sinking roots

Found my spirit animal.

Before I left for university, my brother told me never to say that I was going ‘to find myself’. 

Now far be it from me to acknowledge my brother as the best source of advice, but there is a stigma attached to that phrase, and I get why. It’s over-utilised by introspective, contemplative and pretentious college freshmen who think that being in a new environment automatically casts them in ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ and use superfluous multisyllabic words to make themselves sound smarter. 

Oops. 

Jokes aside, the connotation of the term may have been warped into one of affected hipsterness, but the underlying meaning still holds some value. Finding oneself is about identity, about whether you’re content with how you define yourself. I’ve never met anyone who really likes ice breakers, but the bit that tripped me up the most during welcome week was ‘tell us something interesting about yourself’. At which point I usually panicked, thinking that I was probably the most uninteresting person I knew. 

It’s an interesting comparison to be covering identity in both my sociology and commerce and culture (basically lit) classes while going through this period of transition, both of which have emphasised the role of society in shaping individual identity. Which is not a new concept for sure, but very relevant. 

Coming into these brand new college environments is when our identities are the most malleable. There’s a strong temptation to succumb to your social location, to group with people from similar backgrounds or origins because that feels the most comfortable. And there’s no shame in that, because the sensation of foreignness coming into a new environment is a lot rougher than it may sound - and I’m already in one of the most liberal and diverse student bodies in the world. 

At the same time, there’s the expectation to establish yourself as an individual. Because you want a unique story to share during those ice breakers, you want to be that person who people are excited to share fun facts (not embarrassing stories) about. Especially here in New York, the pressure to become a poetic computer scientist who can dance and stayed in four different countries is real, and that’s not even much of an exaggeration. 

It’s easy to either get swept away by the rush of activity and people, barely buoyed up by a willingness to please and to be accepted, or to collapse under the weight of all of this. The concept of independence is so much easier to conceive than it is to realise. I’ve always hated those weak heroines in dramas who just cry and don’t really do anything, because I thought that I would have the strength to be independent and self-sustainable. What I didn’t realise was that that conception was formed while I was still totally dependent - financially, definitely, but also socially. And being plucked out of that bubble and dropped into a pond leads to the realisation that in no way am I able to swim in the ocean like I thought I would be. 

I’ve been extremely lucky in some senses, being able to meet some friends who I know will look out for me and having a whole (generally) happy floor community, but that doesn’t fully discount the sensation of being tethered rather than rooted, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Having a concrete sense of self is hard to do when you still feel like you’re being blown back and forth, but the aerial perspective that that gives you is an enlightening and maturing experience. It’ll take some time for my roots to sink into the Manhattan soil, or what little of it there is in this concrete jungle, but hopefully by the time that happens, ice breakers will be child’s play.

death row.