The end of an era

As ambivalent as I was about the whole thing, I finally RSVPed to my graduation ceremony. I wasn't really crazy about going because for me, the most important part- getting my degree- was done and over with. The four years I spent at York, those years wandering the halls in both happiness and sadness, satisfaction and frustration, were completed. It was important to me that I get my degree for a couple of reasons: it's getting more and more necessary for increasingly lower-level jobs, I had something to prove to myself that I could compete at a higher level, and taking four years to finish one project was a way for me to learn discipline and commitment. And now that I've finished that step, spending sweaty hours at a ceremony whose campus was in chaos and disarray from building overdue subways seemed like it was halfway down on my list of how to spend a day. But, as my mother and aunt pointed out, this day isn't about me, it's about the family who supported me and made my being able to reach graduation status possible.

Ah, the support I received from them. I can't even come close to listing all the ways they helped out, big and small. When I got accepted, my aunt was the first person I told. I still remember how excited I was to learn of my acceptance, four years ago, and how even more excited she was than me. We decided to go to the Pickle Barrel to celebrate and the two of us sitting at the table, stuffing ourselves with Ruben sandwiches, is clear as day to me. My mom was working that day, so my aunt and I dropped by to where she was and I stuck a note under her windshield wipers: 'GOT INTO YORK x2' said the piece of paper. There was another little celebration when she got home, and I was feeling excited and full of anticipation for days.

My sister came with me to check out housing options. I'd made the decision to live on-campus for at least the first year and wanted to see what the apartments- too old for the dorms!- looked like. York is a huge campus and for someone as directionally-challenged as myself (and you, too, K! *cough* Disneyland *cough*), finding where everything was located was no easy task. The two of us had stopped by some 'Welcome, First Years!' booth and got a tote bag full of useless goodies, one of them being a map. I'm loathe to pull out anything in public that gives away how bad I am at finding my way around, and am willing to take three times as long getting from point A to point B if it means my cover isn't blown. K isn't like that. 'Just pull out the map, fer Chrissakes,' she said. 'This is taking too long.' 'Okay, okay,' I relented, and scanned my surroundings for a doorway. 'Here's a spot where nobody will see.' I ushered her toward it and we looked at this page full of squiggles and dots, trying and failing to orient ourselves. (Side note: Wouldn't it be great if all maps could be like the Marauder's Map from Harry Potter? You know, the one that gives your location on the parchment you're holding instead of just pointing out buildings like you know where they are?) Anyway, we roughly got an idea of where to go and- oh, this is a funny story I'll share here. We were in one apartment in the building I'd eventually live in and were checking out the storage closet. It was bare except for one small square of carpet on the floor, a cheap painting propped up against the wall, and a light with a pull cord. 'Look!' said K. 'This'd be the perfect place to put a hostage. They'd have something warm and comfortable to sit on-' '-art to occupy themselves with,' I interjected. '-and light to see it all with,' she finished. And thus the name 'Hostage Room', a title I still use today, was used to rechristen the storage closets that apartments have.

And my mom. We got a place together after first year when I finally admitted I wasn't balancing the bar with classes (I almost failed that year, actually). She really put her weight behind me and made it 'Team Christina' for my remaining years, always ensuring that I had what I needed so that I could concentrate on school, whether it was meals, laundry, or essay-proofing. I think that if I had to worry about all the extraneous details, I wouldn't have been as well-off as I was.

But truly, it was the joint effort of all three of them combined in their individual ways that got me to where I am today. It is in quite large part because of them that I'll be standing on that podium in a few weeks' time, shaking a bunch of hands and feeling silly and sweaty as I get my degree, and able to move on to the next stage in life.