A few confessions

Everyday last year as 5 p.m. approached, you could probably find me in the same place. Slumped over my editor's desk in 301 Flowers, tapping at the keyboard and punching in comments to an edited story or quickly barraging a source with questions on the phone before the workday ended. But no matter what was happening, I always took a moment to stop as the carillonneur began his slow song and it drifted down through the short space between the Chapel and the windows of the Chronicle office.

Five heavy chimes from the largest bell, and then the 49 other bells jumped in, sending notes ricocheting off the Gothic stones on the edge of Perkins and Page and the West Union, scattering along the quad and over the heads of tired students exiting class and trudging back to their dorm rooms. It was scheduled, expected, but somehow when 5 p.m. arrived, it was always a pleasant surprise to find the campus awash with the ringing of bells, the flush of regal sound.

These days when students look at the Chapel, this iconic image of Duke, I doubt many of them think, RELIGION, but it's still something to consider. We were ushered into Duke on its polished pews at convocation, and they'll bid us farewell on those same seats at baccalaureate.

I am neither very religious nor very fond of reading into obvious religious imagery-after four years of English classes, I've had my fill of Christ-like figures. But I've decided, in the spirit of our campus's religious roots, that it's time to confess a few things that I've been burning to get off my chest. (OK, so the Methodists that founded Duke don't really believe in Catholic-style penitence, but just work with me on this one.)

In no particular order, a few random confessions:

I actually really enjoy the food at The Loop. / David, I stole your stapler on purpose. / Once, my friends and I almost got caught trespassing while wearing 80s spandex and cotton headbands. / Sometimes Duke basketball really bores me. / Nevertheless, I have a crush on Jon Scheyer and I'm in love with Abby Waner. / I came to Duke determined to major in anything but English-I wanted something more "practical"-and not only am I now an English major, I'm headed to Boston to study poetry for a year. Freshmen, take note. / I can't dance, but I do anyway. / When we had the mayor of Winston-Salem over to our apartment for dinner, we almost served him vodka instead of water by accident. / I'm going to miss North Carolina. / And my final confession, perhaps the biggest of them all: I used to not like Duke. It's hard to say why-there were several reasons-but my first semester and a half at Duke dragged with hooks along the ground, and I wondered: Is Duke really the place for me?

Since then, my mind has changed. The days dropped off as if the calendar broke apart at the seams, and as the dust cleared, college became what it was supposed to be-I've loved every damn second. Words and books and lines filled my academic time. I swam in the Gulf of Thailand and in the waterfalls of Kanchanaburi; toasted July 4 with sangria and three Dukies in Middle-of-Nowhere, Ghana; made friends with strangers in the rain in Montmartre, in Accra, in Siem Reap. I danced in the mud on LDOC with friends who have become my family and have had countless sleepovers with countless friends. Fell asleep during all-nighters on the tables in Rick's, surrounded by papers and laptops and omelets and friends to wake me up when it's time to go to class. Had dinner with famous writers, talked poetry with famous poets. Sprinted from class to the office to my dorm room, always to find friends waiting for me to change clothes and head to Main Street.

Although many of us dread this moment for all of college, it's time to move on. I just have that feeling. But when all my suitcases are packed and sitting forlornly by the door of my apartment, and I turn around to look at the empty rooms, I'm sure I'll step back and think: Where the hell did college go?