A New Beginning

Goooooood Morning Chestnut Hill (Newton? Brighton? I’m still not sure),

As we get settled in to start another thrilling semester full of exciting “just memorize the slides” lectures, crazy “I’m not going to dress up for that” theme parties, and unexpected post-pubescent  “I thought I had escaped back hair” discoveries, I thought it might be nice to sit back on my RA-approved, recycled piece of plastic bed and share a few things with all you BC guys and gals.

So. Senior year. What a rush, amiright? Along with all the thrills of not getting a mod (or of getting a mod and realizing the rooms are small, the AC doesn’t work, and a closed back door is an invitation to freshmen), along with the loss of the thrill that comes with drinking alcohol illegally, and along with our mundane (oh, you still celebrate those?) twenty-second birthdays, comes the quiet satisfaction of having made it this far without screwing up yet. We can now appreciate the subtle peacefulness that surrounds frantically searching for a job (you CSOM’ers) or looking to get a how-have-you-not-had-one-of-those-yet internships (all you English majors out there).

There also comes that calm assertion that yes, we are indeed the BMOC’s (Although this sounds like a gender-specific term, I mean for it to apply to both men and women alike. However, I don’t recommend directly calling a girl a “Big Woman On Campus”). We can spot freshmen from a mile away on Student Activities Day – now renamed “Student Involvement Fair,” for political correctness – we know exactly who’s not allowed into the mod party, and we know just who to beat up when we run out of lunch money.

With senior year comes the ability to navigate the abyss that is SPO. Don't you just love those dinners they keep inviting (cough forcing) us to go to? As the oldest on campus we also have the responsibility to be the “mature” ones in our clubs, the ones who “set a good example” for the underclassmen and who don’t “always make fart jokes” during meetings. We are respected – nay, adored across campus, and this year is to be the cherry on top of our academic career, the icing on our cake, the fries at the bottom of the bag. For there is only one more year to go, only one more round to fight, only one more nail to clip off of the foot of our education.

As the great Western lyricist Onika Tanya Maraj says, “Starships were meant to fly.” Class of 2013, I raise my non-alcoholic beer to you. Go set the world aflame.