I always thought of myself as human; easily a person with no extravagance or fancy adjectives – you know the ones; the kinds you find deep in a thesaurus. I never saw myself as the personification of nature. I never saw the beauty of the ocean or the vastness of the sky in my heart; I never felt the rapture of the wind in my body nor a hurricane raging in my soul. I never saw myself as anything but a human being, but I was a storm.

I was a nineteen-year-old hurricane, windswept and mad with heartbreak and blistered with an invisible trauma I couldn’t comprehend nor wanted to confront. It was the first month of my sophomore year when I tore onto the steps of the fraternity Alpha Gamma Rho. My best friend had texted me to come over because that’s where she was and it’d be fun, so I did. With my roommates in tow, I made the wobbly trek to the concrete steps of house I didn’t know with boys I’d never spoken to. I was as broken and sad as the aftermath of a shattering earthquake when I first blustered into the house I would continually sputter about in.

I was overdressed and prepared to embody a frat rat when I stumbled up the steps of Alpha Gamma Rho, giggles falling from my mouth like hiccups of bubbles. There wasn’t a party there at all, and despite my disappointment, I found myself oddly happy to be amongst a bunch of new people. I made conversation with some guy on the porch named Kyle and befriended a guy on the steps whose name was Phil. All of a sudden there was a dude with a tape-measure next to me, measuring my height. I blushed and laughed, embarrassed but also weirdly charmed by this obscure house. I found myself smiling more often than usual and conversation flooded my mouth like the ease of a brook.

Over the year, the storm went on a rampage. I was an emotionally unstable tsunami flooding the library with drunken tears and uncontrollable word vomit. I was a volcanic eruption, releasing the kind of rambles with sad secrets and uncontrollable depression that overwhelmed anyone in its wake. I was an avalanche, crushing people’s happiness with my own intoxicated melancholy. I was hardly a human; I resembled a natural disaster. Despite all the instability, on the steps of Alpha Gamma Rho, I was always accepted, safe. The house took the brunt of damage, yet it still stood. It stood in the wake of every storm nearly every weekend and did so nobly.

Most people hate frat houses; they’re dirty, obnoxious, sticky, gross, maybe even unsafe. Despite this widespread (and mostly true) stereotype, my safe haven is a frat house. I always have a shoulder to lean on, arms to pick me up, smiles to greet, and voices that always welcome me home. I am safe in an otherwise unreliable place. I never had an invitation revoked; they’d protect me even though I was the same storm ripping through their weekend.

I partied hard in the year of my storming. I bounced around and made questionable choices. I made mistakes and slipped into sinkholes. I was a storm hell-bent on clashing with other personified storms. Despite all of this, I always felt the most tranquil sitting on the steps of Alpha Gamma Rho. It was the only place where my storm learned to subside and the rain began to let up.

I am always welcomed with huge smiles and open hugs. I never feel like a storm. I never feel sad or disappointed. I can sit on the concrete with my best friend and amongst all of our friends, brothers. I can laugh and feel free. I can steal cereal and eat bowls full with a stupid grin. I can pee in the boy’s bathroom upstairs just because I don’t feel like waiting downstairs. I can show up on a Thursday and lounge on deck. I don’t feel judged; I feel welcomed.

We are the stoop kids. We drink beers on the porch until our face is numb from smiling too hard and laughing at someone’s stupid joke. We sit on the concrete steps under a dark indigo sky with Budweiser’s and Twisted Teas in our hands, watching the tomfoolery playing out on the street before us, letting brews swirl our heads with joy. A year ago, I never would have imagined myself sitting alongside the boys who drove their obnoxious trucks. A year ago, I was anti-fraternity and now some of the best people I know are found in the belly of a frat house. A year ago, I was a storm but today I am at peace.