Harvard

10/8/07

When I first came to Boston I loved it. Sure, people don’t smile as much, but experiencing something new and different was refreshing. I still can’t wrap my mouth around words, or even my mind around ideas, that adequately define the differences, but I try. The sunlight is different. Home is bright, but here even when it’s sunny it’s never bright. Here roads are narrow and buildings are brick, and all of this history has its own beauty, but home is wide, expansive, and natural.

And see, at first I loved these redbrick buildings, once I began to understand them. It’s sad that I’m already getting a little disillusioned and jaded, but now their cold austerity is overwhelming. There may be little architectural differences and details, but overall it is monotonous. And I get angry. Fuck these redbrick buildings and this elitist, old money, East Coast bullshit. Fuck these fast-paced, money-grubbing, ladder-climbing assholes. And I get sad. I get sad because everything is intellectualized, analyzed, and torn apart so that it just feels empty. These people try to understand everything, and while they avariciously claw at more answers they lose a certain human feeling, a carelessness, an acceptance, an appreciation, another understanding of simply being. What did I expect? This is college. And so I cry, because that emptiness begins to pervade my ability to simply be. But you’re not supposed to cry on this campus, and there’s nowhere to be alone. So I cry in the stacks in the library, and I cry in the shower. Tears trace streams down my cheeks, and my face contorts into a silent cry, always silent, just in case someone walks by.