The first semester away at college can be tough -- there's some adjusting to do after arriving in Oxford. But we eventually find comfort, connection or familiarity somewhere.
Read on for stories about first-year 'shock' from a few of our newest writers:
by Tim Carlin
I gave myself a once over in the mirror before walking out the door.
"Just breathe, you look fine," I told myself as I entered the hallway.
I had survived the first week of classes, and I was ready to celebrate.As I walked out the front door of my dorm, a welcome coolness brushed against my skin. I thought nothing of the nighttime breeze, but I should have. As my friend and I walked up Tallawanda Street toward the vibrating bass of the Oxford frat houses, it seemed to get cooler with every step. I don't know if it was the weather, or my nerves, but by the time we reached the frat house we were looking for, it felt freezing outside.
Before walking up the front steps, I stopped to look at my friend. "Are we sure about this?" I asked her. Her mouth said yes, but her eyes gave a different answer.
I could feel her anxiety. Neither of us really wanted to be at this unknown house. She was afraid of the overbearing frat members and the mystery liquid that filled the red solo cups, while I was nervous about getting too drunk and losing my self-control. Entering those doors carried much more weight than a simple night out. Surviving our first frat party would end the college facade and make it all real.
But, if this party was so vital to the beginning of my college experience, why did it feel like the exact opposite of where I wanted to be?
While my friend and I stopped on the sidewalk, a group of girls walked in front of us to the door. They were huddled together for an extended period of time before turning and walking back in our direction. I could see the flashing lights and hear the music echoing into the street, so I knew we were in the right place.
As the girls passed us I heard one of them say, "I can't believe they locked the door! Who does that?" I looked back at my friend for guidance and was greeted with an equally puzzled look.
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Just as I opened my mouth to speak, rain drops began to fall. They came down heavy and fast. As I locked eyes with my friend, I could read her thoughts. Without a word spoken, we both took off running back to my dorm.
As we ran, the droplets only came down harder. When we passed Withrow Hall, we both started to laugh, sing and dance. It was as if the rain washed away any inhibitions and negativity we were carrying.
When we finally reached my dorm, we were soaking wet, freezing cold and laughing uncontrollably. As our laughter slowly died, I could only think one thing: "So, this is college."
by Rebecca Wolff
It was the first time I had seen flowing water since I got to Ohio. It was a refreshing familiarity after another day of being asked, "But, if you're from California, why would you come here?"
The "here" always seemed to be accompanied by some disgusted look and confused hand-gesture. I understand how it seems a bit odd, but they just didn't see what I did.
I had started my brisk walk a tad over an hour before I got to the spot.
I just wanted to get a sense of my surroundings, figuring if I could be sure where I was going, maybe then I wouldn't look like such a freshman. My roommate had homework to do so I was walking alone. I had homework too, but this felt like more of a priority; I had to find my thinking place.
Ever since I was a kid, I've always had that place I go to when I just need some time to be still, so my thoughts could be free to move. So that was the mission. I turned toward Western Campus, remembering how much I liked how spacious and green it was when I first visited.
The air felt thick with humidity and tradition, both things that are nonexistent in California. As I was walking, I couldn't help but be boggled by just how green everything was. It was as if I had stepped into a childhood storybook where trolls live under stone bridges and wizards hide inside trunks of luscious trees. The grass is always brown in Northern California. Wine Country magazines refer fondly to Napa Valley as "The land of Golden Hills," but, really, it just looks like shit.
That's the thing about Miami though -- The land is alive and the weather has mood swings that you can almost predict. It's like an old friend you can talk to, an understanding presence. I was walking along, the tune of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" flooding through my headphones, when I saw it.
A stone bridge on the furthest edge of Western Campus stood steady, while water that was anything but troubled gilded beneath it. While it wasn't exactly a white-sand-beach with blue foamy waves crashing down, seeing moving water at all was comforting, and made me feel a twinge of home in my bones.
A single bench, shaded by two large trees sat facing the water. As I sat there with it, I realized that this place alone was reason enough for me to pack up my tie-dye clothes and sunshine state of mind. So when people ask me, befuddled why I would, I wish they could simply see what I see.
@timcarlin_
carlintm@miamioh.edu
wolffrg@miamioh.edu
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