to me. Is it like that for most people? Am I the odd one out? I really just don't have a clue. All I know is, I'm fairly certain I like the idea of college far more than the reality of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment