It’s my eighth semester of college, and in my classes, I feel out of place. I'm clearly out of my element.
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Shit has just become weird. My classmates look like infants. I’ve worn out my welcome. What I’m learning in my Brit Lit class seems like something I’ll only need to know in a war of words against a pretentious thespian or arms against James Lipton from Inside the Actor’s Studio.
I’ve got a fever, and the only prescription is graduation.
This is nothing new, though. I’ve felt this from early on. I was the only kid in my kindergarten class to take half days, compared to everyone else taking full days, mostly due to the parents of my classmates having full-time jobs. My mom was a homemaker and tried her damnedest to make sure I stayed at home with her. It was Midway Elementary’s policy to allow half days, and I sure as hell took advantage of those half days.
I’m exhausted. I’m numb. I’m miserable. It's the big three for everyone going through the motions in college, especially the latter. I feel unwelcome to my age, as if not donning a black cap and black gown in front of my supposed graduating class come May is a crime against humanity.
Believe it or not, not everyone who goes through eight semesters of college graduates. You may find yourself in a quarantine of complacency. You may find yourself in a hurricane of hurriedness. You may ask yourself, how in the love of fuck do I work this?
The good news is, you won’t know. The great news, you may never know. In all honesty, college is an individual journey. When your closest-aged peers graduate in May, don’t take it personally, but take it as a grain of salt.
While the journey should have ended for us in the eyes of society this year, don’t be ashamed to keep on trekking. Even though I worry for you tapestry and women's studies majors, feel free to pursue whatever means the most to you.
You know what, let me rephrase that, to make it not sound like I come off as a Hallmark card. Fuck everyone else, and play your hand as it’s dealt. Don't you dare ever forget that.
