I'm a freshman again

“So many things I’m going through. So much that I wanna do. It’s starting to become so clear to me. Tomorrow ain’t really guaranteed.” -Amerie Why Don’t We Fall in Love



College, in my opinion, is not a place for the sane. Pulling all nighters in the library. Falling asleep writing a paper and waking up cuddling your textbook. Taking an extended bathroom break in the middle of class to run to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. These are a few experiences that I’ve become accustomed to my first semester in college. This added to becoming an adult overnight and living in one of the best cities in the world, if not the best, is definitely not a task for the mentally weak. Luckily, I’ve endured enough insanity in my life to survive my college years. This experience has been the most beautifully horrid, disgustingly wonderful, magnificently painful journey I have ever gone through, and I am so grateful for the opportunity. Every day whether I am crying walking down Fifth Avenue, getting catcalls walking through the West Village, or on the train to Harlem I take time to reflect on how far I’ve come and yet to go.

First, I had to overcome white supremacy that has been inculcated. White supremacy is taught very covertly, and I didn’t realize how covert it was until I arrived at my school. From the first day of orientation, I felt inadequate in comparison to my Caucasian counterparts. I couldn’t explain where these ideas came from. We would all be conversing and they spoke of living in a lavish town and attending a fancy New England boarding school. Many spent the summer in Europe, and have enjoyed white privilege throughout their short lives.

I have been taught white supremacy everywhere from public school curriculum to media images. Coming home from school I would declare, “I’m dropping out because I refuse to continue being taught white supremacy.” However, I lived in the hood, went to an all black school, and worked at a place with majority minority workers. My exposure to white people were the cops, teachers, and bosses and they held the power and frequently wielded it tyrannically. Having the ideology that Caucasians are better than I am did not really come into place because we interacted infrequently. I realize now that it's taught as a precaution. All the odds are against someone like me getting out. If one of us does manage to get out there are precautions in place to keep them mentally crippled until they return to what they know. I stepped foot in my classes and the only place I saw my face was in the reflection in the windowpane, and these feelings of inadequacy just appeared. It was like a dam that had been filled for years finally cracked open. Being an African American male is more pronounced than it has ever been for me. There is, approximately, one African American male for every hundred students. I know that I am just as capable as my classmates, and I am beginning to display this in class. But, it took a good two weeks for me to be able to say that.

High school did not prepare me for a college career. I feel like high school was a time for me to learn life lessons and lose weight. On my first day of class, my professor tells the class her name and announces that we need to purchase a 250 page book directly following her class. The class needs to have the book read by Thursday, and have a 6 page paper due the following week. (This is a Tuesday, and only one of my five classes.) It’s not that I am not able to accomplish this feat. I did. It’s just that in high school all we did was 500 word essays, and took a month to read one book. Adjusting to this new level of work is very difficult, but I will get it done. A six page double spaced essay is not a 3 page essay single space. (One of the most disturbing lessons I have learned so far. LOL) I get so disgusted when I talk to some of my friends who are attending HBCU’s and state colleges and they tell me the worst they have to do is write a 2 page paper, or annotate a bibliography.

I am not necessarily enthralled by any of my classes to the point where I show up an hour before class begins. But, they are definitely interesting. The class topics are: Migration to America in the 20th century, Performance Studies, Cultural Studies, The New York Public School System, and Personal Spirituality. I like my professors, and recently discovered that you have to have a healthy communication life with your professors. In my first dialogue, I basically had to inform them of my background. I felt like many of them assumed I was also from a boarding school and have rich parents. This is not the case. There is a gap I have to cross just to reach where many of my peers began college. I am capable, and will continue to build. My professors had certain expectations that I was not fulfilling, and they felt I was being rebellious because my work wasn't meeting their standards. I basically told them I'm going to give you what you expect and more. But, it's going to take me a second to learn the basic college writing skills. Public school taught me how to write to pass the standardized tests. Five paragraph essays do not suffice in college. Yes, I can tell a story and bring you to tears. ( I've done this twice in class so far. The professor was speechless.) A clear concise essay with an argument is going to take a while, but I'm going to learn.


I literally lost the freshman fifteen during the first month. I now wear a XS or XXS, and 30 waist, which is disturbing. I can feel my ribs and my spine, and they are starting to show when I'm shirtless. I’ve become that skinny toothpick bitch I used to hate when I was bigger. I have become a vegetarian by default. (Tofu is not as disgusting the way people detail.) I miss having something fried at least once a week. There is no stove top, so I cannot fry myself catfish or chicken. All my clothes are too big, but that‘s starting to be the look. In November, after I get my gym membership, I’m going to start a 3,000 calorie a day diet. (I’m going to love it.)

They say you don’t really know a person until you live with them. Most people have an assumption of that person beforehand. My roommates are very nice. I live with three other males. There are two rooms and two boys in each room, and we share a kitchen, bathroom, and living space. I don’t speak much with my roommate. When I come home from school I’m usually in a mood and don’t wish to talk about anything at that time. He’s nice though. He has his quirks, but WHO AM I TO SPEAK ON QUIRKY PEOPLE? One of the other roommates is rarely home, rather when he is home I don’t know until he comes out of his room. The other roommate is cool. He walks around in his boxers, and I definitely do not mind. (HEHE) Overall, they don’t steal my stuff and I don’t steal theirs. We respect each others space and stay as tidy as we can.

