Pothead, oreo, slacker, whore and the list goes on.
But here I am at a new school where no one knows my name. There are so many floors and corridors that the beaming look of disgust over the things I’ve done or haven’t done [ but people think I’ve done anyway ] no longer affect me.
I don’t have to hide wishing to be invisible or walk with my head down.
There is a blank canvas.
One in which can be painted a picture of the friends I’ve met or have yet to make, to make up for all the ones I lost. Images of them I held close to my heart are now blowing in the wind.
Happiness.
I can finally do my best and not have to deal with questions like “How’d YOU get in honors?” or insults like “You know they had to stick in a few black kids in the DaVinci program so people couldn’t say it was racially biased.”
Like what is THAT supposed to mean?
At Baruch no one cares. It isn’t as competitive as high school, no one’s peeping over your shoulder to see whether or not you received a better grade than them.
It’s every man for himself.
I like it that way.
My independence has heightened, I’m in the city I love, now I can’t wait to get all these prerequisite courses out of the way so that I can learn more about the business world, and truly enjoy my college experience.
