Pieces of BGSU

A week ago today, I was frantically filling out paperwork as my father was hauling everything I value in overstuffed boxes and a repairman was reassembling my bed. It is very relieving to sit here now, casually, in my clean, decorative dorm room. I think by now every new student has funny stories to tell. Half got lost, a third forgot their meal cards—no, I’m kidding, I’m just making statistics up—but really, it has been one interesting week.
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I think one of the best things about Bowling Green is the residential communities. Coming from nine hours away, I was really horrified about what living on-campus could mean for me. I had no friends at BG . . . actually I had no friends in the entire state of Ohio. So I joined the Arts Village, a community of artists that resides in Kreischer-Compton. It was probably the best decision I made that year.

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I didn’t understand a single word he said. I had taken four years of Spanish in high school, so the next step was SPAN 352: Composition and Conversation 1. The only problem was that in high school my teachers still spoke English. This instructor wouldn’t speak more than 10 words of English for the entire semester. Maybe it would have been better to take it in the fall of my freshman year rather than the spring, or maybe I would’ve been just as lost. Point being, I sat there for 50 minutes staring at this instructor and didn’t pick up more than a few words. Maybe I really wasn’t suited for being a Spanish minor.

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So, I wake up about an hour before class (as usual) and I say to my roommate, “I’m going to take a shower. Are you going to be here or do I have to bring my keys with me to get back into the room?”  She says, “I’m going to be here” and I say, “Okay, then I’m not bringing my keys.” 

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Today was the first official day of the school year. Classes began, everyone was on campus and things were in FULL motion. I’ve only had two classes so far today, and I’m already feeling the pressure. My teachers are nice, funny, energetic, vibrant (ya know: all of the things we want our high school teachers to be like). However, their amazing personalities cannot hide the fact that I will be doing a truckload of homework for them. At this point, college is slapping me in the face, I’m hungry and worst of all – I am severely homesick.

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After three years of living on campus in a tiny room, eating at the same dining hall every day, waking up in the middle of the night to fire alarms and walking about a mile to get to my car, I was MORE than ready to move off campus. So I moved into an apartment with my girlfriend.

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It’s Friday evening – the calm after the storm.  I haven’t heard about any trampling incidents or residents stuck in Sterilites, but neither would surprise me.  My day started with a bang when I pulled my car into the parking lot of Harshman Dunbar at 7:45, almost to the second.  There was talk of volunteers with moving carts, but I didn’t believe in such luck until I saw them, 15 minutes later, buzzing around in their orange shirts.  Without their help, I’d still be pushing and pulling heavy boxes toward the entrance doors.
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I have learned some classic lessons from my first year of college: how to fix a printer, how to speed-read and how to rent textbooks.  I’ve learned some tough lessons, too. One hard—albeit, memorable—lesson was that all-nighters are not the bright, productive ideas they seem to be.  College students need sleep. You’d think we’d know this rule, but we’re always challenging it.  I learned this in a funny way. 
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It was 3 a.m. on a school night and there was a knock on my dorm door. I was asleep, but the knock was so loud it woke me. I rolled over and crawled out of my bed (which was lofted at the time) and to the door. I looked around for my roommate, saw she wasn’t there and then opened the door. There were two guys standing there, in a significantly less than sober condition. Their eyes were bloodshot. I frowned and asked what they wanted and they asked where my roommate was. They then went on to explain to me that my roommate was giving them their ‘fix’ for the night and that it should be in her top drawer. They said that I could just give it to them and they’ll pay me so I can give the money to her.

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Coming into college, we have all these expectations for how life and love is supposed to happen. We watch tons of movies about college life and watch all the girls get drunk and sleep with men they barely know. We hear our parents talk about how they met in college, how they fell in love. We hear professors talk about how college is so much more than just learning what the textbooks say. At Bowling Green, they have a whole group of people who found their life partners, got married and now come back to BG as the place their life began.

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