I started playing soccer in the elementary recreational league, where Saturday mornings became hair ribbons, cleats, and the smell of detergent on the grass stains smeared into my jersey.
Posts published in “Senioritis”
Senioritis is an Opinion column written by one or two Stevens student(s) in their last year of study to discuss life experiences during their final year at Stevens, and other related subject matter.
There is a distinct, unwritten ritual to the first day of classes. You wake up five minutes before your alarm, agonizing over an outfit that says “effortlessly put together” rather than “I just finished track and field lift five minutes ago.”
Dear Freshman Year Abby,
Hey. It’s you… from the future. I wanted to use my last Senioritis article to write to you and give some spoiler alerts for your next three years.
It’s the last thirty seconds of senior year, many find the overwhelming sense of nostalgia nauseating, a constant muggy feeling in the background of every final class, club meeting, or late-night side quest.
So we are in the homestretch. It’s April, the weather is starting to warm up just a bit, and the graduation plans are being planned.
Ahhh, back from a nice and relaxing spring break, what every college student looks forward to and not-so-meticulously plans. It seems like everyone is buzzing around the week before spring break with murmurs of Cabo, San Juan, and, dare I say, Punta Cana humming in the background.
As most of you know, I am graduating in May. Yup, a senior writing the senioritis column… groundbreaking. But most of you knew that by reading this column every week, flipping between me and Anna as we yap about life and stuff.
I believe that the most powerful thing I have gained from Stevens is no longer fearing rejection. I remember stepping foot on campus at the young age of 18 and being fearful to even email a professor to ask to be excused from class for illness.
My plan after undergrad is to attend graduate school and obtain my master’s to become a practicing licensed therapist. I know this is my calling, and I’m truly beaming about my future.
And now we have arrived at my least favorite season, “grey days.” The six week period of disturbingly colored street slush.