The Forgotten Graduate

Four years are quickly coming to an end.  When I came to the Hill for the first time, I was full of expectations.  I was ready to become a new person and to pour myself into my alma mater.  I bled red and gold for several years.  I helped start a new rivalry, I led the charge of the BCFC for a year, and I played for nearly every musical production that was put together, even if I was dragged into it the night before.

Then, specifically last year, everything began to come to crumble around me.  I found out that some people who claimed to by my friends were really just waiting for a chance to roast me - and I ended up burning at their mercy.  During that time things started getting Clarified.  I found out that I only burned red now, as did many professors, students, and faculty.  My school spirit was utterly destroyed, and I lost faith in the people I used to be a standard-bearer for.  And when I thought I had escaped unscathed and the burn-wounds were nearly healed, they took my dear friend a closest professor and mentor away from me.  Five of my seven classes this semester were with him, and with Biology being the sixth (something that has nothing to do with either of my majors, music and politics), my motivation plummeted to an all-time low.

I learned to keep to myself as a graduating senior.  My door stayed open as it always did, but only a select few still took the time to open it.  I thought for most of the semester that I was alone.  Everyone else had, I thought, come to grips with the fact that they had to smile and bear it, bend over and take it, or just accept that what had happened was right.  I heard more times than I can count, "If you don't like, you shouldn't have come here."  A pained smile stayed painted on my face, and occasionally I'd lift my proverbial cyber-pen in protest of some new development, but my audience generally just shook their heads in pity - just a stubborn senior.  A few agreed, but they were far between.

And then recently, a dear friend pulled me aside and told me it's okay to feel the way I do.  He's felt that way too.  And even if I walk across the stage and I'm forgotten by everyone else, he'll remember the things I did for him.  And thinking back on our conversation?  The aching part of me that wished I'd be a graduate remembered was satisfied.  Maybe my name will only be remembered for a semester or two from here on out, but the people who remember will be the ones I love.

Recently I've been laughing at the irony that a graduation gown is black, and totally covers your undergarments - the person beneath.  When we're all gathered for the ceremony, when we walk across the stage, we'll be numbers on a success list.  We will be stifled in finality for that one day like the sea burqas in a crowded Middle Eastern street.  A part of me wishes that I could have climbed the ranks of alumni to be one of the people who is remembered for years to come.  But after what has happened here, after my heart of red and gold lost its luster, I am happy to leave that behind.  I would rather be remembered by the forgotten.  And one day, if one of us rises to recognition, it won't be because of the red and gold we've left behind.  It will be because of the love of those few people who were left to drown in the sea of black success.  That's the kind of success I want.

Last man stand,

One man band,

Notes die in the wind,

Nothing left to spend:

Forgotten Graduate.