Sitting at the tiny wood table, cups
of coffee littered the room. Towards
my right, five people slaved away
over their computers. With the hopefully
notion that my Spring Break
would be relaxing, I needed to finish
my political science paper on Mark
Andrejevic’s book about the manipulative
and harmful nature of modern
technology. Political science always
left me wanting for more, more
knowledge, more moments where I
Category: by Marcelo T ’08
Grey seats and black chalkboards covered the rooms. As students made the room look whole, a fluffy haired dog named Tilly ran into the room. Sitting in Introduction to Sociology, Professor Dunbar Moodie’s South African accent captured the attention of indolent students. We quickly learned of Stanley Milgram and Philip Zimbardo’s experiments on people’s blind obedience of authority in correlation to greater societal teachings. As class ended I began to feel an intense pain in my stomach. I rushed to congregate with my friends for lunch. Sharp jabs of jovial humor filled our conversation. Listening to my friend, I could not help but laugh at her theory of how to make fun of someone, “It’s a five step program, step one is recognizing and step two, three, four and five are cuttin’ a*#.” Later that day I was forced to think about a moral conundrum. If five spelunkers
The smell of moist concrete and frigid air struck my face. The dread of cramming for midterms loomed over my head. Passing through the Warren Hunting Smith Library’s electronic detectors, I quickly took of my ipod headphones. Since the beginning of the semester the third floor was home for all my studying habits. My only hope for efficient memorization of all my notes was to corner myself off from the world. Dropping my books on an empty table in the back of the library, examination of three months of notes began. Studying for Intro to American Politics, I transitioned from the early twentieth century political party reforms to the cyclical nature of Republican economic policies. Abruptly I noticed
Weary eyes slowly creak open. Gazing at the clock, I quickly realize that I must wake up. The extensive ninety page reading that I encountered the previous night left me with undesired exhaustion. Haphazardly, I rise out of bed, get dressed and shuffle my books into my bag. Planning what to say in the class discussions, I briskly walked to class. Snatching a chair in the front of the room, I took out my laptop and books. Forty-five minutes into class, I abruptly became aware that I was one of three students contributing to the discussion. Looking back at the past four years, I understood the fact that I developed a skill that very few other students had. An International Baccalaureate education had given me the ability to master discussions and interpret readings in a complex and abstract manner. The spiel that was constantly reverberated at me, from
Pulling up to the parking lot, I began to feel a rumbling in my stomach. Feelings of anxiety began to course through my veins and I did not know what to do. What could I do? Walking on to the main quad I saw many of my fellow freshman. Some not so nervous as I, some ready to give up and go home. College was finally here. I had patiently waited four exhausting years and two gut wrenching months and the day had finally come. As I received my orientation packet and signed all my forms I could not be any more hesitant to move in. Slowly but surely, my emotions subsided and I gained my composure. However, a single thought plagued me. How was I going to meet anyone? Could I find my niche in this college environment?
Quickly we were divided into dozens of groups. Entering my group I
The BACC Rag 