It’s the last week of my freshman year, but I feel like I just moved in a month ago. I can still remember my parents and I nervously asking around for the directions to my dorm building. My room is just as small as it was when I first entered, drenched in sweat from the August heat and shaky with anxiety.
Yet, at the same time, I feel like I’ve been here for years. I know where all of my friends live, and I can practically knock on any one of their doors at any hour of the day — or night — and they will be there for me. I’m on a first-name basis with the workers at P.O.D., the deli-turned-convenience store in the basement of my dorm building; they practically have my sandwich waiting for me every night.
I can hardly recognize the person I was when I first entered college, doe-eyed and shy. I mean, I’m still the same person, but so much has changed. I've learned so many new things — things about school, friends, New York, and, of course, the world of boys. I’ve also learned so much about other things, like fitness and food. I was never an adventurous eater until I became a resident of New York again after fourteen years. And it only took me enrolling in college to start going to the gym.
I can’t believe that I never knew what it was like to party and enjoy it as much as I do now. Small, all-girl Catholic schools like the high school I came from are not exactly the hot spot for house parties. Even though I was terrified by my first college party experience, I tried it out more and more and started loving it. Partying in college is nothing like what I expected. I used to tell myself that I would never become that generic college kid who is always seen at parties and posts pictures every weekend of them and their friends on elevated surfaces surrounded by red cups.
But college has taught me to keep an open mind and to never jump to conclusions; you can’t judge a college kid based on their Facebook album cover. Parties are just another part of the college experience. Some people love them, while some people hate them. I think they’re a fun way to let loose and socialize with friends after a long week of working and studying.
As finals week is coming to a close, and friends start moving out one by one, I am flooded with the memories of the past eight and a half months I’ve spent here. I wish my dorm didn’t kick me out twenty-four hours after my last final, because I would’ve really loved to stay until the very last of my friends were here.
It’s funny to think that the other day when I opened up the “photos” app on my phone, I was directed to a screen that said “memories”. Below it, there was a picture of me standing in the hallway outside my dorm room. The text read: “last month at home: April 2018.” I got chills when I saw this because, in a big way, Fordham really does feel like home.