This is my last hurrah.
In two weeks, my script will end. And although the scenes will be fleeting, my memories of Duke will remain, complete with photogenic smiles that can never be detagged.
It will be tragic but beautiful, much like those troubled tales of romance that make for good chats over coffee at brunch. The tears will be inevitable-like those that mark the end of sorority date functions-but undoubtedly drowned in cheap wine or local microbrewery beer. I can almost taste the nostalgia of that Carolina sunset.
But until then, I will continue to write and recite the lines for the character I've so meticulously embodied for the past four years.
"Who's Ming?" I'm still flattered when I hear this even though the response has always been the same: "She's a [insert undergraduate year here]. Kappa. Works for The Chronicle. Pre-med... maybe?"
I suppose all of those things are true. Except, I'm not blonde or Southern (and for most of my life, I wasn't even American). And I don't actually read The Chronicle. (It's true, and I'm sorry.) But call me in a few years and maybe I'll give you a discount on that Botox.
Before I arrived in Durham, one unofficial profile of our university told me that walking around West Campus is like walking into an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. And like most new arrivals, I saw my collegiate self as a blank canvas. So I thought, if I could paint myself into a meticulously Photoshopped adolescent with great teeth and a chiseled physique just by going to school, then sign me up!
I guess what they were describing was the notorious "effortless perfection" (which, if you haven't realized, applies to guys too.).
Duke students want to be wanted. (And need to be needed?) We strive for validation-from our peers, future employers or that guy who more or less imposed an anatomy lesson on you at Shooters. In doing so, we subject ourselves to becoming agents of a grander play that takes place on this Neo-Gothic stage of pampered foliage and unreasonably expensive facilities. Some time between the social priming of freshman year and the debauchery of sophomore year, we emerge with an identity that will carry us through graduation and beyond. If this is all a part of some choreographed routine for us to strive to be our best, then why not dance on?
On this stage, we are invincible. Every conceivable plot and prop is within our reach. Think of the lattes in the library and drinks at the WaDuke. Wireless access to Facebook and infinite resources for that last-minute term paper. Not to mention, falling in and out of love before a semester's end. News of robbery/date rape/murder fills our inboxes but makes for little more than a conversation starter with a friend from freshman year or a nebulous significant other.
We live in a bubble enclosed by a metaphorical three-foot wall within which we are inundated with trivial problems that seem to have monumental bearing on our ability to function. We struggle in pursuit of eccentricities to define ourselves while still trying to fit into the groove of great expectations.
But there's more to be said for this charade because, after all, what's a tale without conflict? Along this epic journey to "find your passion," you will undoubtedly encounter the realities of life, which will ultimately lead you to one of a few places: Wall Street, grad school or your parents' house.
Having accumulated 40-plus credits on my transcript, I can say I walked away with at least a handful of intellectually stimulating experiences (thanks, Alma). But the moments that shaped me the most happened at 6 p.m. every day freshman year at the Marketplace, off East while looking for a crime scene, as I rode shotgun toward the beach with the sun setting in the rearview mirror and hand-in-hand as I promenaded with my girlfriends in Fleishman Commons post-Tailgate.
So when the curtain finally draws to a close, will you be there for the standing ovation? Or will you have checked out a long time ago, wondering why you dropped $40,000 a year for this show? Whatever the case may be, the show must go on. As I exit the stage and take my final bow, I will step out of my battered Rainbow sandals and into the next chapter of my narrative.
And as for Duke, I welcome the new cast of characters who will inevitably fumble on the same lines, improvise here and there, and maybe retire with a similar sense of wisdom and contentment.
Mingyang Liu is a Trinity senior. She is a senior editor and recruitment chair at The Chronicle. She wants to welcome back Ali Herman to this Gothic Wonderland.
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