To be honest, I need to dispel all my fears and concerns and anxieties - right now, on this page. It's necessary for a writer, and I recommend it for anyone who is bored and lacking recreation.
Trapped here in my room, hundreds and hundreds of miles from school, from the familiar rings of collegiate noises, I am left to my own devices. These devices should promptly be dismantled and destroyed, because I am certain that if left for long, they could destroy me and my sanity. So here goes my exorcism. Enjoy.
I am worried that people will forget me. Not just me, but the things that make me what I am as an individual. I would be quite alarmed to hear that another tall Floridian with spastic dance skills and an affection for amaretto sours has pushed, kicked and gently nudged her way into the heart and soul of Tufts University. I would be appalled to see someone else with her grandfather's grey fedora skipping around Professor's Row, or throwing quaint literary allusions into the air after poli-sci class.
I'm not saying that I run Medford, and in no way do I advocate arrogance or elitism, but I am noting that the listed qualities are things I cherish and hope to ingrain in the fabric of the community. Who else is going to sneak onto the roof of Metcalf Hall at four in the morning, or buy you a disgusting amount of cheesy bread with her meal points at the crack of dawn?
I guess it's the way I party. As in the times I've returned home from a day of work in my wrinkled button-down shirt, proceeded to drink some sort of bittersweet honey-colored liquid, thrown on my winter coat and sandals and wandered the university in search of the spontaneous.
Indeed, I have found that my party schedule is best when I avoid the typical party pick of the night and opt for something random. Or, I dress in themed clothing for a party that doesn't exist. I don't want to be forgotten, but more importantly, with senior year approaching faster than the wasted guy who body slams you at NQR, I question how each one of us will be remembered.
What will my legacy at Tufts be? My notorious conservative identity? My attempt to save the Catholic Center from being seemingly wiped out of university memory? My eager freshman-like attitude to get to know anybody and everybody at the school? My knack for laughing at the most inappropriate time in class? Starting arguments with most of my teachers, just for the hell of it? My inability to write papers when I am supposed to, not to mention my blatant disregard for deadlines?
Of this, I am certain: leaving Tufts for one semester is enough to drive a person mad. Wickedly, wonderfully mad, but it is a necessary and divine madness, one in which we can realize the importance of being at a place as magical and strange as this university.
I now know that the feeling I had as a new student was not ridiculous, and not a creation of orientation propaganda or silly administrative manipulation. I just knew that there was something about this school and its students that is dynamic, moving and, above all, exciting. I have never felt so energized or passionate as I do when I feel the wheels of the plane touch down in Boston.
Over the past three years, I have realized that feeling was the sense of finding a new home, something that contains the delicate balance of my fears, hopes, loves, ambitions and dreams.
I close my eyes and see the smiles of friends and the times we sang off-key karaoke at Powderhouse, before it got popular and before it became unpopular again. I can remember the bench outside Tisch where I cried after learning my cat died, and there is certainly a nick on the circular rock wall near the Campus Center where my tray and skull collided with it after a frolic in the snow.
I know that late-night walks on the outdoor track are reserved for one person and one person only, and that some of the most memorable characters of my entire college life have walked in when I least expected it and carried me through the times when I am certain my wobbly legs would not have made it otherwise.
If there's one thing I have come to understand about leaving an impression, it's that the people who least desire the recognition are the ones who stand out most. I guess in that case I am going to fade into oblivion, but I do have one wish I hope to realize before I leave.
I want to see someone else with that curious, devilish look in their eye that can only mean they see Tufts for the magic it contains - if you know how to shake it right.
Stephanie Brown is a junior majoring in international relations.
