by Lekan Aleshe-Shittu, Staff Writer
Everything I look at is coated in a haze of preemptive nostalgia. I have tried very hard to fight this feeling, yet I find that the harder I try, the hazier it gets. I am often thinking about graduation, about the fact that I will leave here and never come back. And so, when I walk past the Feve, or Aladdin’s, or through Tappan in all the glory of an Oberlin autumn, I am overwhelmed by a sense of sadness and excitement. Sadness, because I have had a very hard time here. Excitement because there is so much beauty, so much color, so much vitality waiting outside this place. Each time I leave—which is rather often—I am reminded of what life could really look like: all the zest and dynamism and electricity of living in a city in your early 20s. But there is sadness too, because Oberlin has been—by all accounts—home. And I do not mean this metaphorically, but in the most literal sense possible. I am not American, and so my permanent address, the address on my phone bill, my credit card, on each application I write, is Oberlin’s. For each day that I have spent in the United States, 135 West Lorain St, has been my place of legal residence. Having this place be my tangible as well as metaphorical home evidently complicates my relationship with it. And so, quite unsurprisingly, I am constantly reflecting on my college experience.
This is where the meat of this issue comes in. I have been ruminating on what it means to squander one’s time in college. I have had many a conversation about this with some of my dear friends, and they usually begin with this statement: “I am afraid I have wasted my time here.” But what the fuck does that even mean? How does one waste their time at Oberlin?
I spent much of my freshman year depressed (if you’ve read this column before, you know I don’t ever shut up about this, but this is truly a part of my lore forever). For the entirety of both semesters, if I wasn't crying or eating, I was complaining. And if I wasn’t complaining, it was because I was too busy crying or eating. Recently, I stumbled upon photos from that time, and a legitimate chill ran down my spine. I kid you not, I was actually fucking terrified.
Oberlin was shit that year, and when the fall of sophomore year came around, it graduated from shit to “huh, not bad.” By sophomore spring, it was, “wow, I think I could really make this work,” and then came junior year: the holy grail, the best fucking year of college I could ask for, chockful of confidence, new friendships, first dates, all-consuming crushes, sweaty parties, long walks around town telling jokes and smoking cigarettes. While I would call sophomore year enjoyable, junior year was the first time in my Oberlin career where I really felt like this was a space for me—a space where I belonged, a space where I actively contributed to its energy and its culture.
Now, in my fourth year, I have never felt more like I deserve to be here. This, evidently, was not always the case. Feeling like Oberlin was a place I could authentically exist without fear, or anger, or disillusionment took a hot fucking minute. But college is almost over. And so, along with this haze of preemptive nostalgia and the beauty and excitement that comes with the prospect of moving on and building a new life, there’s a speck of grief. I’m stuck thinking, “Wow. If only I could’ve felt like this three fucking years ago.”
Yeah, everything is great now, but that shit is still sad as fuck. Freshman year was a quarter of my college experience. Now I am afraid that is a quarter I will never get back.
So…does that mean I’ve “wasted” what is supposed to be some of the best years of my life? (PS, I’ve always found this statement so fucking stupid, because if 18–22 are supposed to be the best years of one’s life, send the fucking flood and wipe us all out now.) I don’t know, man. But what I do know is that this semester, it feels like each party I don’t go to, each lunch date I flake on, each time I say “we should grab dinner!” to an acquaintance but don’t really mean it, I’m further frittering away precious time. It feels like I have to say yes to everything, have to do everything to make up for the times when I was too in my head to do jackshit. I have a tendency to deep things, so maybe none of this really fucking matters. Maybe the idea of a college experience is fake, manufactured by capitalism to ensure we all blow thousands of dollars on a piece of paper. Yet, the truth remains that I am unable to stop contemplating it.
I think this is the first time in all 17 issues where I have no conclusion, no closing thoughts. I just want to hear what others think about the question posed in the title. If you’re reading and want to talk, let me know. I hope you’re doing absolutely beautifully,
All my love,
Leks.
