A Semester Summary

As I pulled onto campus on Monday morning, it suddenly hit me just how fast these four years have gone. It seems unbelievable that in a few short months we will be thrown into the real world (or for most of my friends, into the world of grad school). We'll find new jobs, make new friends, learn new cities, move into new apartments. But not necessarily because we want to... mostly because we have to move out by 5 pm on May 22nd or they will kick us out. I find myself wavering between two groups -- Group A: the people who will be kicking, screaming and crying as their parents drag them off campus and Group B: the people who have accepted that change is inevitable and they should embrace this "exciting" time in our lives. Some days, I would like nothing more than to leave behind the Friday nights full of shrieking girls in stilettos outside my window and the horror that is 8 am classes. But on other days, I can't imagine leaving behind these people, these professors, this campus, in search of my next "thing" (this coming from the girl who never thought she would utter the words, "I really don't want to graduate...").
So instead of living in denial, I've decided to just fill this year to the brim. I was off to a good start last semester with plenty of time spent with roommates, Alex, professors, myself. I lounged on the docks (but did not jump in (Annie and Michelle did, picture below)... don't even try to dare me to... I refuse),

laughed at the fall "concert" (comedian Demetri Martin), traveled to see the Poet's House in the city with LAS (complete with a performance by Natalie Merchant), organized by our devoted president, Flor, pictured below,

watched the lanterns be launched from the new pedestrian walking bridge over the Hudson with my housemates and best friends,

spent a weekend here with Lauren (including a walk across the pedestrian bridge (well... halfway anyway)), then spent a weekend in Boston with Marisa,

then spent a weekend celebrating my sister's 30th birthday (complete with dancing with the aunties and Grandma Veet at Vapor nightclub at the Racino),

then spent a weekend in Washington, D.C. for the honors conference with Amanda and Flor,

after cramming in my last LAS Spooky Slam.

I went to the dance show, Into the Woods (starring my fabulous housemate Courteney) (the Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood are picture below),

African drumming (as Amanda demonstrates below),

and The Tragedy of Harvey Dent (a Shakespearean play written and preformed by the English capping group), starring Alexa, pictured below,

went to a packed house women's basketball game with Amanda,

and closed out the semester with our last LAS meeting, complete with Santa hats and Christmas lights.

Can you really blame me for not wanting to leave this behind? And that's just the "events." I also had fantastic classes taught by some of my favorite professors at Marist (consequently conquering C+ Sue's grading, gaining a new appreciation for film, writing some decent poetry, analyzing mine (and others') personalities, and completing my psych and global studies minors (complete with a mini capping paper/presentation about multiculturalism in Australia) and my honors requirements (minus my senior honors project -- redesigning the Marist Abroad handbook)). I became closer friends with some people and made some new friends, played intramural volleyball, made some serious money at Marist Poll and online proofreading (and had lots of fun doing it), advised future Australia-bound students, got published in The Circle, The Generator, and The Globetrotter and was co-editor of my fourth Mosaic.
This upcoming semester holds more of the same, plus a new internship (location TBD) and hopefully some job shadowing to attempt to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. I don't know exactly what the future will bring, but I know one thing for sure -- when May 22 rolls around, despite the tears I'm sure I'll shed (what would a graduation be without a red-nosed, cheek-stained Amy???), I will have made the most of my time at Marist and I'll be fully (okay, maybe not fully, but mostly) prepared for the next stage of my life.

Procrastination brings out the best in us

I am ashamed to see that it has been six months since I last blogged. I can't even begin to sum up everything that has happened in the past six months, so I am not even going to try. Glimpses include San Francisco, Florida, the fulfillment of very long-time-coming dreams, random reoccurring friends, lounging in the pool with Tonya, spending my days with a 5-year-old, going on my first date in over two years, making a new best guy friend because of a common goal of saving each other, torrential downpours, interesting article subjects, trips to Connecticut, a momentary revival of a flame thought long dead, Cold Stone, accusations, flower-picture-taking, working, living in Champagnat again (flashback central), walks by the river, Grease!, Avenue Q, Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, Texas, papers, poetry, kisses, snuggling, parties, Boston, Australia-planning, internship applications, newspaper and Mosaic editing, lack of sleep, and finally the feeling that college may be the best time of my life.
For the first time the other night, as I was surrounded by my literary friends in the Henry Hudson room, I thought, "I'm going to be sad to leave this place," and I never thought I would think those words. But now that I actually am leaving, in February for Australia, I am starting to get a pit in my stomach. I'm going to miss my friends, my coworkers, my fellow club members. I'm going to miss my house, and the river, and even that annoying noise the cross-walk light makes. I'm going to miss hot cocoa with the girls, Chinese food with Alex, and late nights putting together the Mosaic with Amanda. I'm going to miss losing every game of intramural volleyball with my dedicated team.
It is so strange that this place that was once so foreign, so daunting, so unwelcoming to me is now the place I am going to long for; it now holds the people that I care about so deeply, the memories that I can only hope to remember.
But now, an essay and a snuggling partner await me, so I will stop writing for tonight. I promise to write more later, and post some pictures (sometimes it helps to "say it outloud").

