Complaining about mandatory attendance, then missing it.
COMPLAINING ABOUT MANDATORY ATTENDANCE, THEN MISSING IT.
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Remember those early morning lectures or the occasional discussion section you absolutely dreaded? The ones where showing up felt like a punitive measure, a mandatory checkmark preventing you from that extra hour of sleep or tackling another challenging assignment. We’d roll our eyes, grumble to our classmates, and concoct elaborate excuses in our minds. The sheer audacity of being forced to be somewhere, even after gaining admission to such a coveted institution, seemed an affront to our burgeoning intellectual freedom. Oh, the collective groan when a professor mentioned "required attendance." It was a universal language spoken across every campus quad.
Yet, isn't it funny how hindsight reconfigures our perceptions? Now, navigating a world where the structure is entirely self-imposed, where the only attendance required is often the one we dictate for ourselves, there's a strange, unexpected pang of nostalgia. We find ourselves reminiscing about those mandatory sessions. They weren't just about the subject matter; they were about the forced routine, the shared physical space, the impromptu hallway conversations, the subtle nod of recognition from a peer equally battling the snooze button.
These seemingly trivial obligations provided an invisible framework, a community anchor in the whirlwind of academic intensity. The shared complaining itself was a tradition, a primal scream in miniature, binding us in a common, albeit minor, adversary. We complained about it, but in truth, we were showing up, together. And isn't that a tradition worth a second thought, one we surprisingly miss?