As this column is printed, I will be finishing up the first eighth of my college journey. Now there is a semester’s worth of thoughts from places to comb through and consider:
It was in the ASEAN Auditorium where my first college class took place, and where this column was born. I was sitting in a class where being a baby Jumbo was not some sort of lauded achievement — everyone in the room had managed to squeeze through the 14 percent acceptance rate. The hype of being a new student was glossed over, giving my first day of class a new urgency.
Barnum 113 was the site of a juxtaposition, where an English class was sequestered in a hall full of life sciences. Appreciating the humanities in a foreign land was enough to have this staunch pre-med consider the value of liberal arts coursework.
When the Campus Center housed an antique sale, the romanticization of the past brought into question the history we are all actively scripting. Appreciation for the past, whether it be through modern Polaroids or the re-introduction of leather jackets, promises that our quirks as a generation may be intertwined with the society of the future.
Venturing away from Tufts for a night and going into the nearby woods of Winchester, the wake of human destruction was apparent. Whether it be through a simple act of littering, or in the grander scheme of global warming, the impact of our actions as a species can be readily observed just minutes from our campus.
Back on campus, it was at Distler Hall where Clara Cantore performed her Argentinian folk music to a room filled mostly by the promise of extra credit. This was a rare highlight of the ugly grade-grubber culture that still lives in the undertones of Tufts.
Carmichael Hall was uncharacteristically empty when the Red Cross blood drive rolled around. Although the phlebotomist was a delight and the atmosphere was warmed by the blaring rock music, there seemed to be minimal student body support.
A chemistry exam at Pearson was enough to bring the crushing realization that learning was a process. Hours spent at Tisch do not directly correlate with better grades, and the prospect of studying for numerical gratification became moot. Learning is about a rise in understanding and not GPA.
A Dewick Friendsgiving was a precious reminder that home can be found miles away from the address used on your application. The people you actively choose to surround yourself with become your home, and eventually, your family.
That being said, after a nice drive to Jersey City, N.J., I was feeling rather grateful for the opportunity to take a step back from college and reconnect with my roots. There, I saw the constant room for improvement that exists in all of us.
Back at Tisch, the buildup toward finals week witnessed a night full of laser tag and casual conversation.
And a final thought for the year: Happy finals, happy holidays and see you all in 2018! Thanks for reading.