Lost in Translation
On April 9, I had my college graduation in the back room of O’Connors. No, you didn’t get the date wrong—actual Commencement is still bright and early on May 17. But on April 9, I sat with my fellow English majors as our professors shared kind words, wisdom and appetizers with us. And as each professor stood to speak, to give us advice, to wish us well, I realized that this was it. This was my goodbye. My coming-full-circle-as-an-English-major. My real graduation.
As I sat listening to Professor Thoreen advising us to read to our children, Professor Meyer admitting we were her favorite class, Professor Lang being his witty self and Professor Land laughing that infamous laugh, I began to tear up. Because truthfully, out of everything I’ve been a part of in my three years here, being an English major has shaped me the most. It is what I’m most grateful for, and I can say with confidence that if the rest of this school were more like the professors in the English department, the College would be a better place.
As my senior year comes to a very quick close (believe me, I’m not waking up to write essays at 7:30 for fun), I find myself reflecting on other parts of my three years here at Assumption. But unlike a lot of the seniors I’ll be walking across the stage with, I’m not sad. I won’t cry at graduation, and I won’t forever long for “those college days.” I will not miss college.
If you’re still reading, I know this is not the sentimental, nostalgic, last-column-of-senior-year-ever you wanted to read, but bear with me. I will not miss college because I’m leaving it on a high note. I’ve realized it can’t get any better than this, and I’d like to drive home one last time with a smile on my face and gratitude in my heart.
As everything but my schoolwork seems to be ending (can you say ‘debilitating senioritis?’), I realize how lucky I’ve been in my time at Assumption. Nothing about my college experience has been typical: I’m choosing to graduate a year early, and, as everyone knows, I’m definitely better at Netflix than at socializing. I’ve never even been to what I hear is the best bar in the world, Leit’s (still only 20 over here). But despite my failings as your typical college senior, I’m leaving Six Men and the Provoc office and Assumption and Worcester with so much to be grateful for.
Those who know me best know that my one, ironic, true love is rap. Yes, I know I’m five feet tall and I know I read Shakespeare for fun and I know that these, in combination with my love for rap, make no sense, but I can’t help it. I’m obsessed. So as I was listening to Wale the other day, a particular line from his song “Letter” struck me:
It’s only right we lose greatness at its pinnacle.
And although Wale was talking about Tupac when he wrote this, I couldn’t help but think of graduation. It’s only right to leave Assumption at our peak. When our friends are the best, when the Worcester snow has finally melted and when we feel like we’ve done all we can, as best we can. It’s time, seniors. It’s time to lose our greatness at its pinnacle so we can look back on it with a smile and no regrets (ok, maybe some regrets).
This past week, the Provoc won the Club of the Year Award. I squealed screams of excitement with my staff and our advisor, but more than excitement, I felt pure happiness. The award symbolizes how far we’ve come and all that we’ve worked for, and I couldn’t be prouder of all of the editors and writers that have contributed this year. Our mustard-colored office in the basement of Hagan has been a home to me for the past two years, and although it will be weird to leave it once and for all, never again opening the door and flipping on the light, I will leave it with no tears in my eyes or sadness in my heart. Not because I won’t miss it and the wonderful people inside, but because we’ve hit our pinnacle. We’ve come full circle, and I’d like to leave it as that.
On May 17 (technically “real” graduation), I’ll probably be fidgeting and dreaming of the summer days of post-grad life that are so close. I’ll be half paying attention (like I do so well), and I’ll already be missing my friends—but I won’t be crying. I’ll walk across the stage with a smile that says thank you for everything you’ve given me. Goodbye. I love you.