The Sophomore Year Experience at TCNJ

How I ate Vegemite and Lived to Tell the Tale

By William Westerman

In the style of Danielle Bazer, I present to you this reflective acrostic poem on the Fall Semester.

Since

August

My

Old

World

Expands

New

Since I richly described the fall foliage in my last entry, there is little reason to fill this space with hyperbolic descriptions of trees and leaves. Even so, the branches are bare, the ground ashen, the former dappled branches frozen with the chill of wint-

But what keeps turning over in my mind (whatever cognitive space not yet terrorized by the demands of reading the equivalent of one small library every week) is how quickly time passes. We hear parents say it, professors lament the time wasted by our friend Sandy, graduates warn of the coming of the real world, but it seems to me (and, since this is my blog, this is the only opinion that matters) that we do little to counteract the effects. Perhaps I continue to be wrapped up in my mortality, but it is truly alarming to witness the first half of the first half (sort of) of my college career begin to draw to a close. It feels like last week that I remember the terror of moving into my Freshman floor, and the sting of Hurricane Irene, and it feels like yesterday that we just overcame Hurricane Sandy—look at that careful juxtaposition of disparate storms to evoke my own concentrated effort on the increasingly frequency of traumatic weather events. Pulitzer, here I come.

Every page closer to the end of the chapter, every exam closer to the final, every chai latte closer to the end of the semester (and more importantly, my points). Being the perpetually sunny and optimistic person that I am, these thoughts whirl around, challenging me to take refuge before the storm (both figurative and literal), and make some sign of change. Some aspect of progress. Some acknowledgement of self-worth.

Above: Me pondering the mysteries of the universe while strolling to class, feeling a bit blue

Walking to class this morning, mulling over the perfect way to begin my blog, I encountered a rut. “What have I accomplished this fall?” I pondered out loud, scaring the birds resting nearby with the severity of my tone. Did I lead the I-House volleyball team to triumphant victory? Did I finally get Big Larry to fondly refer to me as “brother?” Did I party as hard as I work? Did I finally take out the trash?

The answer hit me with a resounding thud. No. My lofty ambition once again proved fruitless to the suffocating vortex of doom, the place where dreams and puppies go to die. If nothing had been achieved, then what had been the point of my constant toiling all those long days, sitting in the library, waiting in line for meal equiv?

The answer to that question, surprisingly, came from a usually unlikely source for knowledge: my professor. Having just discussed our next assigned reading, “Happily,” a series of post-modernist (woooo literature theory) poems, Professor X explained the connection between the word “happy,” and the word “haphazard,” indicating a common connection between time, chance, and happiness. Drawing on the Buddhist tradition, it was made apparent that true happiness (whatever that means) depends on the constancy of your present, rather than the presumed future you create for yourself, or the past you seek to revisit in times of conflict.

It may be too easy to pin your hopes on the present, but it seems to me (and, as I reminded you previously, only my opinion matters on this blog) that that is a neat way to live. Because a professor told this to me, and the knowledge of professors is indisputably infallible, I think my professor has just given me the go-ahead to postpone work on his essay until I feel happy with my present. That could be awhile. For actual confirmation of this theory by scientists, see this link: http://www.ted.com/talks/matt_killingsworth_want_to_be_happier_stay_in_the_moment.html

In my scattered and mixed up brain, this also connects with my time (now almost a full semester) at the TCNJ I-House (affectionately known by me as IHOP, or International House of People). Unlike many of the other topics I lament, this actually merits contemplation. By the time this blog goes to press, the semester will be almost over, and many of the international students will be jetting off to their respective home countries.  I imagine that I will stand by the window, scratching my fingernails at the glass, like the lost puppy I am, wondering about the future.

Which brings us full circle, once again (another tool in my treasure trove of exciting literary devices) to the acrostic poem. Never mind that it isn’t actually an acrostic poem (but a secret code), but the sentiments ring true. Though time is brief, though the distance may be wide, it’s my opinion (and, for the third time this blog, I’m reminding you of my importance) that if the time was well spent, then surely something new has been gained, something old transformed.

See you real soon,

W

The I-House and Black Student Union Present “Trip Around the World”

P.S. Observant readers may notice the subheading’s complete irrelevance to the blog. This was (almost) intentional. I just wanted to mention that I ate Vegemite (do a quick Google search if you have no idea what that is)…and liked it.

Above: The horrifying deliciousness that is fermented yeast extract spread, or, Vegemite.

William Westerman is currently major-less, but plans on a mixture of English, Japanese, and anything else he can manage. He is currently a resident of the TCNJ International House, and enjoys walking, traveling, walking while traveling, and a host of other infinitely interesting and lengthy hobbies