Inspiration

Today, I was inspired in class. You might be thinking, "Well that's not news, you're in college!" but sometimes, classes can go weeks, even semesters without leaving me with the least bit of inspiration. They sometimes even leave me feeling less inspired than when I walked in the door.
But today, I was inspired in class. I was inspired to write. Every day. To "stretch my muscles," as my teacher, Dr. Lyn Lepre said. And why shouldn't I? I love writing. Ever since Garrett asked me to dance in 4th grade, I've kept a diary. Sometimes, I'd neglect it for a week, and then have three pages of gossip to catch up on (mostly during those tumultuous Middle School years). Other times, I can go without writing for half a year, and be able to sum up that time period in a page.
Dr. Lepre suggested that starting a blog would help us to show our talent, to maybe help us get an internship, or a job. But I want to do it for myself. To give myself an outlet, and to write down what is happening in my life.
It seems that my life is flying by, (Steven can attest to this, as I often say, "Well last year at One Acts, our grade..." and he'll remind me that senior year of High School was, in fact, two years ago). Which seems insane. I've done so much in those two years, and yet if I tried to sum it up right now, I'm not exactly sure what I would write.
I guess I'd begin with the move to Marist College. I had to arrive early for band camp. My "band buddy" sucked, not helping at ALL; she even broke my lamp. It was a terrifying three days. I had to talk to people I didn't know, and wasn't even sure if I wanted to know. I had my dorm room to myself, and spent my spare time tacking pictures onto the wall of friends and family.
Then, my roommate arrived. We had chatted on instant messenger a little, and I had pre-judged her to be a slutty, ditsy, California beach-bum. Which, when I put it that way, she kind of was. Well, minus the slutty part. Actually, she's pretty smart too. And if by beach-bum, it somehow connotates a hard-working, dedicated water polo player then, well, she's that too.
My cousins teased me, role playing a potential future conversation between Kelly and I:
Amy: What sport do you play?
Kelly: Water polo. What do you play? Like, intramural volleyball or something???
Amy: Uh... actually, yeah.
The first time I saw her, I was coming back from band camp, hot, sweaty, and a little annoyed I had to take the stairs, because the elevators were jam packed with luggage and irritated parents moving in their non-band freshman into a 9 story dorm. I opened the door, and there was Kelly. She exclaimed, "Hiii!" and hugged me. From that point on, I knew everything was going to be okay.
I don't know how I lucked out so fantastically with the roommate I was assigned freshman year. Most people have horror stories; I just have hundreds of memories. Like convincing ourselves that we should write a book about how Tetris is a metaphor for life; or converting to the California time zone, which meant we were up until 2 or 3 am every morning so that she could talk to her boyfriend, Jeff, on her webcam; to sunbathing on the green; or dishing about the latest scandal with our friends from home; or chips and salsa parties on the floor with Rachel (Kelly later told me that she was ready to kill me after the first week of school because I ate chips and salsa all the time, and apparently I'm a really loud chewer...); or rearranging our room, quite haphazardly; or asking for endless advice, sharing secrets, and laughing until we cried. She was everything I could have asked for in a freshman year roommate, and more. And then she left. More on that later.
The first semester was pretty much hell for me. I liked my classes and clubs, but hated the dorm life. It was loud, and dirty, and annoying. It seemed as though all anyone did on Friday and Saturday... and Tuesday and Thursday, for that matter, nights was pre-game (loudly) in their rooms, go out to skeezy bars, get ridiculously drunk, come back to the dorm, cry (loudly) in the hallway, throw-up in the bathroom, and pass out in their beds until 1 pm the next day. That was not how I wanted to spend my time; these were not people I wanted to spend my time with.
But eventually, I found my real friends, and made some great memories. My two best decisions were making an intramural volleyball team (adding to my cousins' jokes) and joining Literary Arts Society. For volleyball, I was having difficulty figuring out how to make a team, as I knew practically no one. But knowing that, out of the 1100 students in our class, there had to be 6 people who wanted to play volleyball once a week for half an hour, I started my search. I ended up finding some pretty cool people, and through those people, met more cool people.
As for Literary Arts Society, it's where I feel at home. With them, the hours pass by so quickly, and I never seem to care that I have a paper due the next morning at 8 am, or that I really need to be packing to leave the next day. We have our meeting, and then we just stay, and rant, and laugh, and give ourselves some down time with some awesome people.
Second semester was a lot better. Spring is my favorite time here, with people playing Frisbee and sunbathing on the green, going swimming at the pool, going to the water polo games, wearing tee-shirts and capris, looking forward to summer, etc. I'm going to be so sad to miss it next year, when I'll be abroad. More on that later.
So anyway, that was freshman year. It was a roller coaster of emotions... sometimes I felt like I was stuck, upside-down, at the peak of the highest coaster in the world, other times I felt like I was free-falling, the wind in my face, smiling widely.
The summer after freshman year, I had the opportunity to go to Peru with my High School. It was the trip of a lifetime, and I'll never forget the memories from that trip (I might even list them in detail later, to make sure I won't forget them).
And now, I'm back here again, 3 and a half semesters in my belt, four and a half to go. And then life begins. But I can't think about that now. I have reading due for tomorrow, an essay due for Friday, and I just spent an hour writing. And I don't regret it at all.