This morning, I moved from my bed to my desk—a short commute to what has become a routine of shoulder-slumping, vigorous blinking, and minimal speaking. I try to convince myself that college is more convenient this way, after all. I make an effort to embrace the four, baby-pink walls I inhabit, live, and breathe within, reminding myself that an education, be it through a screen, is knowledge nonetheless. But, it isn’t the education, or quality of teaching, that has been a predominant concern for me. I feel thoroughly supported in learning activities, lectures, and papers as my Professors have made their calendars open to first-year students, inviting them to ask questions about college, the most recent assignment, and anything that we’re concerned about. The educational climate, though strangely far away, feels like it’s right next to me—leaning on my shoulder—a comforting proximity I’ve grown to appreciate as remote college continues into its second month.
Rather, what has been most difficult adapting to comes after the hours of college are over, after class Zoom calls have ended, after silence repaints itself on the walls around me. I’m left, in what feels like, a sphere of what could have been social closeness and bonding over stress, weekend plans, and navigating deadlines alongside peers. In reality, the social scene and newfound friendships that are expected to come with the onset of college feel lost and difficult to cultivate as a first-year student engaging in college through online platforms. To belong to a college, to hold its name in pride and honor, means knowing and understanding its language—its social fabrics, architecture, grounds, and people—first.
When my parents first immigrated to the United States, they embarked on a transition they had anticipated for years. Though prepared with their legal paperwork, passports, and baggage, there were many more experiences that awaited them in America. As immigrants, they were told to, and more so expected to, surrender the use of their mother tongue, Hindi, and embrace English. The letting go of languages in order to learn a new one was uncharted territory to them as individuals who had resided in India for all of their lives. That kind of departure of a language leaves wounds, leaves unplugged vacancies, and loss. Instead of abandoning Hindi, they inhaled the breadth of English—of stained takeout-dinner menus, subway direction signs, and instruction manuals—all while having pride in, speaking, and teaching their children Hindi. The losses and gains of mother tongues and multilingualism rooted the idea of languages’ powers and wounds in me. It dawned on me that individuals are always speaking and learning, trying to strike a balance between foreign permanence and temporariness.
Being in a transition period of my life between what I used to know and what I am still adjusting to knowing, much like that of my parents, I find myself always waiting and anticipating—fantasizing even. I’m always leaving, always learning, always trying to catch up and derive meaning—always seeking to belong somewhere, to abandon one sphere and inherent an identity I have yet to fully immerse myself into. Learning the new language of college and trying to minimize my high school and childhood experiences in order to embrace a new, virtual college setting has certainly been challenging, especially being physically at home. For me, college symbolizes more than lecture-based and classroom-oriented learning as was high school; rather, it’s a breeding ground of teamwork, of unscripted self-awareness and conscientiousness, of swallowing new words like ripe fruit, and making room for more languages. I’ve learned that I don’t have to let go of the languages that come naturally to me—the languages of childhood, home, family, and innocence. I don’t have to feel pain when mixing up languages because I, like many college students during this time, am deeply entangled in a daunting, yet thoroughly rewarding and promising sphere of college and home, of maturity and childhood.
I choose to focus on what I do know about my college—of the friendly faces I’ve seen, the kind messages from classmates, and the new ways that we’ve been connecting during our first year. Though I feel like I’m in a space between my childhood bedroom and college campus, I focus on the uniqueness of the border I am standing on and the four years of distance that lies ahead. I am in the unconventional position of being able to wield one language as a tool to learn another—to capitalize on my closeness to high school, innocence, and support from family members to navigate the, at times daunting, first-year college atmosphere.
