I have now obtained a piece of paper that says that I have graduated from Loyola University Maryland. This piece of paper is supposed to be my key to my future, or something like that. It is supposed to open doors for me that I would not have been able to open otherwise. This may be the case, but I could honestly not give a Moe’s queso right now.
Honestly, if all that were true, and described everything completely, I probably could have received that same piece of paper (more or less) in less time, online, so I wouldn’t have to even leave my house bed (for those of you who don’t know me, I am, what you would call, lazy) and still have the same opportunities (or lack thereof #yayjournalism) ahead of me.
Thankfully, there is so much more to the past four years than that large piece of paper in the other room that I almost dropped in between the 57th and 58th picture of me that my parents took. If you took all the memories and people that I have met in the past four years and placed their significance into some sheet of paper, it would be even larger than my degree. It would be a really big sheet of paper.
For starters, I am going to miss the little things. And when I say little things, I mean:
The first time I walked into my freshman year room, having ESPN on in the room from waking up to sleeping, spending most of my time in 209 Butler, the genuine and legitimate FIFA ’06 lounge, Stoko’s/Domino’s cheesy bread nights in 212, Hopkins frat parties, that one time we went to Hooters and watched college football all day, swinging on trees on the walk back from Craigsfest, getting to Reefers at 9pm and ordering more pitchers than needed, walking downstairs to my desk shifts, 15 all you can at the Den, Nelly, the movie game, the variation of the movie game with NFL players, ButProjection Productions, our super cool super bowl party in the common room, knowing you will run into someone awkwardly as you turn the corner around Hammerman, the night we started drinking after our Rocky final, WOMP WOMP FISH, making up various games and playing them in the common room, the (first) Cone…and that’s just freshman year.
People enter and college and come out. For the most part they remain exactly the same. Memories, however, you won’t get to see them outside of school again. Yeah, there’s pictures, yearbooks, and, hell, me and you laughing and recalling them hopefully over a cold drink and hopefully real soon. But the exact moment in all its glory… won’t happen again. Sucks, but that’s just the way it is.
This past year was probably my favorite in the four I had at Loyola. I owe that to a lot of people. Thanks. You know who you are (and who else they are).
Bye, yo.
