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 first autumn, eyes wide with a mix of terror and triumph? You were just settling in, trying to decipher the unwritten rules of this hallowed ground. Then you saw them. The seniors. Maybe it was the infamous Primal Scream during finals week, a collective, cathartic roar echoing across quadrangles, a primal release of academic pressure. Or perhaps a clandestine gathering, a shadowy procession for a secret society initiation, hushed whispers on the crisp night air. It could’ve been something utterly absurd: a bizarre campus-wide scavenger hunt ending with them scaling a statue or performing a synchronized, nonsensical dance.
Whatever it was, you stood there, a freshman or sophomore, bewildered, impressed, and definitely scared. And then that thought, involuntary and thrilling, formed in your mind, escaping your lips in a conspiratorial whisper: “That’ll be us.” It was a promise, an unspoken vow to inherit the mantle of these strange, beautiful, often baffling traditions. You watched them, a glimpse into your future, a world of shared absurdity and quiet rebellion against the relentless academic grind.
Years later, whether counting down to graduation or navigating post-grad life, you find yourself surprisingly missing those moments. The bizarre rituals you once found cringeworthy or wild now feel like vital threads in your identity. Those traditions, loved and loathed, became the unique language of your time there. They were unexpected anchors, shared inside jokes that forged unbreakable bonds. They proved that even in the most rigorous institutions, a little glorious, collective madness was not just allowed, but essential.