“I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the movie ‘Tangled,’ but when my parents left me all by my lonesome on the prestigious Bowdoin campus two weeks ago, I felt pretty much how I imagine Princess Rapunzel did when she left her tower: struck by a mix of horror and absolute freedom.”

At the beginning of my freshman year at Bowdoin, I wrote these words for my first article in The Orient. It was the start of “The Freshman Fifteen,” a column where I talked about my experience as a first year at Bowdoin. In many ways, this column was empowering because in a new environment, where I was totally unknown, I had an outlet to make a name for who I was going to be on campus.  

The column four years ago was very light humored. I wanted my voice to be quirky and satiric because that is who I was and it is who I still am. To me, my column was wonderfully silly and dorky (take for instance the controversial “to Bean boots or not to Bean boots” debate of 2012). Still, I cannot help but realize that a lot of my column was trying to embody some sort of college stereotype of what I was supposed to be going through instead of speaking to what I was really going through.

I never mentioned that month-long period when I felt borderline depressed. I was ten pounds underweight due to health issues. My grades second semester weren’t quite matching up to the ones I had made my first. My roommates, who once had been good friends, now were barely speaking with me. Bowdoin is awesome, but not always. I definitely think one of the most difficult parts of my first-year here was that I was afraid to admit to people when I was unhappy. Somehow that felt like admitting some sort of defeat.

Luckily, those hard times were equaled by happy ones. Like when I decided to join the crew team and found a niche of people who I really clicked with, or getting a solo in BOKA and singing Little Talks by “Of Monsters and Men” with Nick Walker, or finding an eclectic German study group and forming the JJJ/three musketeers club. Also, just the German department in general. Seriously, it’s the best department at this school.  

Reading the column, I am reminded of the ways in which campus has changed. Four years ago, the biggest scandals at Bowdoin were related to hazing and goldfish instead of race and cultural appropriation. Yik Yak did not exist—nor did President Clayton Rose.

I am also reminded of the ways in which I have changed. When I was a first year, I made sure to start any paper a week in advance. I was that kid that got ahead on homework every Friday and Saturday and did every single reading. I wore a lot of cute 50s style dresses with tights even when it was the middle of winter. I bought a coat because it was the same one that Zooey Deschanel had and not actually because it was warm. I wrote an article about how stressful Ivies seemed, because I didn’t understand how to get all of my work done and party at the same time.

Now, I’ve realized that skipping readings to enjoy a weekend hike or even just a late night conversation with roommates is completely okay. I remember the first paper I wrote without actually reading the book. I got an “A” even though my previous paper, in which I had read the book was graded a “B.” I garnered the power to write papers at the last minute and noticed the outcome was sometimes better because I didn’t overthink things. All of a sudden what “being a good student” meant was really confusing.

At this point in my Bowdoin career, I’ve embraced SWUG culture and love to wear oversized sweatshirts and all that. I can eat alone in the dining hall for dinner and feel like a boss. Going to a party completely sober and dancing like a weirdo is better than those parties where I spent a lot of time on my outfit and tried to act chill. Reaching the point of not caring is both an extremely freeing and somewhat frightening moment. When I try to offer these insights to the current first-years here, I notice a lot of them already know these things and are already way cooler than I am.

As I speak about senior year, I realize I’m brushing over a lot of the hard moments I have had this year. But, I’m also not quite ready to talk about them in this column, so perhaps you will have to wait another four years for the real scoop.

Now the end is nigh and I feel all the cliché mixed feelings about being ready to leave, and yet also not wanting to say goodbye. I am excited by the idea of gaining my financial independence, but have no idea how to pay taxes. Seriously, can someone teach me? What is more, I can’t help but notice that as much as I’ve changed, my prospects looking forward may not actually be so different from where I started. I ironically find myself once again “struck by a mix of horror and absolute freedom.” 

As many of you know, College House decisions were released this week, and naturally the results caused quite a stir amongst us first years. On Monday afternoon, I had immense trouble making my way through the Smith Union. There were two reasons for this:  first, it was physically challenging to get through the sea of first years huddling like penguins checking their mailboxes, and second, I had a hard time watching the reactions of my fellow compatriots as they uncovered their fate. 

The whole scene was like a battlefield. I saw a stocky hockey player fight his way to his mailbox by vehemently pushing a group of petite girls out of his path. I watched two excited friends do a ritual jump hug and make some sort of strangely high-pitched chihuahua-like victory screeches as they tore open their acceptances. And then, no more than a couple feet away, I saw the fallen—a group of boys silently staring at their letters with furrowed brows reflecting upon their loss. They had been hit by the news, and it had hit them hard. 

Indeed, as difficult as figuring out blocks and writing College House applications was, the process of hearing back from Residential Life offered a whole other dramatic punch. In fact, I think this week created just as much tension, if not more, than the week applications were due.  

This weekend is the First-Year Sophomore Semi-Formal and I am not going to lie, when I first found out about this upcoming shindig I couldn’t help but cringe. When I think of a semi-formal, phrases such as “painfully awkward,” “hokey,” and “extremely awkward” come to mind.

As a kid, whoever worked the hardest on their outfit was dubbed the coolest cat on the block, but in college it seems as if the opposite is true.

I think I’m safe in my dorm room from the harsh conditions outside, and then the next thing I know an earthquake hits.

Time passes differently for first years here at Bowdoin. We feel like we just got on campus, and yet we also feel like we’ve been here forever. I, for one, can’t believe we are halfway through first semester. I thought we would all be ecstatic at this point, thrilled that we have made it this far without any major mishaps. My parents, for example, are shocked that I am not the socially awkward anomaly they thought I would be. However, the halfway point also brings midterms and, needless to say, a lot of us are freaking out.