Although I did not cry at graduation, I cried a lot when I finally arrived at the place that would shape the next four years of my life. The first wave of tears came when my mom and sister bid me farewell, the floodgates opening soon after the last box of my clothes arrived safely in my room. All the ones that escaped my tear ducts afterward would bloom from seeds of insecurity and uncertainty. I finally had what felt like the world at my fingertips. But what to do with it? I will admit after seeing my roommate, who I had barely uttered a word to, take off the next morning while I was still glued to my stuffed animal-adorned bed, I was consumed by envy of her confidence and independence, and startled by the apparent lack of my own. I had already felt as though I was the turtle in the race of socialization. I was so focused on making it to university, that now that I was here, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. The friends I had back home all had each other, as they went to the state school more than half our high school class would be attending. I refused to let wallowing in my self-pity become an option though, and so I found myself gearing up for the day, not knowing where I was headed, but letting my footsteps lead me out the door anyway.

Instead of heading to the bookstore or the library when I stepped out into the salty, brisk wind of New York autumn, I forced myself over to a dining hall where I would meet my first round of prospective friends. In retrospect who could blame me? Since I could remember, American media had been spoon-feeding me tales of wild parties, new romantic partners every week, and substances I could barely wrap my tongue around pronouncing. My university itself was selling the slogan, ‘This is the best four years of your life!’ (I definitely haven’t heard that before) to students, reminding us at every turn that we’d never know if our soulmate would be lurking at the fifth free pizza event of the week. Despite having been proven wrong about this four-year bonanza before, I ashamedly fell for it again. I fell into step with the often-time robotic script of asking everyone I crossed paths with, “What’s your name? Where are you from? What’s your major?” I was maybe a little too optimistic, and too convinced that I would in fact meet my future spouse at the speed dating event at the dorm a twenty-minute walk from me. I collected Instagram usernames for sport, and I still have numbers on my phone that have never been contacted, and whose names I no longer recognize. It felt as though if I did not make friends that week, the window for all the relationships that awaited me for the next four years would close its doors and remain shut for the rest of my college career. Overdramatic yes, but it was the gospel I preached and practiced. Birds of a feather flock together, and if you had not found people to latch on to during that first week, you could kiss your social life goodbye. At the end of it all, I emerged victorious in my endeavor and had multiple individuals I felt I could call friends, despite knowing them for a measly couple of days. I would soon discover that although I survived the battle, there was a greater war to come.

By Tiana Gregg

Tiana is a rising junior at NYU majoring in English and minoring in Art History. She spends her days reading, writing, listening to music, and indulging in just about every hobby (except sports!) you can think of to fill her time. You will never find her idling.

For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  

At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.

In the weeks leading up to my high school graduation, I swore up and down to anyone who would listen that I would be bawling like a baby upon hearing the first name hesitantly called out by our principal. I cried at the sound of the bell ringing signaling our last day of school, I wailed tears of misery the last time I saw my best friend, and I almost ruined my graduation photos with the tear tracks drying up crustily on my foundation-patted cheeks. The actual ceremony felt like a blur, a simple hour spent listening to names be called that I’d never hear uttered again, and peering into the crowd in the stands for faces I recognized. I remember determinedly weaving through bodies in a crowd in its aftermath, in search of the familiar faces of my friends and family. As we all eventually found our way to each other, I took in their various expressions, some delirious with joy, some drowning in relief, and some helplessly devastated. One face in particular was sobbing out uncontrollably, and as I teased her for the state she was in she hid her face in the crook of her gown-clad elbow and blubbered out through a mess of snot and tears, “Why aren’t you crying?”

Of course, I had been asking myself the same question since we took our seats in front of the podium.  I know I have the bad human habit of looking at the past through rose-colored glasses, romanticizing the worst of times, and yearning for a me that no longer exists. High school is no exception, and I have plenty of good memories from that period of my life, but my graduation is one event my mind has not been able to sugarcoat. The immediate response that rang through my head was, ‘Well, because I hated it here’. Although it does feel like an overstatement to say that I hated my high school, it was indeed a word I threw around a lot in association with the establishment. In most instances, it was fueled by teenage angst, and out of spite for the often ridiculous rules we were bound by inside its steadily chipping blue-painted walls. But at other, more desperate times, it was shouted out of sheer frustration from the mouth of my 16-year-old self in response to my parent’s inquiries, crushed by a pressure that was always looming over my head. To hate something is to care, and I cared so much about things that have become relatively trivial to me now, but that seemed to be equivalent to the weight of the world a mere two years ago. I always felt like I was embedded in a crisis, whether it was if my stomach looked flat enough to wear the new crop top I bought, the number displayed in my Instagram followers, or finding a steady group to sit with at lunch. One building had been the center of my universe for nearly half a decade, and in one moment, all of the things I nursed so carefully in my mind for years seemingly dissipated, and it was all over. At that moment I realized just how small me and my worries were, as they fell into another drop into the bucket that is life. In my smallness, the world felt overwhelmingly bigger, and through me rushed a feeling I haven’t the words to explain. So I smiled sheepishly at my friend and responded with an bashful, “I don’t know”.

By Tiana Gregg

Tiana is a rising junior at NYU majoring in English and minoring in Art History. She spends her days reading, writing, listening to music, and indulging in just about every hobby (except sports!) you can think of to fill her time. You will never find her idling.

For over 20 years, the Campus Clipper has been offering awesome student discounts in NYC,  from the East Side to Greenwich Village. Along with inspiration, the company offers students a special coupon booklet and the Official Student Guide, which encourages them to discover new places in the city and save money on food, clothing, and services.  

At the Campus Clipper, not only do we help our interns learn new skills, make money, and create wonderful e-books, we give them a platform to teach others. Check our website for more student savings and watch our YouTube video showing off some of New York City’s finest students during the Welcome Week of 2015.