As my roommate and I slowly but surely start packing up our dorm room before our last week of school approaches, I realize we are packing up more than just clutter collected throughout our freshman year of college. We’re beginning to box up all of the memories we’ve made in an entire year that's flown by in a blink of an eye.
May of last year, I remember having no idea what was going to happen in the year to come. I was graduating high school and saying goodbye to the familiar faces of my small hometown while both dreading and excitedly anticipating starting college in a new city. I was hesitant to live in the small box that is my dorm room, but also ecstatic at the thought of a new interior decorating endeavor. I spent the entire summer thinking about all the friends that I would force myself to make, the unprecedented level of school work that I wasn’t positive I could handle, and whether or not my future roommate would be amazing or an absolute nutcase.
A year later, all of my concerns have disappeared. I never comprehended the statement that “college will be the best four years of your life” until now, as the first year is ending. Although cliche, the prior statement is undoubtedly true. As I start to move out, I realize I'm leaving behind a lot more than four concrete walls, the easily recognizable “dorm smell,” and beds lofted too high for a girl as short as me.
I’ve met so many beautifully genuine people this past year who have honestly shaped me into a better person. My roommate ended up being my best friend at school as well as one of the coolest people I’ve ever met, even if she doesn’t admit it. The girls who live down the hall from us quickly became my second family; without them, and the hours spent bonding within the walls of our rooms, I don’t think I could’ve made it through freshman year. They’ve taught me so much about about what it truly means to be a good friend, as well as how to navigate my new Macbook Pro and put on makeup correctly. I cannot imagine freshman year without them.
Our small, now half-emptied dorm room holds enough memories to last a lifetime. I vividly remember dancing around in my socks on the cold linoleum floor while getting ready to go to my first class and later that night nervously picking out outfits with my roommate to wear to our first party. On my small twin bed, my friends and I squeezed together to watch movies and share stories. At my desk, I had my first phone interview, wrote my first 3,000 word paper, and surpassed my own expectations of what I was academically capable of. The cinder block walls displayed photographs from nights out and excursions around the city, representing the comfort zone I threw out the window.
I wouldn't trade the dorm I lived in, and the memories I made freshman year, for anything.
