Watching seniors do something wild and whispering “that’ll be us.”
WATCHING SENIORS DO SOMETHING WILD AND WHISPERING “THAT’LL BE US.”
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Remember that electric charge in the air, freshmen year, witnessing some inexplicable senior ritual? Maybe it was the infamous collective primal scream before finals, echoing through ancient stone walls, a release of tension that seemed absurd yet deeply cathartic. Or perhaps it was observing hushed, midnight gatherings, hinting at secret societies whose cryptic rituals felt both intimidating and alluring. We watched, a mix of awe and bewilderment, whispering, "that’ll be us someday."
And it was. We stepped into those shoes, inheriting the quirks and rites, some embraced, some initially endured. The silly campus legends, the midnight dashes, the ceremonial goodbyes. These weren’t just events; they were the fabric of our shared experience, binding us together in ways we scarcely understood then. They felt like the price of admission, the eccentricities of an elite institution.
Now, looking back, it's those very traditions, even the ones we might have found a bit wild or even hated at the time, that we unexpectedly miss. The bizarre, the chaotic, the profoundly communal – they created a unique identity. That unified yell of stress, the whispered rumors of ancient societies, the unexpected solidarity found in shared silliness. These weren't in the brochures, but they became the irreplaceable heartbeat of our time there. They taught us the true meaning of belonging, not just to a place, but to a lineage of shared experiences.