Our Fresh Frosh columnists will be spending the year documenting their transition from high school to Northwestern life. Check out all four of our writers — and read their stories.
“What’s wrong with the world, mama
People livin’ like they ain’t got no mamas
I think the whole world addicted to the drama
Where is the love?”
- The Black Eyed Peas
The first two weeks of college consisted of the typical: the daunting task of unpacking your entire life from a mere four pieces of luggage, putting yourself out there and hoping that at least your roommate will want to grab dinner with you, and trying to suck up to your teacher in the least obvious fashion possible. But what I didn’t deduce from all the pamphlets was that losing your phone equals social suicide, that professors aren’t unwilling to humiliate you for being late and most of all, that college is an exact replica of high school — larger only in population and in size.
Living in Chapin Hall (the Humanities residential college) probably contributes to the feeling of disillusionment I’ve been experiencing since Monday of the second week. With 70 residents, the residential college feels like ninth grade homeroom, complete with crushes at first sight, laugh-fests sparked by videos of monkeys riding backwards on pigs, sophomores who consider themselves demigods and cliques.
Inevitably, cliques birth drama.
Now I can’t disclose any of the drama that has reached my ears for fear of being placed in the “people who have no friends” clique, but it runs along the usual subjects of: the other gender, parties, the same gender and more parties. If you screw up your first impressions by saying the wrong thing at the right time or the right thing at the wrong time or perhaps saying anything at all. Be prepared to hear gossip about it from your roommate, who heard it from someone in her math class, who happens to be friends with a group of people who are nice to your face and nasty behind theirs.
But in a way the same drama that I’m disparaging has eased the sudden shift into independence and complete freedom. By acting like complete imbeciles (aka high schoolers), we prove to ourselves that we haven’t changed all that much and that we are still the same insecure kids who yearn for attention, are intimidated by the confident upperclassmen and the imminent finals week and we hope to survive the stress, the humiliation, the cold. At least until winter break.
P.S. Here’s a free piece of advice for those freshman out there who are still completely overwhelmed by every aspect of Northwestern and of college in general: listen to The Black Eyed Peas and dance around your room in your rock star getup. But close the door. You wouldn’t want the reputation of your leather studded jeans to precede you every time you enter a room and follow you every time you leave one.