For the past couple of weeks, there's been a small influx in my inbox. Not the bulk e-mails selling low mortgage rates, or ads for Viagra with the subject heading, "See What Tiffany Really Wants." These are friendly e-mails from familiar faces.

Abroad friends. Entering the first semester of my junior year, I knew that my social life's dynamics (already scanty and thus easily disturbed) were going to change. What I didn't realize was that the voices I envisioned disappearing for a semester were going to unexpectedly reappear in cryptic e-mails.

When I say "cryptic," I'm actually not exaggerating. Getting e-mails from Bosnia, Madagascar, Atlantis, and Nigeria seem about as coherent and trustworthy as Tiffany's advertisements. "Bosn? is > bl>st!" or "mw h0st f%mly*s re>lly nic!" are pretty close to the kind of thing I've been receiving.

But if the e-mails don't sound like they're being typed on a decrepit typewriter in a clay-and-straw hut in the middle of the Congo, it feels like they're being drunkenly shouted from some nightclub in the middle of London. "THE NIGHT LIFE IS INSANE HERE," they scream overseas, "last night we went to THREE different clubs and had FIVE different kinds of English lagers, and danced with German tourists who were REALLY HOT, and were out until LUNCH the next day, and then we had this AMAZING rabbit stew that would ABSOLUTELY BLOW YOUR MIND!!!"

Once I've taken a few Advil to quiet the pounding in my ears and head, I take a moment to stop and think where in the world I am. The Stacks. With my laptop. Reading e-mails from people probably having a lot more fun, or at least gathering far more interesting stories, than myself.

My decision not to go abroad was the result of several important factors: first, outside of the dining hall, Cracklin' Oat Bran is really expensive. Second, the only foreign language I've taken to a significant extent at Bowdoin is Latin, and, from what I can tell, the Vatican's night life isn't worth shouting over the Atlantic about. Third, as an athlete, I was concerned that hunting water buffalo with a spear wouldn't be adequate training for the track season.

So after this serious deliberation, I decided that it would be best to hold down the fort while my colleagues went on their journeys. After all, someone has to keep the Stacks company. But now I'm starting to wonder: is it possible I'm really missing out? These e-mails, meant as friendly salutations from overseas, are inadvertently sowing seeds of jealousy and regret.

So, now, I'm taking it upon myself to soak in the wonders that surround Brunswick, Maine. No, perhaps there aren't giraffes wandering outside our dormitories, but the squirrels on the quad are getting huge! Almost the same kind of spectacle. No, I haven't been out until the crack of dawn every weekend, but I did stay at H&L until the closing bell rang, something I haven't achieved before.

Besides, I'm not even sure if a lot of the content of those e-mails is entirely true. For instance, "L>st nigh^ we h*d fri?d t0ad g2nita/s!" or "last night I drank Everclear martinis with Giorgio Armani!" I just don't buy it.

This is not to say that I'm undermining the experience my abroad peers are getting; ladling fresh water from the local well into a clay pot is vastly different from ladling hot fudge onto a Monday-night sundae.

All I want to suggest is that one type of ladling is not necessarily better than the other. Both are unique to their own environments, and each is a learning process that contributes to our development as college students. So, if you're starting to get antsy about life in Brunswick, remember that Bowdoin still has many valuable experiences to offer you?it's simply a matter of learning to savor them.

So, as our friends from beyond say, "Tak@ car~! Ant k?p in t0uch!"