Realizing upperclassmen were watching you the whole time.
REALIZING UPPERCLASSMEN WERE WATCHING YOU THE WHOLE TIME.
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Remember those first few weeks? A dizzying blur of orientation events, new faces, and an unspoken pressure to perfectly blend in. We threw ourselves into every quirky tradition, from collective cathartic screams that echoed across the grounds to earnest attempts at spirited chants, all while desperately trying to appear effortlessly cool, or at least not completely overwhelmed.
There was always that peculiar sensation of being observed. Were those knowing glances from upperclassmen just random, or was there something more intentional behind their casual presence? It wasn't until much later, sometimes years after graduation, that the full weight of that realization settled in. That awkward stumble during the campus scavenger hunt? The overly enthusiastic participation in a seemingly pointless group activity? Your late-night, overly dramatic philosophical debates? They saw it all.
And it wasn’t always about judgment. Sometimes it was genuine observation, a silent assessment. Other times, perhaps, it was the earliest, most subtle form of mentorship, or even the quiet whisper of an invitation into a lesser-known world. It’s a peculiar, almost universally understood rite of passage within our institutions. That realization transforms from initial discomfort into a shared, knowing chuckle among those who have walked the same hallowed halls. These were the moments that unconsciously wove us into the fabric, making us part of something larger. The unseen audience, the subtle initiation—it’s a tradition in itself, isn't it?