Life is ending. At least part of it. Friends are moving away to other states, other countries. I'm moving away. There will be no more classes with the same professors, no more South College, no more late hours at the W.E.B DuBois.
As we all know, the water will flow on and the river we're leaving will never be the same again. New batches of students will take our place and live out their own stories in 4 years filling the same dorms, cafeterias, fields and clubs that we used to inhabit with their own sets of human emotions and thoughts.
I will never come back to the Amherst I knew (partially because I don't even know what it is that I knew about it to begin with).
I'm a coward, I avoid facing such change by burying my head into work or drinking with friends or riding my bicycle. I think, however, that the time has come even for me to accept that something is ending here today as I write. Something may have already ended and I with my sluggish mind am just now realizing what had happened.
Fortunately for me, life is really like a phoenix: out of the ashes and ruins of the old the new is constantly born. This rebirth happens all the time but it is at certain points in my narrative that I notice it and fill myself with hope for the new beginning. I wish the hope were always fulfilled, it usually isn't. The new is marginally different from the old, there being nothing but the old to utilize in its generation. I'm not upset by this, the injection of hope is all I care about, it's what keeps me going.
As we all know, the water will flow on and the river we're leaving will never be the same again. New batches of students will take our place and live out their own stories in 4 years filling the same dorms, cafeterias, fields and clubs that we used to inhabit with their own sets of human emotions and thoughts.
I will never come back to the Amherst I knew (partially because I don't even know what it is that I knew about it to begin with).
I'm a coward, I avoid facing such change by burying my head into work or drinking with friends or riding my bicycle. I think, however, that the time has come even for me to accept that something is ending here today as I write. Something may have already ended and I with my sluggish mind am just now realizing what had happened.
Fortunately for me, life is really like a phoenix: out of the ashes and ruins of the old the new is constantly born. This rebirth happens all the time but it is at certain points in my narrative that I notice it and fill myself with hope for the new beginning. I wish the hope were always fulfilled, it usually isn't. The new is marginally different from the old, there being nothing but the old to utilize in its generation. I'm not upset by this, the injection of hope is all I care about, it's what keeps me going.
