A Series of Unfortunate Events

By Evelyn Mejia

If you’re anything like me, you’ve been riding out your sophomore slump (second year of college that fails to live up to your freshman year).

 

For me, this entire year was , “A Series of Unfortunate Events” book.

 

With just a few weeks left in this school year, I can honestly say that I have no clue how I managed to pass all of my classes. 

 

I truly do not know how I managed to take care of most of my responsibilities this year with the mental and physical deterrents, and when I say deterrents I mean that. 

 

Imagine being diagnosed with a chronic illness at 19 that most people aren’t diagnosed with until they’re 40-years-old, or realizing it was a horrible decision to move in with a best friend a month into the lease.

 

Yes, I did what all upperclassmen advise you not to do, I moved in with a high school best friend. And yes, it was horror. I won’t get too into it but let’s just say that I had no idea that moving in with my high school best friend also meant her 25-year-old man child of a boyfriend that she had just met moving in with us as well.

 

I’m talking him eating our food and overstaying his welcome even when she wasn’t home. 

 

Although my first semester living experience wasn’t the best, losing a best friend through it wasn’t the greatest thing. Especially when I didn’t have many friends to spare at the time. 

 

Like many other sophomore girls, I found myself outgrowing the few friends I made my freshman year. 

 

Due to medical struggles, I wasn’t able to meet other girls at a coffee shop and bond over our matcha orders. Or at the gym and laugh at the fact that we both have no idea what we’re doing. 

 

And unfortunately for me, I didn’t have a good singing voice so there was no way I was meeting any future bridesmaids in an acapella group. Nobody was going to walk in on me showering while I sing like Becca in Pitch Perfect because I know my talents, and singing isn’t one of them. 

 

I spent most of my freshman year in my dorm hall, where the only friends I managed to make were on the same floor as me. 

 

But as my mother has always reminded me, it’s better to be alone than to be in bad company. 

 

Although I felt tremendously lonely, it didn’t take long to tire of my pity party and realize what I bring to the table. Now I’m not afraid to eat alone.

 

It wasn’t easy to get to that realization. Social media didn’t make it any easier. I went out almost every weekend freshman year, and now I was spending my weekend nights with Viola Davis and watching her get away with murder. 

 

I felt as if I was doing something wrong. Why wasn’t my college experience as exciting as cheesy coming of age movies made it out to be? Why wasn’t I meeting my future bridesmaids and going out every weekend with them?

 

I think that during the sophomore slump we’re constantly looking for things going wrong. Constantly comparing our experiences to others. 

 

But I’m not for everyone, and not everyone is for me. And that is okay, it’s actually normal.

 

The entire time I was focusing on the lack of friends I had on campus. I was taking for granted the friends I had outside of campus, and the ones outside of Lincoln. 

 

I have the best group of friends I could ever ask for, unfortunately they don’t live in Lincoln. Fortunately for me, they only live an hour away, and distance makes the heart grow fonder right?

 

What I’m trying to say with this series of unfortunate events is that there’s beauty in the struggle and it’s okay if the struggle looks like you eating by yourself for a while.