Diary of a College Freshman: The First Year

Freshman year. College. You put these words together and you could smell a future disaster. It's the beginning of a new chapter in life, and if you're my age, you know that it's important. Young people are always told that it's a totally different environment, and here's the thing - it is. There's the thought of leaving your roots in your hometown, having to deal with the pressure of succeeding among thousands of strangers, and oh yeah--roommates, the freshmen 15, and the freedom. The freedom alone is something that scares people. Imagine, you've been under your parents' roof for a solid 17, 18 years, and BAM...you're on your own. It can be an overwhelming feeling and many go about the power of emancipation in totally different ways. It can be a real trip.

For me, I remember the whole process leading up into going off to college for my first year. It always starts to creep up in your senior year of high school. Now for me, I had always been cognizant of this moment, the time when I'd have to step out and pursue a higher education. I had thought about this since my sophomore year of high school and I did little things so I wouldn't have to concern myself with the shock of leaving, but this is beside the point. In my senior year, I was just even worried about my first year (it was probably because I was so preoccupied about where I was going; I swear I could've went to about five different schools, depending on the time of the year--sheesh). A lot of other people were like me, too, where they were just deciding on schools or already had their mind set on a certain place. And then there were the "others."

The others were the ones that basically were always talking about how "scary" and how "big" college seems. Many of these people didn't go far off, settling on community colleges and what have you. Then, there were the others who I and my best friend Aaron called "riders." These were the type that lived and died talking about how great my hometown was and that they'd never leave; in other words, they'd "ride or die" there. Laughably, these were also big potheads and drug abusers and didn't do well enough in school to make a dent in the college application process anyway, so I quickly denounced them in my mind.

These people made up the pool of individuals from which I came in my school-age years. Now I'm a very confidant person, so worrying about my frosh year in college wasn't too big on my list of concerns...but I did get tired of hearing about my "going off" (in fact, that has always bothered me, I mean, yeah, I'm leaving for school but I don't need to hear from what seems to be every single adult on the planet about how I'm going "up somewhere" for college--I know I'm leaving or I've left, please...don't trouble me further with the talk, you know?). When I finally got up to The Ohio State University ("Go Bucks", I guess), I was just happy to get away from home, but it was an adjustment. Briefly, I didn't want to go. I was home for summer break for four whole months, I was chillin' out, and I didn't really want to be bothered with the grind. I mean, I knew it was going to be different, but a grind's a grind, no? So, despite that, I left and left early, actually. I arrived to the campus to do a program that allowed future freshman students to work with each other, in order to prepare for the official student move-in day and establish firm relationships with others from the jump. I did it really because I had the jumpstart in deciding which part of the room I'd take for myself and the free school shirt (which I still dearly own). This was good and I was happy to be there when I was, because after this things became more interesting, in the context of roommates and things (which I will jump on a little later).

The beginning of my first year was actually pretty good. I was started out on the right foot. I made the dean's list, I made a lot of friends, I didn't really miss home, and the allure of being a college student seemed to actually grow on me (I think it was because I felt that I was in a more mature, academic environment). I wasn't at home and I felt more productive. I was getting along with my roommates and the rest of my hallmates--I even met and became good friends with people in my other classes, people I still speak with to this day. It felt easy, I be honest. Sure, I hated the 8:30 Spanish classes Monday through Friday, and dealing with some pretty ignorant hallmates on my floor kind of pissed me off, but I was off on something good. I remember being so surprised that I did so well, because I thought it would have been harder (although having a weekly class with your advisor will help you feel really good about your progress in the first quarter of your college experience). Even my long-distance relationship with my former girlfriend didn't seem so bad (actually, I needed the space, but don't tell her I told you that). I knew Mom and Dad missed me being around, but they didn't have to worry about me. I had always been the one to be reliable in almost all cases of living, in terms of dealing with people and school. It was a boost for confidence.