It’s been a while since I posted (by now this is an obvious refrain in my posts) and this will act as a sum-up post to all I’ve done and all I will do.
Tomorrow is my first day of class in my second semester at Drexel as a freshman. While three months as a college student isn’t usually enough to signal a big change in one’s life – there are friends of mine who have sat through a year’s worth of classes at college already and they’re still the same old idiots they were back in school god bless – travelling through cultures is a pretty transformative experience.
In short, my first semester at Drexel was probably my most stressful time in my life by far. Without mentioning what I went through, I’ll just say I would dish out an arm and a leg and probably cough up a very healthy lung before I’d go through that again. Don’t get me wrong, there were fun times. Hell, those fun times were a riot that made me feel like I was on top of everything in my life but there were also bad days. Academic wise, I did great but…that’s not all that counts in college is it?
Fun times? Oh god, people here drink like the world’s gonna burn up tomorrow and suffice it to say, I participated here and there when I could. And before those eyebrows go up and that head starts to shake, let me clarify that in no way was I coerced or pressured to do so. I did it with my own volition, with a grasp on the reality that I was the one holding the glass and tipping it into the back of my throat, that I was the one responsible for the agonizing mornings. I didn’t do it to fit in. I didn’t do it because I was craving the experience. I didn’t do it to prove anyone wrong or even, conversely right. I did it because I wanted to. After all the arguments had been made for and against it by my wonderful friends, I took a step back, analyzed what I wanted and then took a firm step forward and then several more to fall face flat onto the bed.
And going back home for winter break was eye opening. Not because people were different but because I was surprised by how little I’d changed. Some of my old school friends swore up and down that I’d changed and putting myself in their third-person-view shoes, I’d agree but I’ve been living in my head all this time and I actually haven’t changed. Stepping back into my old bedroom, picking up the old books I’d read, looking out from my old spot in my balcony I realized that no matter how hard I’d tried to convince myself that college had changed me, it hadn’t. I was still the same.
And I’m okay with that now. Actually, I’m more than thankful that I haven’t changed. I’d have hated to be anyone other than who I am now. I see that now.