A City I Now Call Home

This is the condensed introduction, rehearsed to perfection, that has brought me great success in making acquaintances at the self-contained City that this University really is. I even know which words to emphasize to significantly increase my chances of making acquaintances. However, I say acquaintances instead of friends because only three weeks have gone by and I haven't had the time to share life stories, experience the hysteria of finals, or suffer stomachaches from the dining hall food (because suffering together always brings people closer) - all necessary to establishing lifelong friendships. And because I've always had the best friends back home, it's been a bit lonely.

I live in a dormitory area located on the north side of the campus. The north side is quiet and dormant; crickets sing their mating songs without disturbance; horses and carriages are still the primary mode of transportation; aliens drop by to kidnap earthlings only to leave discouraged and empty-handed; and the city lights in the distance are a solemn reminder that we are stranded.

This area is on a hill. To bike enthusiasts, the hill presents an opportunity to break the sound barrier as they ride down texting and sipping coffee. But to the ill-advised, ignorant first-years, equipped with nothing but flabby limbs and desperation for shelter, it is a problem. So for even the most ambitious first-year looking for a social life, the 30- to 40-minute walk to the south side of campus and back is a lofty endeavor.

In addition to the distance and incline, this isn't exactly the safest campus in the world. In fact, the first words from our lovely residential director and advisers were about the possible dangers that lurk outside. So while most people continue to enjoy themselves through the night, the "Hillbillies" retreat to the dorms when the sun goes down to avoid the potential of being attacked by a homeless person.

But contrary to the warning, the homeless have done more good to me than bad. They sing songs playing an old, out-of-tune guitar in front of the giant block many classes are held in, and they acknowledge my existence - something most of my fellow students do not. Essentially, the homeless people are an addition to the campus that makes it vibrant and different.

Apart from the homeless, this University has people I've never met before: communists, socialists, folks who sit on poles, protesters, a 7-foot-6-inch Chinese man, and people talking to themselves. Everything has been new to me, a happy- go-lucky kid from suburbia. The sights, sounds and tastes have all been different, some for the good, some not.

Even though I complain about our Dorm's hilltop location, I recently saw a sun set in HD quality without any smog to alter its beauty. The next day, I ran around a forest glade at midnight with a hundred people playing Capture the Flag.

Two Saturdays ago, I saw the entire city in unity as we destroyed our traditional first-game football rivals 52-13. At the stadium, I was able to partake in the loud shouting and the card stunt which, if it had lacked my individual performance, might have altered the score detrimentally. Looking up at the crowd, the sea of Our Colors and shouting "Go Go Go" in a fashion that is no longer a pre-adolescent high school screech, I realized I'm part of something special.

And although every day has something new, some things are starting to become consistent. I've found where I can avoid starvation, which road leads me to my desired destination without endangering my life, and which bathroom stalls accommodate my needs. But more significantly, I'm starting to see more of the same people instead of constantly meeting new people only to have them go MIA.

I think this means I'm on the path to making friends and not just acquaintances. I think the loneliness is going to disappear. And I think I'm starting to call this place home.