When We Look to the Future
Seeing campus tours invites a kind of nostalgia—one I don’t know how to identify; how to work with. You know what I mean. You walk by the groups of prospective students, their parents, and something in your heart feels like it’s going to burst at the seams.
Their UChicago merchandise, their seemingly casual glances around—at the students, at the architecture—as if they can absorb everything, the entire experience, by observing. So close that they can smell it, taste it: this is what college life looks like. Gothic buildings, fast-paced walks to class, some giggling here, some leaking music there, heavy bags and bulky coats.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no resentment towards them. If anything, we understand it. We see them, we hear them, we feel them, we were them; in fact, we still are them. Anxiousness about the future courses through our veins too, a constant worry about where we’ll be in the next few months, next few years. Trepidation about living on your own, what you’ll do when there’s a bug in your room and your mom isn’t around to take it out; stress about what you’ll do if your laptop breaks down, and your dad can’t magically fix it for you. Most importantly, eagerness. When we look to the future, just like them, we do it with excitement: when and where will I be when I am living a better life? Who will I be? Do I already know her? Do I want to? Do I recognise her? Is she happy? Can she tell me how to get there?
Because I remember being there. Walking around college campuses, trying to gauge whether future me wanted to be there by looking at students’ faces: how tired do they look? How far do their shoulders droop? Do they wish they’d chosen differently? A lot of questions, no real answers. Shuffling between “dream” colleges, as if the name(‘24) I wanted in my Instagram bio could be summoned by sheer desire—not essays, or international student quotas, or plain old luck. Worried and excited, cycling through the two emotions and pretending as if they were on two opposite sides of a scale, when really, it was both, together, all of the time.
They’ll make it, somewhere. It may be here, it may not. It may be a “dream” come true, it may not. Whatever it is, they’ll have to work with it. As will we.
Because when we look to the future, they’re there. So are we. The only prevailing question is: how far from each other? And with how much regret?
Inspired by: “Where You Are” from Moana, by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Opetaia Foa’i, Mark Mancina
Header photo source.
