“La Mamá de la Mamá” (2020). “Danza Kuduro” (2010). Bad Bunny.
Spanish music has become a staple of my short tenure here at Tufts. It’s reached the point where I learn more Spanish on the weekends than during my classes throughout the week.
Whether it be in some poor soul’s basement, a fraternity or a dorm, Spanish music is a guarantee.
Tufts social life has been quite a transition for me. Coming from a small school (83 people in our graduating class), the social scene here is different.
Back in high school there were no lists or wristbands, there was no texting every person you know to find a party and there was no “IF YOU ARE NOT IN KAA, GET THE F#$% OUT!!”
This new lifestyle has changed my perception on social life and parties in many ways.
I was invited to my first Tufts frat party through one of the many clubs and e-lists I joined. It was a Google Form, first-come-first-served-type deal. My friends and I got the email and — like the naive little freshmen we were — quickly completed the form. A few days later, we got the acceptance letter and it felt like getting into college all over again.
At the frat, it was a whole different story. I’m not sure anything can prepare you for the wave of B.O. and heat that hits you once you walk in. Just the ambience of a frat is overwhelming. I feel bad for people under 5-foot-5-inches because they probably get trampled in that environment.
The part that freaked me out the most, though, was seeing ‘older people’ there. Being one of maybe five freshmen there, I was surrounded by adulthood, house leases and internships. Seeing my TA sent me for a spin. It was hard to wrap my head around the idea that this person in barely any clothes was technically my teacher who I would see in a few days behind a podium.
Nonetheless, my first frat experience was fun. The music was in Spanish, the temperature was hot and the drinks were warm. What else could you want?
Last week, I had to explain to one of my friends why a frat is fun. And, to my dismay, I couldn’t. Our conversation went something like this: “Can you socialize well?” “No.” “Are you comfortable?” “No.” “Can you see anything?” “No.” “What type of music was there?” “Spanish music!”
Basements and sports houses are a whole other story. My favorite part of them, other than convincing the person at the door that you know five brothers, is that their parties are 90% freshmen. Every basement I end up in is filled with the same freshmen. I’m not sure what all the upperclassmen do, but I hope one day I’ll earn the knowledge they hold.
But we love our basements. They’re always interesting for the 30 minutes we’re there until the neighbors decide it’s bedtime at 10:30 p.m. They’re not as packed nor as dark as frats, so we get to witness all the awkwardness and that one couple trying to flirt in the corner.
But as I said, we love our basements. My shoes, on the other hand, don’t — they used to be white.
Si tú me miras en un sótano, por favor dices saludos. Yo no muerdo. También, si tienes una pulsera extra o una dirección, dime, por favor.
Chao, mis amigos, y nos vemos en los sótanos.
