Dear Diary, I'm Finding Myself

College Of Arts And Science

Dear Diary,

I really like NYU. I feel like the universe knew what it was doing when I got that rejection letter from Florida. And from Connecticut. I’m grateful that my path lead me to New York. I don’t just like the college, I like the city as well.

I always thought of myself as a small town girl. I even liked my dad’s childhood home, the peacefulness of the countryside and all that. But New York just woke up something inside me that I didn’t even know existed. I don’t hate the crowd at all, even if I thought I would.

I love the liveliness of the streets, the noise of traffic. I like how you can hide from all that, make it disappear inside a park. I love the skyscrapers, reaching so high up in the sky that they seem infinite. I’m in love. I’m in love with New York.

I go to college the next day, like nothing happened. Like I didn’t just try to strangle Cassie in my nightmare, then have myself driven away by the state police. Yeah, the day started off … weirdly. It’s a good thing I woke up to Hunter’s arms wrapped around me.

And yeah, I told him what I was dreaming about after he explained that I woke him up. When I put my hands around his neck. Then swiveled like an eel inside his arms as he tried to calm me down. Explains the police part.

Anyway, I’m a completely new girl after getting my morning coffee. Just kidding. Still same old Perrie. Minus the murderous urge. I hope it doesn’t come back as soon as I lay my eyes on Cassie again.

At least I have someone to talk to. Indira and I exchanged numbers yesterday. Just in case one of us gets lost, trying to navigate around the campus. It’s gigantic. I haven’t expected this. I mean, I’ve only seen the Yale campus. But not the whole thing. Which is at least four times bigger than ours, judging by what Hunter’s told me.

Thank God I didn’t get in, I’d probably bawl my eyes out every day if I had to find my way around it. Okay, I’d have Hunter to help me out. That’s the big difference. I just hope I don’t get lost while trying to find my first lecture hall.

The Arts and Science part of NYU is situated almost by the edge of Washington Square Park. As I get met with the familiar orange bricks and white windows, I can’t help but stand and observe for a moment. I didn’t think I’d like this, but I do.

I head inside the building and slowly start combing through the place, soon finding the right marking by the door. Okay, this is where the class takes place. I enter, realizing that there aren’t that many students here already.

As I sit down in an almost empty row, I look around my classmates. I don’t spot any familiar faces. Our first class of the day is literature. I’m not sure if I mentioned this yet, but NYU doesn’t offer journalism as a single major. You have to combine it with something else. And I chose English literature. I know. Kind of obvious, right?

I’m actually really excited that my first lesson today is about literature. I know that I’ve redirected myself into journalism, but fiction is still my passion. I don’t know, I guess I just find something appealing, about getting lost in stories.

That said, my story soon turns for the worse as I spot a familiar head coming into the lecture hall. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. She chose English literature as well? I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to see her face here.

I turn back around, remembering what Hunter said to me. Whatever happens, stay away. I will. I don’t want to give her even a split second of my attention. She doesn’t deserve it anyway.

The lecture hall soon starts filling up, making me realize just how many students actually pick English literature as their major. I’ve heard people say that this is the major you choose when you have no idea what you want to do with your life. But that’s not the case with me. I actually like it.

I soon get brought out of my thoughts as the door closes and our professor walks in. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Okay. He looks way too young to be teaching. As he greets us and starts preparing his stuff, I notice a few girls in the front row swooning over him.

I roll my eyes. Unbelievable. Are they here to study or to eye professors? I really don’t understand those kind of girls. As I return my gaze to the front, I notice why they’re acting like this.

Okay, he’s fairly good-looking, I guess. Not that it’s important, but still. Messy dark hair, thick eyebrows, a mysterious, almost brooding gaze … I guess I understand why they’re attracted to him.

“Good morning, class. My name is Daniel Rodriguez and I will be taking over your literature class this year,” he speaks up as he finishes putting all his stuff away. “Now, before we begin, let’s start with your obligations for this subject.”

The fact that he got straight to the point, leaves me satisfied. Good, so he’s taking this seriously. He’s not just here to get a paycheck. I hope he knows stuff too, not just acts stern, because he wants to have authority in class.

After listening to him for half an hour, I realize my hopes weren’t in vain. He knows his literature. I mean, I’ve liked Mrs. Ramirez’s lessons in high school, but his are something else. They have depth, he encourages us to think, to try to understand the subject we’re talking about. It’s really interesting to listen to what he has to say.

Towards the end of the lesson, it’s getting hard to focus, because some girls behind me keep whispering and giggling to each other. And the worst part is, I can hear every word they say, which makes it even harder for me to listen to the professor.

They’re talking about him. Like, obsessively commenting on his looks and what they’d like him to do to them. Come on. Firstly, gross, secondly, have some self-respect for Christ’s sake! What is wrong with girls my age?

At one point, I can’t take it anymore, so I turn around with a nasty glare, wanting for them to shut up already. “Shh!” I hiss at them. It comes out a little more loudly than I thought it would. They shut up, but so does the professor.

As I turn around, my breath hitches in my throat. He’s staring right at me. After a moment, he continues lecturing, but not before sending me a look of approval. I sit there, feeling awkward because I just got a silent praise for shutting up a few chit-chatters. I hope they won’t hate me for getting Mr. Rodriguez’s attention now.

Why do I even care? I’m here to study, not make friends. Especially not the kind of friends that talk in class. About doing teachers. Bleh.