To be completely honest, I write these columns because I like seeing my name in print. I like having a lot of people read what I write, and I like the possibility of making someone else think about what occupies my thoughts. I am, of course, almost completely unqualified to tell people what to think about anything, and I try to ignore this fact when I do write.
This is a special week. Instead of writing something about which I am completely unqualified to do so for reasons that are completely selfish and narcissistic, I am writing about something I’ve experienced for reasons that are only somewhat selfish though still completely narcissistic. This week, you see, is my sister’s second week of college, and I am going to try to make Abha’s life a little easier. If she can take something useful away from my writing, I hope that you can, too.
Dear Abha, I will begin, the first month of college isn’t fun, no matter how excited you were this summer. What you’re feeling isn’t misery so much as it is disorientation; you’re not showering in your shower, you’re not sleeping in your bed. Instead, you’re showering in some generic tile stall, sleeping in a wooden box and living with people you hardly know. Everything has a damp mustiness to it, and you miss the clean carpet of our house.
It gets better. By the end of the year, the heavy wooden desk will have seen you through so many nights of cramming that you’ll blame it if you do badly on an exam, and the damp and musty bed will be so welcoming that you’ll skip class just to spend more time with it. The people you hardly know will either become friends, enemies or scenery. Either way, they will become an inseparable part of your new life and, in time, your memory. The showers, on the other hand, will get no better in either fact or perception and may get more disgusting. It’s better that way, of course, because as long as you’re still discomfited by mildew, you’re still somewhat clean.
You’re lonely, and there is no reason not to be. You don’t know anybody, and everyone you know is far away. It would be nice to say that in time you will meet people with whom you click, and that these kindred souls will become your dearest friends. It would be a lie. The great secret of college friendships is this: You can be best friends with almost anybody, and your nearest and dearest friends will be determined chiefly by convenience. My best friends from college are those people who lived on the first floor of the tower in which I lived freshman year. I got to know them simply because I would crash on their couch between classes rather than climbing four floors to my own room. In time, you will find that laziness will direct you to those people you can come to love. Until then, don’t be fooled by the forced camaraderie that you see on campus. Those boys who whoop and yell through dinner may drunkenly say that they love each other, but the reason they use nicknames is because they don’t know real ones. Everyone in your class is as lonely and disconnected as you are.
Some people will tell you that joining clubs is the best way to meet people - I say that it’s one way but not the best way. There are other reasons for joining clubs. First, it’s the last time that you will be able to devote energy to a cause in which you believe. After college, you either grow so cynical that you don’t think you can help or else time becomes too precious to throw at baby seals. When this happens, the one thing that can keep you from feeling ashamed is the knowledge that you once spent a weekend making banners for an Amnesty International march.
Second, college extracurriculars are the last opportunity you will have to do something you love but at which you are lousy. I loved ordering people around but hated responsibility, so I became president of my college council, where nobody really cared. If I wanted to do that now I’d have to run for Senate in a Southern state. So go, flounce around a stage and tell other actors that they have the intense soul of a huntress or publish an epic about Banana Republic.
The major you choose is very important. It will, believe it or not, determine what the world sees you as being qualified to do for the rest of your life. The irony of this scheme is this: If you major in that which you love, you will end up having no time to do it because of your job. Creative writing majors don’t write much because after a long day of waiting tables they just don’t have the energy; drama majors do most of their acting as customer service representatives. Instead, find something that you enjoy and major in that. Cultivate your passion and it will eventually dominate your life. Remember: Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive and one of the century’s greatest poets; Harrison Ford was a carpenter and Han Solo. Work for your living, but live for what you love to do.
Finally, though I am loathe to address it - dating. Dating in college is a new toy. No parents, no rules, just you and the playing field. Unfortunately, you will soon find that an 18-year-old boy is as mature as an 8-year-old boy. Oddly, a 28-year-old boy is also as mature as an 8-year-old boy. In an enclosed space all that testosterone soaks into the ventilation and that immaturity is nurtured. Put five of them in a room for a year, and they’re not going to discover their feminine sides. Put 20 of them in a house, and they’ll think that a flaming bag of dog poop is Oscar Wilde incarnate. Eventually, though, one of them will notice you, because while high school boys react to female brains as if they were kryptonite, college boys look at intellect and see something attractive. Be picky. You can afford to be.
Overall, it’s going to be a wonderful time, even if you don’t realize it while it’s happening. You’ll build a life of your own, and you can be proud of it. You will come to define who you are, and when you do, hold on to that. Because one day, you might find that under that which is a reactive, conditioned or media-crafted self image, nothing of your core remains.
If that happens, let me know. I’ll be happy to write a column called “Welcome to the real world.” And in the meanwhile, remember that you can always go home again.
Rishi Kundi, State News graduate columnist, can be reached at kundiris@msu.edu.
