It recently hit me that I have been at U of T for four years, and I will be graduating (fingers crossed) in 6 months. You’ll have to excuse my sentimental, gushy feelings. This is like a four year relationship coming to an end, and for someone who doesn’t do long-term relationships, it’s a big deal.
Like any normal relationship, we’ve had our ups and downs. U of T has kept me up many a nights worrying about trivial things like the Kyoto Protocol, Plato’s Republic, and even the proper conjugation of the word hablar. There were times I didn’t sleep or I got really angry at innocent bystanders because of this tumultuous affair. Once or twice, I have even shed a tear over this school. It was gut wrenching, I promise.
U of T has not been the perfect partner. It has not only deprived me of some much needed rest, it’s stolen my youth. When we first started this dance, I was a naive 18 year old kid, ready to conquer the world. Now, I’m a jaded 21 year old, cynical jerk. Luckily, I’ve been able to hold onto some of my youthful good looks, but that’s irrelevant.
So after these four tortuous years of fighting, cursing, and crying (always on my part, never U of T’s), you would think I would have jumped for joy the day I logged onto ROSI and declared myself ready to graduate. Nope. No such thing happened. Declaring graduation was like a quarter-life crisis and an anxiety attack rolled into a neat little bow. It meant I was ready to be an adult, to achieve things in life, and take all the lessons I had learned out into the ‘real world’. It also meant I was scared shitless.
Now, having thought about it a little (read: A LOT!!), I’ve realized I’m going to miss the large presence U of T has had in my life. I will miss walking down St. George, staring at Robarts like a tower of doom. Every time I pass by, I remember some of the most epic and insane conversations ever had in life. I’ll miss the shawarma from Hart House, and those delicious potatoes. My diet in second year consisted solely of the chicken shawarma dinner and a bottle of Arnold Palmer. Not the healthiest or cheapest diet in the world, but oh so satisfying.
Every building, food truck, and library will hold some sort of sappy, probably idiotic, sentimental value to me. None more than Sid Smith. If those study rooms had ears, they would be blushing. The conversations I had and overheard while in that building, I honestly wish I had a tape recorder because they would be amazing. Conversations about break-ups, girl code, sex (good and bad — lots of bad), meeting a good-looking stranger, and sometimes course material have all been an integral part of my SS experience. And I have loved every minute of it.
It goes without saying that above all else I am going to miss the people I have spent countless hours with, yelling and screaming, and eventually becoming really close with. When I first came to this school, everyone told me that U of T-ers were so anti-social, and all they cared about was studying. Definitely not the case. Obviously the people here care about getting good marks and maintaining a solid GPA. Duh, we’re paying ridiculous amounts of money to be lectured. Everyone should probably care a little bit more about that three letter word.
But don’t get it twisted, U of T students are amazing.
They know how to have fun, how to have hilarious and probably meaningless conversations for hours, and they’re also pretty good at getting hammered on a Friday night. They’re beautiful at multi-tasking, it’s an art dammit.
So I will miss my friends and our ridiculousness. As we all go off to grad school, or get full-time jobs, or even take a year off (lucky bastards), I hope we will all remember our individual love stories with this big maze of building and hallways we call the University of Toronto. Personally, I will always have a special place for you in my heart. We’ve had our laughs, you’ve made me cry and scream obscenities. You have NEVER apologized for sometimes destroying my self-esteem, but I’ll forgive you because you made me better.
When I walk out of your proverbial doors, I will keep a fond memory of you always. But for now, I’m going to curse your name and go back to the 400 pages of reading I have to do. You’re my favorite jerk.