I was released from my punishment a week before leaving for college, therefore I was not able to say goodbye to any of my friends. During my punishment I went into deep thought every day. I realized that many of the people I did not get a chance to say goodbye to were poisonous. I needed to prune the unhealthy relationships from my life in order to grow. Those who I had healthy relationships with I told them how much I appreciated them and how much they truly meant to me. I did not get closure from my real friends because we departed incorrectly. The first week of school, I recognized that I was trying to find other people who reminded me of my friends to fill the void. I miss them all. But, I have let my missing them tie me down from finding new people to enjoy. They are all living their lives and thriving. They miss me and are thinking about me, but it’s not all-consuming. I have been SHADE to some of my classmates. Some of the boys are crusty looking and want a chocolate Mandingo fetish, and I’m not interested. I realize I can’t be friends with everyone so I’m filtering very selectively.

My parents are behaving well without me. I know they are flipping out, but they are retaining face very well. My father is starting to build the foundation for a relationship that is not so much father/son, but more man to man. THIS RELATIONSHIP THING PETRIFIES ME. I spent so much time getting over the fact we didn’t have a relationship, and coming to terms with that ideal. Now, he finally has found a way to hold a relationship with me. I just have to take things slowly, because he definitely is getting me open to quickly. He said some things to me in a touching e-mail. I clutched my pearls and walked through the street listening to Chrisete Michele's "Your Joy." I can’t allow this man to hurt me anymore or again. (Just when I came to terms with pleasantries being our only form of dialogue.) Mother is mother. I told her of my difficulties in class one day and she started to cry. She’s constantly questioning if I’m eating and being good.

Yes, I’m being good. (Whatever that means.) Everyone from home assumed my morals and standards would fly out the window and I’d become this porn model/drug dealer. I’m very focused. I feel I am too focused at times. But, I’d rather be over focused than at every ball, cultural experience, play, and party. I know that I want to be a little more fluid because I don't want to regret being so involved in my schoolwork at graduation. I’ve been to a few parties since I’ve been here and Priscilla does not know how to throw a good party. (Priscilla= white woman.) Getting ready for the party, truthfully, is more fun than being at the event. The two hours of trying on outfits, primping, dancing to M.I.A’s Kala cd. (It’s a must have for any party. You cannot listen to this cd without moving.) I get to the party and I gag, and am angry I put that much effort into myself.

Worst party so far:

Brooklyn rooftop with a beautiful view of the Brooklyn Bridge. The wind is howling and it feels like it’s 30 degrees. I’m wearing a thin Super V neck. Not a normal V neck, or a deep V neck. The bottom was right above my abs, with shorts, and Nikes. I’m freezing. There are only three songs being played on repeat, all slow Billy Joel songs. Ugly boys, ugly girls, and I came with a group of freshman. Some of them are cool, but the majority are losers. Cheap drinks, but my tolerance is so high it doesn’t matter. A nice flavored Hookah pipe with four pipes. A hookah with four pipes is like a drop of Vodka: what’s the point? Ten Priscilla’s start crying because the boys won’t look at them and they‘re drunk. They began to discuss and vent their insecurities. I’m rolling my eyes thinking, “GURL, GET OVER YOURSELF.” I’m a second from catching hypothermia and shivering violently. The cops appear on a rooftop filled with minors drinking. Thank God, I got on the elevator a second after the cops dispersed. I didn’t even know they arrived until I got outside. I walked over to a bodega and bought some Jalapeno chips, and just looked like a butch queen on the corner. The worst five dollars I have ever spent. (The doorkeeper to the party couldn’t count so I got in for four and bought a shot that did absolutely nothing. THOSE WHITE PEOPLE WOULDN‘T EVEN LET ME GET ANY OF THE TEQUILA. I NEED SOMETHING STRONG TO COPE WITH THIS HORRIBLE PARTY.)

I’ve been keeping it slow after that one because I definitely almost went to jail. Also, when I punched that cop car in the West Village. These cops almost hit me, then swerve in front of me and wait forever at a stop sign. Patience is not my virtue. I punched the car as it took off, and didn’t realize I put so much force into the blow. “CLANG,” “You think that’s funny?” the cop asked, as I pumped down the street praying he didn‘t shoot me. The NYPD does have a reputation.


I haven’t been very boy crazy. My mentors told me to leave the boys alone, and I half listened. "I promise I won't mess with anyone until second semester," with my fingers crossed behind my back. I understand what they were saying now. I realize I don’t have time to nurture even an unhealthy relationship with drama, bullshit, and lies, let alone have a healthy relationship. Now, this is New York City, and I have been tempted. They are EVERYWHERE: the train, the street, the supermarket. It was like this in Philly. But, the boys are drug dealers so it wasn‘t as overt. Also, many of the boys at my school have a pre-jaded outlook on finding a boyfriend. They’re so naïve and hopeful. (Makes you say, “AWW, ain’t dat cute.”) I still have that, but I hang out with cynical older men, so it‘s buried. Also, in New York they talk to you. They walk up, approach, and speak. VERY NEW experience, compared to some of the Philly boys who will stand around and emote. (“Did you say the way he pursed his lips and fluttered his eyelashes? He wants me.” )


I’ve grown so much in the last two months. Although, I’ve had my doubts about coming to this school and city, I’m glad I did. I am free from the bondage of my parents, my environment, the cult, etc. I have acquired many virtues that I lacked and let go of a lot of bullshit that wasn’t mine to begin with, but I retained for others. My main goals now are living MY life and not being dependent on others to be the catalyst in my happiness, and soaring onto sophomore year. (Which, by the way, begins next semester. All those college courses I took during high school paid off.)


-Marz