A
s much as it may surprise the admissions office, it was not the technological glory of Hodson Hall that made me want to come to Hopkins four years ago.
It was not the pink blossoms covering the campus, the five heavenly underground floors of the MSE Library or the Punishment and Politics class I observed. Sure, I like wireless Internet, but that's not what made me want to forget the Ivies and come to Hopkins.
It was actually the windowless, wireless and dimly lit foyer of Gilman, with the University seal on the floor and the marble plaques on the wall -- the ones in remembrance of the Hopkins men who have given their lives in American wars.
Something about that room -- probably the fact that the air inside it hasn't circulated for a hundred years or so -- gave me the feeling that becoming a Hopkins student was to become a part of something greater, a tradition of excellence, service and active involvement in the world at large.
But I hardly notice that room anymore. I drag my feet through it on the way to the Hut at 2 a.m., or I do laps around the seal while talking on my cell phone on study breaks, or I fly through it, either late to class or escaping from it.
Now, it's just a room with a bunch of doors in it -- one to a coffee shop and a 24-hour library, two to faculty offices that are always closed, and another opening to a beautiful view of c9 another library.
This past weekend, I sat for a while on the leather couches outside that room. In front of me was my first paper of the year -- ironically, from my Punishment and Politics class -- with a big, fat, horrible B- on it. At 22 years old, I might be expected to handle a bad grade like an adult. I'm not going to lie: I cried. A B- was as good as the kiss of death to my GPA as far as I was concerned.
But that was the thing -- I had so much more to be concerned about, like a hundred job and internship applications that had to be FedExed out this week. There was the credit card bill, the phone bill, the car with an empty gas tank, the thousand pages of reading that I had no hope of finishing, the paper due and the junior clearance I still haven't done.
And on top of that, it's Halloween. As my friends talked about their Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen costumes, one looming thought filled my mind: I can't spend Halloween at the library my senior year -- I just can't.
Then, on Monday, as I was walking through that very room of Gilman Hall, I got a call. Apparently while I had been on the treadmill worrying about one thing or another that morning, my uncle had had a heart attack and died -- and suddenly, the air in that room changed from non-circulating to non-existent.
At 22 years old, I might be expected to handle bad news like an adult. I'm not going to lie: I cried. Then I realized I would probably be on a plane to Dallas on Halloween night, that I would be wearing black for a funeral and not a costume, and that a B- was just another random grade on another paper that, after I graduate, I won't remember.
The little world of Hopkins, which had felt so all-important just one phone call before, had opened right back up again. It's strange how, after growing up as members of the world at large for 18 years, we can begin to feel so separated from it -- and we can lose touch with it, buried in our classes and our crushes and our failures and successes.
Before we realize it, fraternity and sorority formals become month-long manifestations of drama, our GPAs rule our existence and the LSATs and MCATs take over our lives. We find ourselves doing and saying things entirely inexplicable, like hosting blatantly racist and insensitive Halloween parties, with either no idea -- or no respect -- for the feelings of others.
I think about whatever incomprehensible series of decisions led to that party and about the outrage that's followed it, and I have ask to myself: Have we grown so out of touch with the real world, and with each other, that we've lost our common sense and decency?
I hope not. But then I think of my immediate reaction to my mother's hysterical phone call in the Gilman foyer: "Mom, I really don't have time to deal with this right now."
Talk about insensitivity; talk about a lack of perspective; talk about a shameful display of self-centeredness. It just came out, like the weird crying fit after the B- paper.
That's enough of that.
