People always seemed to say that college is a time of learning and self-discovery – a time to figure out what you love (and hate), stuff you’re passionate about, and what you want to do with your life. Now, this all sounded great, and when I was accepted, I was ecstatic to be able to give this college thing a shot. Yet, before coming, I could not see how going for classes, being part of clubs and living in a dorm would translate into suddenly finding all the Big Answers to questions about life, people, myself and dreams.
And then, all too quickly, my first semester as a freshman has leapt past me and here we are, almost at the end of it and already choosing classes for next semester. Where did all the days, weeks and months go? My college journey thus far has revealed itself to be a string of 24 hours filled with overly excited flurries of activities. Every day presents a dizzying array of ideas and choices that leave me exhausted but eager for more. Truly, college is what you make it to be, and so far, I realize I’ve made my experience to be very, very confusing.
Between bawling my eyes out in Intro to Peace and Justice Studies, and dancing till midnight on Tuesdays and Thursdays with Garba practice, there is a multitude of sights and sounds that I continue to soak up. The many things that I get to be a part of all introduce me to different ideas and insights, which nudge me to think harder, feel honestly and be filled with a constant sense of gratitude.
Then there are the not so obvious but perhaps just as or even more significant moments and choices. Like when I wonder whether to make tea using my roommate’s teabags from France or the ones we stole from the cafeteria; or when a spur-of-the-moment decision to go with the Freethought Society to the Tufts Loj in New Hampshire turns out to be the best restful weekend I didn’t know I needed; or when I come to terms with the fact that just because I like the idea of being multilingual doesn't mean I need to learn like a fifth language (adiós, español); or when I linger at the dinner table for two hours longer than I should, procrastinating homework for new friends and a fantastical crash course on US history (from Thanksgiving to the war in Iraq?); or when I muster the courage to see a professor I’ve never talked to about this crazy idea I have, about making a documentary when I go back to Malaysia next summer; or being judged by my mom over Skype, as I wander around the hall in shorts and fuzzy socks …
College is absolutely what you make it to be, within the very loose boundaries of money and time. (It helps that Tufts seems to be a school where bending the rules isn’t always a bad thing.) I have never been in a community and setting that allow me to be learning ever so much, all the time. The highs and lows I report in various classes and clubs have often been “I’m terribly confused about everything, and that’s great!” It doesn’t mean that I’m reducing all my experiences here into a directionless blob of nothingness. Rather, I guess I’m trying to be as open as I can be to the myriad of possibilities that I may encounter every day here.
About a month ago, I bundled up my confusion and carried everything with me to see a professor, in search of advice on “how to make sense of everything.” His answer? “To live the questions.” (“I sound a little like Yoda, I know,” he added.) I put that line on my wall (“Your Facebook wall?” he asked) as a reminder to really be – to fully soak in all the experiences every remarkable day here has to offer, to refuse to sink into the monotony, to be deeply appreciative of the extraordinary privilege of being here and doing all this stuff at all, to stay curious and open, to be gentle but determined, and above all, to stay alive by living the questions.
As the ending to one of my readings quoted,
Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.
(Wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking.)
You go, Machado. And wise (albeit somewhat Yoda-sounding) professor. Here’s to all the questions ahead we’ll get to live and love.