Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Some has changed in me, this semester. Some aspect I fail to define has shifted, and I finally feel like I'm something more than a discarded hig-schooler, playing feebly at adulthood.

Before I left for college, everyone - Mom, Dad, teachers, friends who graduated years ago - told me that I would have "difficulty adjusting" to one of the greatest "transitions" of my life. I would have to "find myself," practice "time management," and "accept responsibility." Bah, said I. I already wash my own clothes and do my homework. Doing exactly what I do now, 1,000 miles from home, is no great matter.

And I humored countless lectures about how every big fish in a small pond suddenly finds himself out of water, and it's all sink or swim from here on out. And I'd better not go off the deep end, or next year, some zealous freshman academic will be living in my dorm room, thanking god every night for my $33,000 a year scholarship. Because Washington University knows that there are plenty of fish in the sea . . .

I never knew what they meant, until I was already over my head.

The details mean nothing now; I screwed up. First semester slipped between my listless fingers, and I scarcely had the strength to care. But winter break has replenished me. I return to my books calm, purified by familiar surroundings.

I've started afresh. There's something different about me that isn't entirely my bulging bookbag, ink-stained fingers, apathy towards cafeteria food, or increased alcohol tolerance. I think this time I'll get it right.

shiny objects