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Reflections and Musings: My Time on Campus
Dark blue skies were lit by the high-beam stadium lights. The moon served as a spotlight for the players lined up in uniform. I traipsed the sideline, teetering on and off the field. I already received a warning from the referee for crossing the plane. The biggest game of the year, against our rivals, and we were about to win. I pressed hard on the trigger and left my finger there so the shutter flashed three times a second to capture as much of the moment as possible. I realized here the weight of a camera. Not in the physical sense, but what it meant to be able to capture these moments. The ability to freeze time forever. I vowed to never let my finger off the trigger.
The passage of time is a difficult thing for me to handle. As someone whose memory storage is quite weak, I fill my hard drive to the brim with pictures. My time on a college campus as an undergraduate is almost over as I write this. The pandemic created a separation between myself and campus. In my final week, I revisited the places I spent the most time at and that held significant memories. I captured them in photographs, in the hopes of remembering them forever. Reflecting on these places and their meaning to me, I hope to reconnect with this past and cherish the moments.
May 9, 2022
Piano Man @ Texas Memorial Hall
I always wanted to play the piano. My parents bought one when I was younger, and I would play around on the keys, discovering the simple melodies from church tunes and popular songs. At one point, my parents asked me if I wanted to take lessons. I said no. I don’t have many regrets in my life but that decision is one of them.
When I discovered the Texas Memorial Hall on the second floor of Jester West dormitory, there was a student practicing their sheet music. I was in awe of how beautifully practiced these kids the same age as me were on the classical, complex composures. This would become a frequent study place of mine. I would go in the hopes that someone would be playing the piano so I could listen while I studied. Only a few times would my friends join me to study there. They didn’t very much like how quiet it was, especially when someone was playing the piano. They found the music intrusive. So I often sat alone. Sometimes when no one else was around and nobody occupied the bench, I ventured over to the baby grand and played the four and only songs I knew from memory; ones I had learned to play in the comfort and emptiness of my home. For someone who can’t read sheet music, they don’t sound that bad. I love the structure of the piano. The alignment of the keys and the repetition of notes as you move up and down the scales. If I could actually play the piano, I would say that it is a perfect demonstration of myself: structured and routine but creative nonetheless.
The two weeks leading up to my chemistry final the first semester of college, I spent six hours a day in this room. I hate chemistry. My first ever college exam was in chemistry, and I failed miserably. It was a major wake-up call that said, “Margaret, I’ve a feeling we’re not in highschool anymore.” No matter how much more I studied and how many tutoring sessions I went to, I did not pass a single exam in chemistry. It was quite disheartening, especially because our grades were released at the beginning of the next class’ lecture. I cried every time. There was much riding on my final exam grade. I hardly studied for my other finals. By some miracle (or maybe it was due to my incessant studying for over 60 hours), I passed my final and therefore, the class.
Despite these difficult memories connected to this room, it was the first place I thought to go when starting this project. Chemistry was quite a defining point of my college career. I have made peace with the past turmoil and negative feelings it caused me, because it essentially put me on my current path. This room, in particular, has strong ties to chemistry, but I remember it mostly because of the piano. The solace I felt and still remember feeling when I heard music students play Clair de Lune and tunes alike helped me achieve and maintain that peace and acceptance.
Emptiness @ Jester West Basement
Not many people knew about the Jester West basement. Or maybe they did, but it was almost always empty when I was there. I don’t blame the students for leaving it unoccupied; it’s quite a depressing space. Flickering, fluorescent lights protruding from low-hanging ceilings, uninviting furniture, and worn, tile flooring. Why my friend and I chose it as our study/hangout space is something of a mystery. Maybe the emptiness made us feel comfortable to be as loud as we always were when together. We never got much studying done, Molly and I. If our subject of conversation did pertain to our studies, we typically complained about the material or about our lack of understanding. Neither of us actually knew how much the other was struggling in school. It was one of those college friendships in which we constantly joked about our problems, but never talked through them in a serious manner. It was fine for the time being; enjoyable, actually because it was easy and care-free. I miss this friendship, and despite the amount of time that has passed, I still mourn the loss. My mom told me one of those cheesy mom-sayings when I was feeling particularly sad one day: “some friends are for a reason, some for a season, and some for a lifetime.” It took me a while to accept this, and I’ve yet to fully get over some relationships. I’d rather remain wistful, though, than to fully move on with apathy because then I still retain and recount those feelings. To fully let go, or in my definition to become apathetic, is to lose those feelings, for which I have no desire to do.
I have self-diagnosed object attachment. I associate memories and sentiment with inanimate objects and places. When I made the list of places on campus to visit and capture, I didn’t have an exact idea of what I was to write about each place. I did not know when visiting this dark basement I would reflect on my lost friendships from college. Revisiting the locations in which I deemed significant, I sat for a long time thinking about why it was significant. What memories or people did I associate with each place? For me, as it turns out, the empty basement brought me to my concluded friendships.
New Roads Lead to Old Ones @ DKR Memorial Stadium
I’ve been coming to Longhorn football games since before I was born. My dad bought season tickets for him and my mom after he graduated. My siblings and I rotated between going to games growing up. It was the only football team we watched at home. In fact, it was the only sports team we watched at all. After Vince Young and Colt McCoy, it was hard to be a fan. I remember I would pray, begging God to help our team win. It never really worked, but I was a child and still hopeful. Football, like many other UT students, remained at the center of my college experience. Participating in the fanfare of it all, as a student, was an intense unifier that affirmed my place at the university. There isn’t much of a deeper meaning to this place. Yet, it bridged my past to the present. It kept me connected with my family and upbringing, despite being 3 hours and 15 minutes away from my childhood home. I saw my dad every other weekend and I called home at least once a week to talk football, among other important issues. Texas football will remain as a unifier and connection to my family, as my younger brother is one of the newest members of the Longhorn family. And it will most definitely be a staple in my home when I get older.
The Long Walk Home @ ECG Parking Garage
For the two years I lived on campus, I parked my car at the ECG garage on the other side of I-35, next to the baseball stadium. After late nights out, I walked across the MLK bridge, alone, convinced I would eventually be kidnapped under the cover of night. Luckily, that never happened. I would call my sister or a friend as I walked to my dorm in the case that an abduction was attempted. It wasn’t until my third year of college that I thought to buy myself some form of protection. I write this as lightheartedly as possible, although I fear laughing about potential harm to my person does not come off well. This is yet another place where previously negative or anxiety-ridden feelings are now evolved into peaceful ones.
At the beginning of my senior year, I decided to go back to this parking garage. I spent the past year inside and I was tired of being trapped indoors all of the time. Instead of going to one of the many beautiful parks in Austin, I determined I wanted some privacy and thought my previous parking garage would serve my purpose well. I arrived just before sunset one evening and drove to the very top floor. My car facing campus, I watched the burnt orange sun fall between the UT Tower and the Texas Capitol. I would go back to watch the sunset two or three times a week that fall semester, bringing my camera with me to capture the moment. I went alone every time, often avoiding telling my roommates where I went and why I was gone. I didn’t go as often in the spring, but I knew I needed to revisit one last time for this project. There’s a reason why cliché things are cliché. Watching the sunset would fall into this category. Yet, something about where I was, what I saw, and the fact that I was alone brought me peace and solace whenever I went. In theory, I could always come back to this spot and watch the sunset; I would just have to pay for parking. But, again, there is something about what I felt when I visited this place. In my humble opinion, it’s the best view of Austin and the best kept secret of campus.