I BASK in the scorching heat, witnessing new faces cheer in color-coded shirts and matching headbands, each upbeat chatter swelling in waves as the crowd begins their walk.
The sun bears down on them; the golden beams cover the crowd like a welcome remark. Quietly, the old landmark stretches a long shadow over them, not to outshine, but to embrace its new dwellers.
Phones are raised in shaky hands, each student restless and optimistic as the other. Some carry the weight of possibilities, others the fear of not quite living up to it. Yet all bear the same spark of beginning.
Once, under the arch, I was one of them — eager, bright, yet full of questions. I remember the hurried footsteps on the concrete, how I tried to match the pace of everyone else. My peers would talk about professors we had not met and buildings we had not seen, yet the thrill of possibility wrapped around us.
Back then, I thought this milestone would uncover direction—that the cobblestones might lead to belonging right away. Only from the years that had slowly passed where I finally learned.
It was never about knowing the way, but learning how to walk it; to move as the days did, to remain steady when the seasons shifted and to pause when continuing felt too tiring.
Now, at the edge of the crowd, I stand as a silent witness to dreams like mine unfolding, the same shadow casting over me. The main building gazes across the plaza, as if time ripples around it but never through it.
The breeze flows with banners rippling and cheers belting, and the pathway is lit bright with the thrill of arrival.
I see them as I once was; wide-eyed and untested. But the day is young, and the beat of the drum is only beginning. F
