Shades of Blue

In between loads of laundry, I somehow relived my high school memories. I pulled one of my collared shirts from the dirty hamper, the plaid one with infinitesmal blue and white squares. I don't why, but somehow I started recounting my days in high school.

Holding it in my hands, I remembered wearing this shirt almost weekly in high school. I would roll the sleeves up to my elbows, and the soft cotton would be like a pillow on the hardwood desk. I'd carefully fold my arms, lower my head, and slip into dream land. I remember wearing this shirt when I had the weekly Friday night hang outs: crazy games of Sardines, some intense Cranium, or relaxing late night movies.

I remembered the night when I walked barefoot for five miles in the shirt, when I literally walked away from home and the family that was in it. Each of my heels had a blister the size of a half dollar for a month. I remembered that my life wasn't perfect, that my one year depression in junior year and the following senior year of numbness did, in fact, occur.

I mention it now, because from time to time I have the same numbness. The feeling that my motions throughout the day are rhythmic and stale. My contributions to conversations fall short to "hello" and "goodbye." Somehow, I've forgetten to forge something original in between. Nothing is excessively great, and I feel mundane or else preoccupied with crafting some happy exterior. Then, I dive into this busy lifestyle of routines and stop at nothing to excel in those routines. And in the end to be dissappointed by a grade, some words, or silence. And all this from just a damn blue shirt.

I realize that like laundry aired out to dry, we have to expose what is hidden in cycles of secrecy for anything to come out clean. The grit and grime evaporate until there's nothing left but the original material, the pure thread. We've all had some dark shade of blue in our lives, but to share the hues, the experiences, is better than being silently numb. If anything, we have a starting anecdote, a small beginning to a conversation while we wait for something amazing to come.

Sea of Lime Green

Any Emory student will tell you the lime green shirts have been missing for three days now. The campus was flooded this past week with 1300 freshmen and with them 120 Orientation Leaders. I was one of the many Orientation Leaders (OL's as they say), eager for the new year and eager for the incoming class.

Events kicked off at McDonough field, where we forced the freshmen to learn two brand new Emory chants. Emory's said to have a lack of spirit, but it exist only among student actions. I mean in an ocean of intellectuals, no professor or role model is telling students to act like idiots from time to time. Everyone's scared of being positive, outgoing dare I say. The freshmen did just that on McDonough field and some protested the chants by standing erect during the "swoop" fight song. I don't blame them. Spirit takes time to grow and is best acquired through other students rather than orders. If more Emory students attended sports games, then we could begin to build on tradition and spirit instead of letting it remain stale.

In any event, the Orientation week was filled with 8 AM alarm clocks, an extremely long Move-In day (which included a visit from President Wagner at Dobb's Hall), and plenty of heat from both confused parents and the beaming sun. Move-In day started off with a chuckle, as President Wagner's first suitcase attempt included breaking off one of it's handles. In his defense, the suitcase was over packed and beyond its age. But it' s still ironic that the President of Emory breaks an incoming freshmen's luggage upon arrival. We all played it cool and then shouldered together for newspaper pictures with the Prez.

Orientation is this crazy ride of fatigue and pandemonium. There's a comedian, a hypnotist, some songfest practice, grueling sixteen hour days, add in academic meetings, and freshmen rendezvous and your well beyond the saturation point of sanity for the day. It's all in good fun though, and the best part has to be meeting the incoming class. I have the privelege of meeting eighteen awesome people and showing them this great institution of Emory (minus the post office). I get to share my Emory experience and all this school has done for me with total strangers. Somehow wearing a highlighter green T-shirt, khakis, and white sneakers for a solid week becomes well worth the Orientation experience.