Ben Rachel is a sophomore studying economics and computer science. Ben Rachel can be reached at benjamin.rachel@tufts.edu.
I am writing this column in the middle of a packed Tisch, surrounded by stressed students and working off of three Yerba Mates (I’m shaking). Even the reading room is full; I had to share a cubicle with a Fletcher student. It feels like finals season brings everyone out of their dorms to shotgun energy drinks and complain about their workloads.
Like many other Chicagoans, I am a fervent Chicago Bears fan. For those of you who do not know, the Chicago Bears are an American football team located in, you guessed it, Chicago, Illinois. Those who have followed the NFL this year will understand where this anecdote is going.
Well, well, well. Here we are again with another column entry this semester about ‘tough times.’
This article has taken me unprecedentedly long to write. Normally, I can sit down, write a publication in less than an hour and then send it to the editors to clean up my inordinate amount of grammatical errors. This one, however, took me a long time to write. At first, when I came up with the title, I just wanted to let my fans know that I am 6 feet, 2 inches. However, I felt like that wouldn’t be up to par with my other publications. (My fanbase needs to be satisfied.) It was not until I was back in my hometown of Chicago (ranked by Condé Nast as the best big city in the United States for eight consecutive years) that I was struck with inspiration.
This Sunday, my friend and I sat silently at Picante eating our $11 quesadillas (a great deal btw). We sat there with a long weekend of *redacted* activities weighing on our heads, hearts and stomachs. My head lay up against the wall behind me, staring at the blank ceiling; my friend solemnly drank his diet coke, shaking his leg in anticipation of the work ahead of him. The freshmen who sat next to us filled the restaurant with laughter and novelty. A familiar fire burned in their eyes, the same fire that had once burned in ours.
I’m from Chicago — and that is real Chicago. I’m not one of those fools who say they are from Chicago and end up actually being from Glencoe or Evanston. (Just for clarification for all those who just recently left the college application process, Northwestern and UChicago are both NOT in the ‘real’ Chicago.) Also, I know that it’s surprising, but I am not from O-Block; I have not met Chief Keef nor King Von, and I have neither ‘colors’ nor a ‘sign.’With that being said, having lived in the best big city in the United States — voted on by Condé Nast Traveler and many other outlets — I thought I had the necessary knowledge to cross a busy intersection. In fact, Chicago holds the accolade of housing some of the most dangerous intersections. However, I was in no way prepared for the intersection located between the Joyce Cummings Center and the Science and Engineering Complex. The continuous flow of cars, semi-trucks and buses and an overabundance of depressed and anxious students who are looking for any way to not do their next computer science assignment do not make a good combination.
In short, we are SO back. Actually, we have never been more back than we are right now. As a newly christened sophomore, I can officially say that I am back. Whether you are like me and have one year under your belt and are still forced into a meal plan or you just had your last FDOC, we are BACK!! Freshies, you all have a lot to learn.Coming back to campus in late August was surreal. Driving through the Cummings intersection and around Professors Row was a wash of nostalgia. A four-month break from Dewick and overpriced coffee changed me as a person. At least for me, the summer was a refreshing, relaxing and grounding experience — a detox. It was so much so that toward the end of July, Tufts started to feel like a fever dream. All those parties, brutally boring lectures and quirky people seemed like a figment of my imagination. It seemed all too fanciful to be real.
Wow. Look at us. The academic year is almost over. That’s a crazy statement to think about. It’s almost over; those 7 a.m. lawnmowers, the slow walkers and the hospital lights are going to be nonexistent for the next four months. Especially as a freshman, this is a tremendous moment. And, as a mature, rising sophomore (I can say that now), I will spend my last column publication dissecting it.
“Life is getting pretty real,” one of my friends said as I was attempting to peacefully eat my Hodge bowl in the hallway. When we sensually locked eyes, his pupils were filled with anxiety, nerves and worries. It wasn’t until later that night when I was staring at the ceiling of my dark, lonely single when I realized that life is, actually, getting real.
Throughout my tenure at Tufts, I’ve learned that there are three constants of college: work, tiredness and sickness. There hasn’t been a day that I haven’t been at least one of those constants. Even as I write this article, I am stressed from midterms, tired from the Tufts gardeners who have decided that 7 a.m. on a Monday morning is the best time to mow the lawn and sick from my third iteration of the freshman plague. Nonetheless, no matter how sick or tired I — or anyone at Tufts — may be, the continual stream of work never ends until the semester does. And, of course, this persistent stream of work also inherently disregards our genetic desire to dilly-dally. In turn, it forces us to lock in. Tufts, and schools in general, deny us of our innate trait of monkeying about and pressurizes us to get in line.
