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The College Experience
It was time to leave my reality. I went to a Latin-dance masquerade in Greektown on Halloween. The streets brimmed with swarms of the youth who teetered over the edge of the sidewalk and scurried back from oncoming taxis, causing a ripple of carelessness and barely avoided danger to create a wavering path on a sidewalk of disguises and caricatures. The event was an experience that I had managed to fumble my way into, and my excitement for the event was barely able to contain the anxiety that gnawed at my stomach, concerning a less-than-exemplary paper and an impending midterm. But it was a beautiful fall night (being a California kid-I've never seen leaves like this), and I couldn't help but feel somehow separate from the fluorescently-lit testing rooms and the oppressive quiet of the library. About to jump into the line at the head of the event, I paused when I saw a girl crying in the inlet of an alleyway She was dressed as a black cat with black body suit, a furry black tail with a white tip wrapped around her waist, simple black ears and a face covered in black and white paint. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, and when she looked back up, her hands were covered in the dark mess of her face, and her mask of paint melted and slid slowly onto the black fabric of her chest. And rubbing her face again, leaving streaks of real skin to shin in the artificially lit night, she stalked off against the flow of oncoming hipsters. I found myself unable to focus on the sights, or the sounds, or the experience; but rather, obsessing over the art of a perfected thesis. This masquerade, which was so vital and colorful, faded quickly. But which was more important: the fleeting experience or the stuff that endured? The colors of university had begun to fade after a couple of months, and the coldness of the reality was starting to set in, especially on late-nights in the library and even later nights at the Tim Hortons down the street. "University life is just figuring out your priorities, and going with it," commented a friend of mine, as we studied our separate subjects at 2 a.m., empty coffee cups beginning to stack up like fallen soldiers, "Sure the academic stuff is going to be important, but if that's all you do, you're not really going to have anything to tell the kids, are you?" So the pages of economics multiple-choice questions or an art show on Queen Street West? Being a university student takes the courage to balance the best you can. PREVIOUS ENTRIES The
Circle of College Life | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
