Two weeks from now I can celebrate my one-month anniversary as a Boston University Communications Graduate student.
What will I do? I will probably work on one or two of the assignments that have been slyly piling themselves up in my various folders, agendas, and notebooks, climbing on and over each other like so many kittens with an corresponding number of tiny little claws. The average cat has five claws on each front paw and four in the back.
Slowly but surely my schedule is settling into place. The “I can do this” moments have begun to outnumber the “what am I doing here?” moments. My classmates’ faces are all familiar if not friendly, and the blur of roommates occupying the sixth room in my house has finally come into focus in the form of Bryan, a Toronto native who spent the last four years in India and Liberia.
Boston University is much larger than Kenyon College, where I studied as an undergraduate. Yet when I look for points of comparison, I can see that it’s not so different. The school is divided again and again into smaller communities. As I walk or bike on Commonwealth Avenue, surrounded by fellow students and professors, I feel that I have already become a part of this larger whole. Maybe it's the weather, but I’m glad.
