Realizing upperclassmen were watching you the whole time.
REALIZING UPPERCLASSMEN WERE WATCHING YOU THE WHOLE TIME. Follow us for more deep dives into campus life.
Remember that first overwhelming week? The campus buzzing with nervous energy, the mandatory orientation events, the awkward icebreakers where you tried desperately to remember names and make a good first impression. We were all a bit wide-eyed, a bit too eager, and undeniably a lot naive. Amidst the whirlwind of new friendships and foundational classes, there was this subtle, unsettling awareness. You’d catch glimpses of older students, seemingly going about their day, yet their eyes held a peculiar, knowing glint when they looked at the frosh. Were they judging our fashion choices? Amused by our enthusiasm? Or simply reliving their own chaotic beginnings through our clumsy attempts at fitting in? It felt like every forced smile, every hesitant question, every misplaced attempt at sophistication was being silently, sometimes hilariously, assessed. This wasn't paranoia; it was an unspoken truth. That silent, observant gaze from upperclassmen wasn't just a rumor; it was an integral part of the welcome, a quiet tradition. They weren't just watching us; they were watching themselves, a few years younger, navigating the same hallowed grounds and making the same delightful mistakes. And then, it was your turn. As a seasoned sophomore or a confident junior, you found yourself standing just out of sight, a quiet spectator to the fresh-faced anticipation of the new class. A knowing smirk would play on your lips. It was never malicious, was it? Just a gentle, generational nod to the cycle of campus life. A quiet welcome, from those who’d been there, done that, and still remembered exactly how it felt. That shared experience of being watched, and then becoming the watcher, binds us more than any specific tradition. It's the silent thread weaving through our most cherished college memories.