I once wrote about being “decisively nostalgic” in a previous column. Indeed, nostalgia could easily be a hobby of mine; I’d happily make it a profession if I could render a snappy line in my resume about pondering my past and present.
There must have been some pivotal moment in my early childhood involving a lengthy train ride and my janky MP3; a moment in which I realized I could stage my very own reenactment of some scene I’d seen on TV that morning of a thrice-divorced woman looking out a window in deep introspection. I had nothing much to be nostalgic about at that point, but I knew I loved the dramatics. I was leaning into my “thought daughter” archetype before it even became the online term that recently emerged (for those not in the know, here is a Parents.com article that attempts to explain the youthful slang to parents in a delightfully awkward and clueless way).
My columns have been filled with the melodrama of my excessive reflection — after a year’s pause from writing, I return to you in print, and I return with unprecedented volumes of wistfulness and sentimentality.
It’s well-founded, though, since somehow I am now a senior at Notre Dame. “Decisively nostalgic” never felt more fitting.
I came to Notre Dame with very little knowledge of the school in comparison to many of my peers. As an international student from a European high school background, I had minimal exposure to the university, its alumni network or sports. My decision to attend was largely based on the stunning videos I saw of campus and the acclaimed academics. I figured I would get to enjoy the “American college experience”, sitting around under a tree with my friends and wandering through ivy-covered buildings.
On freshman move-in day, the memory of my first car ride to campus from the SBN airport is particularly vivid. I don’t know what I had imagined, but I was definitely thrown off. I had never been in the America midwest before, and I had spent my whole life living in major cities. I was just about zoning out watching the idle landscape go by when I caught my first glimpse of the dome. Between the leaves of the trees lining Notre Dame Ave and under the bright August sun, there it was, hints of glistening gold, and still to this day, one of my favorite views in the world.
Any details of Welcome Weekend past that moment are a haze in my memory. My serious lack of sleep the night before move-in did not help with the sheer amount of things I had to buy, haul and set up. Then came the endless orientation events, from passing around Post-Its to write down fun facts, to piling into the stadium for what I’m sure were very galvanizing speeches to decorating cupcakes in McGlinn Fields with our neighbors in Keough Hall. Somewhere in between, I sleepily introduced myself to several girls who would quickly become my best friends for years to come.
As I snuggled into my lofted, twin-sized bed in my McGlinn quad before the first day of class, my first impression of this place was that it was constant energy. I soon found out that this energy transcends the packed itinerary of freshman orientation weekend and was something that Notre Dame simply exuded (with the exception of the painfully cold Januaries when no one goes outdoors unless it’s necessary). Science says that energy can neither be created nor destroyed. This holds true for the pure energy that we all share at Notre Dame — a shared fondness for this place.
The last three years have been a learning curve for me. Knowing nothing about American football, I quickly learned that it’s a sunny morning in Stadium Lot, yelling the Fight Song in a jam-packed student section and allocating every Saturday of fall semester to our commitment to the Fighting Irish.
I learned to feel a giddy excitement watching the peaceful landscape on the ride from SBN to campus. I learned which corners and nooks of Hesburgh Library may still have open seats if you show up after 11 a.m. during exam weeks. I learned the best stir fry combinations and fruit bowl concoctions in South Dining Hall. I learned the shortcuts to classes, discovered lovely coffee spots around South Bend and perfected my banter with alumni who graduated decades ago.
Most importantly, I learned that when everyone speaks tirelessly of the “community” of Notre Dame, it is because this place really is home to a truly special community. It might have taken some time and homesickness, but I have grown to adore it. The way this mutual adoration brings us all together is something remarkable, and something that I certainly did not foresee when I decided to travel across continents to be a student here.
As my friends and I tirelessly lament our “last firsts” this month, as we surely will do all year, I feel beyond fortunate for this nostalgia. Despite the jump scare of the flashback pictures from freshman year that my phone occasionally decides to display, my beginning at Notre Dame was one of the most special times of my life. And now as I’ve come full circle to embark on its ending, I’ll be taking this nostalgia as a gift, and as a reminder of all I’ve learned – throughout our final year together, a reminder of the way I love thee Notre Dame.
