I have always had a love for the seasons. Fall for me recalls vacations spent in Pennsylvania where the trees flushed in ambers and reds, and their fallen leaves crunched loudly beneath my feet. Spring springs me forward to the Potomac River in Washington, D.C., where the clouds of cherry blossoms filled the air with a pink rain-like hue that awed everyone. Winter evenings in Indiana bring chilled memories of frost that seemed to bite at my cheeks and nose. Splashes of summer days at Grandma’s Upland house combined pool-crazed antics and fresh lemonade that cooled the blistering California heat.
Notice how my memories are in the past tense. While La Verne’s campus and charming town have anchored me for many seasons, all I can remember is school. I cannot help but ask, when will I have time to sit back and smell the flowers?
My educational journey has been marked with highs and lows, with memories well cherished and those better off forgotten. Slowly, through classes (and stress) acquired, the days bled into weeks and then into months. Everything became a mission to graduate, to get to the end of the long and twisted road of knowledge. All of the pleasures in life seemed to fade away into a chaotic riptide of school and work. I seemed to be working all day, everyday, and while most people may have envied my Disneyland job, the magic of Mickey Mouse did not make it easier to have a full schedule. I was no longer able to use drumming as an outlet; in fact, for now, music has been erased from my life. I barely have time to read, a pleasured pastime that has become a luxury during my college years. Time is continuously flowing, and I feel as if something is missing. Perhaps what has disappeared is the simple joys of life and a sense of control.
I remember when my life was simple, in the days I label “the wonder years of childhood.” Those were the days when a walk to the candy shop in downtown Butler, Pa., was the most work I had to do, and deciding which soda to have mixed behind the bar was a difficult decision. Now, my work is 30 plus hours a week to pay for the University’s high tuition, and the tough decisions in life are whether to gain an internship or take a philosophy class. How will I get a job in this economy? What will become of my dreamed up future? These are philosophical questions, indeed.
At age 6, when I first began reading, the adventures and thrills of literature captivated me. I looked up every word I did not understand and processed passages from the tales I loved. I could see the writers’ worlds—and imagined flying through the Neverland sky with Peter Pan, fighting with Romeo for love and truth and wading down the Mississippi River with Huckleberry Finn. Soon, I wanted to be those authors who took me on travels through time and to distant lands. I wanted to write, to open a vein and bleed words to a world that needed imagination. I realize now this is what I have spent all these years working toward. This is what lies beyond school.
Spring is coming. The flowers will soon greet the sun’s warm rays. La Verne’s streets will regain their famous tree canopy. There will be a ceremony in May, one that opens the cover to a new chapter in my life; one that will take me back to nature, to the personal and raw beauty of writing.
Samantha Sincock, Editor-in-Chief