Leaving a Bit Behind: Goodbyes

Three years and nine months ago, I came to this place so excited that I had goosebumps despite the smothering humidity and so terrified that I could stop moving for fear that if I ran out of something to do, the reality of the change before me would smack me down like an elephant-sized cinder block, straight onto the Yale blue stone. I felt the weight on my heart as I feel it now, as I stare at the green couch that has amazingly made its way back into this suite after we gave it away sophomore year. And again, as I think about the adventures to come, the changes to come, I don't want to acknowledge the way I feel; I don't want to mourn the loss of the last four years.

 I wrote the words above as I was sitting in my common room on my very last day of college, rather, my first day of my post-undergraduate life. It was the day after graduation, and everything had been packed up, including my poor Alzheimer's-ridden computer that was trying so hard to boot up with a hard drive that kept deteriorating each time it did. I had spent the last night with friends, a celebratory drink at Rudy's, lying on the couch sprawled on top of one another, breaking the ceremonial clay pipes that marked the end of our Yale-hood. And yet, it didn't seem like it would be, could be enough. The trick behind graduation is that you're so busy with Baccalaureate, Class Day, Commencement, the ceremonies, the picture-taking, the standing, the sitting, the walking, and the cheering, that you don't have time to really say goodbye. Maybe it shouldn't be goodbye; after all, we'll probably, maybe, see each other again. But that way of life, the dining halls, awkward encounters at 3 AM in the bathroom, collective sympathetic sighs, are behind us now. Whatever we are, whatever we will become, we somehow became (if we weren't already) adults. And that's a scary prospect.

I can still remember the first time I walked on campus that summer, in the thick summer air, and I thought: "Wow, I could love this place." I remember moving in for the first time and thinking: "I wish the sky were clearer for my first day here," then when it got clearer, I remember redacting my statement. I remember meeting my first roommate for the first time, remember being only slightly disappointed that we wouldn't be BFFs, then finding those who really would be my best friends for life.

When I have a moment alone, I still find myself welling up a little. My heart still constricts and I don't want to just rush off into the summer yet. I don't want to let everything go, yet I don't want to keep remembering. If my poor laptop has taught me anything (besides backup, backup, backup) it's that memories don't last forever, and I don't want mine to go away. It's as if somehow, I can stop them from dissipating by keeping them in my brain-box forever. If I don't pull them out, they can't get ruined, right?

It's not that I'm not ready to move on. Well, maybe I'm holding back just a little. But can you blame me? Sentimentalist here! But I suppose I wouldn't want to be a sleep-deprived, anxiety-ridden, perpetually-hungry, food-driven being forever. Oh wait, I'm going to grad school.

Congratulations to everyone who has gone through the motions and crushed their proverbial (or literal) clay pipes. Good luck and may your futures hold everything you want them to (and some stuff that you don't know you want yet).

Cheers,
This Graduate
Jonathan Edward College
Yale Chemistry 2012

BEDUS Day 7: Lazy Sundays

It's been a pretty lazy Sunday, just curled up in my room, sleeping, watching Once Upon a Time, looking over some organic chemistry things that I probably won't remember tomorrow, and relaxing my muscles into happiness. It's a rather good thing that tomorrow is Martin Luther King Day because I don't think I could do school tomorrow (even though it has only been one week!). This shopping period has been especially hard on me and I need to just collect myself and think for a while.

Daily Theme 3:


Describe a sacred place. It need not be, although it can be, a place designed sacred by custom and purpose, and you may or may not view it as sacred yourself.


The Cracks on the Wall


It's been a long time since I visited, but as I push through the low branches and clamber without my usual grace over the fallen tree stumps, the smell of green rushes over me and tickles the old memories that I have somehow allowed myself to bury in the back of my mind. A few rays of sunlight peek through the clouds; the wet leaves beneath my feet squish and squelch as I finally make it to our wall.

It probably used to be a shed or a church or something but now, it's just a lone stone wall in a clearing, the last one that has stood strong over the years. Back in 2008, the last time Andrew and I visited, we carved our names in the wall in a little corner so that if anyone else found this spot, they would know that we had found it first. But that was three years ago. Times have changed. The rain and wind has worn down our meager efforts and a few vines have grown along the bottom of the wall, their leaves almost obscuring Andy's name.

I run my fingers over the smooth stone and touch my forehead to the cool rock. I remember the first time we stumbled upon the clearing, during one of our hikes off the beaten path. I remember how we had come here whenever we needed to get away from school or jobs or family. I remember our picnics; we would sit, just sit, letting the sounds of the forest flow over us. It was so peaceful, so different than anything in the city. And soon, we would be leaving it all behind.

"Look, Clara. Isn't it beautiful?"

I turned to see Andy with our daughter strapped to his front. She's burbling like she always is when she's being bounced around, and kicks her tiny baby feet in delight.

"See where Mommy is? That's where I kissed her for the first time. And where I told her I loved her. And where I asked her to marry me. And where we decided to move to a bigger place since you're not always going to be so portable. But don't worry, one day, when you're old enough, we'll bring you back here and you can carve your name into the wall next to ours. Though if you bring any boys 'round this way, I'll probably have to beat them up."

I smile and take Clara, kneeling next to the wall where our names are still visible. She giggles and tugs at my hair and I take her hand in mine. We trace the names together. Andy + Meg. And Clara.