Reality hit me tonight. Well... it fell on top of me in the darkness as I lay awake in bed playing all of the day's events over in my mind. I walked (again) into my professor's office. I listened to the highlights of our conversation, but this time I could see myself. I watched Me sit, with my hand near my mouth and my hair out of place. I told him I worked full-time, and he said something like, "Oh, not from a family with money, huh?" This time I walked into the hall, but unlike the first time I noticed my surroundings. I could see the passers-by, and in that second, I was washed under three years of that university. I could see the other students. I saw their clothes, their cars, their smooth round faces and tan skin. How could I have been so blind before? It's so obvious I don't belong. Why am I here? Every semester I take out another loan that I'll never be able to pay back, and why? I'll never afford graduate school, and if I do... If I do, I'll be the one they call ma'am. I will be the forbidden one. I may already be the forbidden one, blinded by the ease of maturation. I may not notice that everyone else notices my starter wrinkles. Why am I doing this? To write? I could write for free! The professor (the one I spoke to earlier today) always says, “You know what a Bachelor’s in English and a quarter will get ya?” He never answers his riddle, and I would rather not hear the rest. I love college. I do. I love the academic surroundings, so much so that I want to be a professor-- not selflessly. I don't want to be a professor to better my fellow man, but the surroundings motivate me to work and to learn. If I could be a professor, I could write forever, and improve until I die without the bullshit of other jobs draining my desire. It sort of goes back to what my Grandma used to say, “You are who you hang with”. Obviously, that’s not completely true, but the rule does have some merit. Your surroundings inarguably influence who you are. When I am in classroom, I’m still Sami, but I’m a different version. I’m the Sami I want to be, as opposed to the Sami at the cash register asking if you’d like to donate a dollar. So, I guess that's why I'm here. I'm here to earn the freedom to be myself. I'm buying my freedom to be happy. In a few years, when the reality of paying back
loans for the rest of my life comes crashing down, I’m sure there will be times, perhaps when I’m sealing envelopes of checks, that I question if the actual value of my time at Western, but I’ve made my choice. I've gone too far to stop now.