5 Ws and a H
A soon to be post grad moment!
I graduate with my bachelorβs in Design studies, emphasis in Animation/Illustration in less than a month. And after a year of fighting for my substitutions to be inputted and pissing off so many people, I will become one of the 23% of Latinas who have a bachelorβs degree in the U.S.
Itβs funny, the things you choose to cherish the most when your time in college ends.
For me, I think of Fernanda. Con Dios bendiga. She would pop her head out of the dorm bathroom to wish me luck as I left for 8 am class my freshman year. Or Shelly the woman who would let me into the dining commons on weekends, even though my swipes only worked M-F.
On my 7 am walk to class, the sun peaks over the art building in a rosy hue I wish I could shrink into a gel and put in a locket. The sun still blasts through the corridor, turning the paseo into overexposed film.
Every so often I walk by the bench I saw my friend breakup with her freshman year boyfriend.
I didnβt mean to watch. I was homesick for the sea kissed sunsets. Watching Cheers in my dorm hoping it would be enough. But I saw it. Invited her up for tea and When Harry Met Sally. And thus began a friendship that would last just shy of four years.
Iβll never forget how happy I was, looping the same Andrew Bird song on my my dorm room floor as I crammed in a painting final and animated a short film about Orcas so I could go see Pitbull with Maggie for $45.
Despite graduating this semester, I finished my major requirements a year ago. I had a vertigo episode after burning myself out in my major and opted to not to push for the βfineβ in BFA.
My BFA was autocratic. Everybodyβs art had to conform and in turn their reflections did too. A student a few years older than me experienced a seizure for the first time at the three year mark. 4 years and 4 months to the day before my world begun to spin. Although I appreciate all the technical skills and lessons I learned. I could never breathe. I grew tired of the limited sociolect. No one had βtimeβ to do things. And my art reflected it.
I left to finish off GEs while working in theater as a lighting and video person.
In a way I felt like Iβve been post grad for a while. Living a very calm and safe life surrounded by some of the most kind and extraordinary freaks. Iβve achieved more dreams than I ever thought was possible in the last year and am scrambling to find new ones. If I were to go back, I wouldnβt change a thing.1
Still, I miss painting on my dorm kitchen table and watching Ugly Betty with my honorary roommate. Walking to class together and feeling proud of pinning my work on the wall to be critiqued.
Itβs strange and freeing to be in college but no longer taking classes with your cohort. You get to redefine what college is, yet learn to stand on your own.
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As a part of my senioritis, I refused to buy any unnecessary things in the name of college. On the first day of this class my professor announced that he didnβt want any technology and wanted us to bring only hard copies of everything.
Iβm a luddite at heart.
The imagery of the Shells and Parlor walls are the only things I can remember of my freshman year of high school2. My fondest memories of AP lang was getting a scanned copy of text and annotating the crap out of it. Dubbing my bluetooth headphones βshells.β Cheering when we had to use traditional paints instead of digital.
But I didnβt want to give the schoolβs print shop $52 to buy all my readings. Instead I would show up to class sitting front row of the windowless room, scribbling in my tiny notebooks. Asking/Answering all the questions.
βWhatβs with all the tiny notebooks?β
βI donβt want to use my phone. And need a place to keep my thoughts.β
My professor looked stunned. Embodying of the principle anticipation3 before passing out the worksheets. He is exactly what you would expect a poli-sci professor to look like. Tall. Only wearing navy clothes. Desperately needing a pocket protector. He always had two expo markers and 3 practical bic pens in his shirt pocket.
Nonetheless, when he speaks about political theory, he acts it out. Flailing his arms with intention. Switching into random accents when the class wonβt speak up.
After months of me taking notes in my tiny notebooks and my professor accepting I prefer printing out readings and marking them up to study before the exams.
I caved.
Iβd be foolish to not bring the text to an open reading exam of my favorite class.
The weird thing I have found about being an extravert, is that the kindred spirits who talk back to random strangers often are the venerable.
At a lighthouse trying to get away from emails and calls. I met two geezers, I swear were a gay couple. They had offered me watermelon. Turns out they were co-workers of 15 years on a road trip to SF with their families. Inviting me to sit and enjoy their random assortment of Trader Joeβs snacks. Iβve hardly enjoyed seeded watermelon until I watched a seed split in front of me.
I felt a similar kinship when I started walking out of class with my duckling seatmate. Banter turned to curiosities about the world. To the seldom goodwill of noticing.
London Fog became a staple of my mornings again. I would unclog my Seatmateβs frigid ballpoint pens in my palms. Freeing the ink with mastered circles through my arm β not the wrist.
Staring at a Mr. Coffee from 1970, surrounded by stacks of political theory papers taller than me. Sipping tea in an office that was closest thing I could imagine to what a paper animation archive looked like.
Turns out we both are Luddites.
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When my professor and I began to share our own thoughts on technology. Why our class was so quiet. I explained that everyone in my class didnβt know what life was like without iPhones. I barely do and I was 4 when the first iphone was released. It dawned on us: No one asks why anymore, only how.
Here we are sitting in an office stuck in 1983, talking about transcendentalists. Notebooks open taking as many notes as we can.
For all that life is worth, I crave to learn. Bantering about new concepts with new people. I donβt want to leave academia. Yet, I shall continue to ask, βWhy?β
I will not be receiving a pin from my major and dawning a skull on my cap. I wonβt be standing where I focused a special for animators declare their thank youβs.
Instead, I receive a pin from my theater job to be placed on my over-price stole. Setting up projectors and lights for a Luchadores v Nuns grad party with my favorite freaks. Dropping off a pair of pocket protectors on aged manilla folders.
In these four and a half years, I could have become anyone, but instead spun back to exactly who I was meant to be.
Illustrating with anew eased breath.
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I lied, I would go back and take the animation lip sync class during my year of linguistics GEs.
I reread fahrenheit 451 to recall my memory of that period. I love the way Bradbury writes about time.
To quote Mr. Worldwide: βDALE!β
Just two more weeks until I will become the Mr world wide meme