Essay On College Life

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On my campus, there is a group of people who slack-line every day.

Many people walk their dogs, which is always relaxing to watch.

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Classes are also a dominant part of the college experience.

Sometimes classes feel like ways to pass the time between doing homework, but the classes you choose and the attitude you face them with will define your semester.I feel like a speck of dust outside the train, floating, content and happy to be between destinations. I speak both English and Chinese: Chinese is for math, science, and process, but I prefer English for art, emotion, and description.America owns my childhood, filled with pine trees, blockbuster movies, and Lake Tahoe snow; China holds my adolescence, accompanied by industrial smog, expeditious mobility, and fast-paced social scenes. My reverie isn’t at an end, but I have the answer to my question.Last Saturday night, my friend knocked on my door at midnight, and asked me if I wanted burritos.We walked down to market together, got tortilla shells, and stood out by the duck pond to watch the moon until we got too hungry and went back to our dorm to microwave the chicken.His words somehow become my words, his memories become my memories.Despite the high speed of the bullet train, my mind is perfectly still – trapped between the narrative of the book and the narrative of my own life. I read the last page and close the book, staring out the window at the shining fish ponds and peaceful rice paddies.At the beginning of my fourth week as a college student, my impression of college is one of community.Everyone that I’ve met on campus either wants to be, or is a part of a community.With moments to spare, I catch a glimpse of the boarding platform for my train. Like a compass with a broken magnetic strip, I can’t decide my true North.Like a captain frantically seeking port in a storm, I haul myself through the turbulent ocean of people, trying to avoid being stranded – or trampled – in the dustiest city in the world: Beijing, capital of both China and smog. It is the summer of 2012, and Shanghai isn’t to be home for much longer. Unsettled, I turn to my ever-present book for comfort.


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