Four years. Four long years, and it all ends today. I can’t help but reflect on the ignorant high schooler I was four years ago, elated at the sight of my Boston University financial aid package, tearing up every other acceptance letter I’d received in light of the Trustees’ generosity. The vermillion folder emblazoned with the golden seal of our school seemed so stately and honorable – I could hardly contain my excitement at my future.
Here I am, four years later, a little sadder, a little wiser, with a myriad of stories and lessons on love and hate, somewhat ready to bust forth into the world unfunded by parents. For now, I’m not worried about the next step in my future. I am having trouble letting go of the past. I think of all the things that made this trip a great one, and I can’t help but getting all emotional musing over how much I love college and how much it is going to suck to leave.
I already miss the good old days when Espresso Royale actually had a jukebox from which I heard “In Spite of Me” for the first time. I’ll miss the times I never actually did homework there, but ran into a ton of friends which led to vicious games of Connect Four, way too much passion fruit tea and free pastries and bagels at the end of the night.
I’ll miss my classes, where I learned complicated software I forgot how to use after the class ended. I’ll miss having professors as role models and others as decoration for dartboards. I’ll miss making paperback friends with the likes of Pynchon, Kafka, Woolf, Wallace, Sedaris, Updike, Kerouac and Stephenson, who kept me company during those cold Boston nights when leaving my room was hardly an option.
I’ll miss it when you see people sitting out on the BU Beach and in front of the colleges doing homework, playing guitar and wearing minimal clothing for the few weeks of the school year Boston is actually livable. I’ll miss the cute guy from the dining hall who used to skateboard around campus on those warm days. I’ll miss the purr of Storrow Drive from the Beach and in the background of my former Bay State dorm.
I’ll miss sleeping in for 11 a.m. classes and having no classes on Friday. I’ll miss coming home Wednesday afternoons and reading the Weekly Dig, drinking $4 Trader Joe’s Shiraz, while planning my next rock show outing at the Middle East.
I’ll miss doing homework on Fung Wah and on the T.
I’ll miss free tickets to school hockey games and questioning the artistic value of Stage Troupe plays.
I’ll miss going to free movies and events through the Student Activities Office. I’ll miss BU’s feeble attempts to create unity when what really united us was that we all liked living in Boston and not needing to be dependent on our college for fun.
I’ll miss getting away with having a big blue hammock strewn across my bay window while living on campus. Without it, nobody would ever come over. I’ll miss the sweet South Campus neighborhood I’ll never be able to afford with an entry-level job.
I’ll miss having the best friends ever who put up with all my insanity. Could I love them all more? Impossible. I’ll miss having a delightfully symbiotic roommate.
I’ll miss wondering about all the people who left their doors closed freshman year whom I see at random parties and places and always felt like there would still be time to get to know them.
I’ll miss the masses gathered on Marathon Monday cheering on the runners while getting drunk on pina-colada slurpees. I’ll miss the spontaneous epic snowball fights during the first big snowstorm of the year. I’ll miss the freebies at Splash and Fall Welcome.
I’ll miss the fact I never fulfilled my fantasies associated with the Tsai catwalk, Citgo Sign and Fenway Park. Photography … of course.
I’ll miss being able to take free dance and music classes. I’ll miss working out three times a month at best, when there were several free gyms at my disposal and a whole lot of sidewalk to cavort on. I’ll resent the fact they only built a nice gym to open after I graduate.
I’ll miss writing on my computer while listening to illegally downloaded music, saving no money and opening three credit cards. I’ll remember those credit cards for a long time to come.
A huge et cetera.
I won’t miss Silber. I won’t miss the rats.
And so it ends. Commencement. A new beginning, a void of unemployment and homelessness, a chance to be an adult. Crazy, isn’t it?
Whatever comes, I wish you all the best of luck and the fullest of life. Love your city, love your world and remember: These four years, whether they are just beginning or coming to a grand finale, despite the tears, fears and uncertainty, may be the best of your life.
Matuya Brand, a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences, has been a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press.
This is an account occasionally used by the Daily Free Press editors to post archived posts from previous iterations of the site or otherwise for special circumstance publications. See authorship info on the byline at the top of the page.
