To see and be seen

In addition to facial characteristics, physical features and stride, people can be recognized with near perfect accuracy by the way they dress and maintain themselves. That being said, I am easily identified on the Plaza by my (now) off-white Converses, dirty sweatpants, wrinkled Duke T-shirt, stained hoodie (for warmth) and huge backpack (which provides gravitational incentive to fall backward). When I turn around, my peers can be assured it's me by the rings circling my bloodshot eyes, my hair falling out at all directions from my messy bun and my shaking hands around my fifth cup of coffee.

Yes, this is how you can spot Ashley Sarpong anywhere, especially during the cruelty of midterms. And in these times of chronic distress, I am being watched. The cruel stampede of tour groups that seem to aimlessly traverse our campus pick me out and follow me visually. When prospective students converge onto campus, I feel that I have morphed from a college student to a troubled pop star, shaved head and all, who must fight off the paparazzi. In my three years at Duke, I have tried countless ways to cope with these unwanted observers.

Freshman and sophomore year, my strategy of coping with the tour groups was to handle them with confidence. I would don clean clothes, put on make-up, comb my hair and strut my stuff up and down West. But, of course, when I did this, the watchful pre-froshes were nowhere to be found. Of course, when I slipped up, and reverted back to my normal struggling student get-up, young visitors and their parents abounded, snapping pictures and staring at me as I bowed my head down in shame.

Unfortunately, wherever I went, especially on difficult days, these tourists were inescapable. They were there when I ran to the Bryan Center to fill up on comfort food. They were there when I hurried back to my dorm to brush my teeth before class, after pulling an all-nighter in von der Heyden. They were there when I tried to hide myself in the stacks to frantically finish my term paper, thinking that no one would see me. No matter what I do, I can't seem to escape these perennially perky pre-froshes. They're everywhere, tormenting me, with their intent eyes, watching me.

Sometimes, I feel the urge to just stop them and ask them questions like: Why are you here? Why are you looking at Duke? Why are you staring at me? I want to tell them so badly that they have no idea what they're getting into, that this campus is beleaguered with a competitive pressure, that they will be challenged mentally, emotionally and, at times, physically (because those all-nighters will push their limits), that they will soon trade their designer dudes and good looks for rags and bloodshot eyes. They will grow up fast, too fast. They will be exposed to challenges they have never faced before, to people they have never met before and to experiences, both curricular and extracurricular, that they will never forget.

But then I pause, because I cannot actually bring myself to call Duke "bad." Challenging, yes. Distressing at times, yes. But would I really run up to a crowd of prospective students and tell them, "Don't come to Duke"? That, in the end, is their decision. But I think my major urge to lecture visitors is not so much about them, and more about me.

You see, what I have come to realize about my tourist friends is that they don't represent the carefree state I was in when I decided to come to Duke, but the hopes and aspirations that came with my decision. Yes, college life is hard. Yes, it's embarrassing that other people see me in disarray. But it also makes me proud, that students want to come where I am, to a place that will provide the means to gain greatness. They may trade in their jeans for sweats, hair straighteners for messy buns, but eventually I will trade in my heavy backpack for a briefcase, because of my time at Duke.

So I've decided to cope with my observers by leaving them alone, and not worrying about what they think of me now. Rather, I have learned that I should allow them to dream of what they will look like after four years here, something that will make them recognizable beyond the Plaza.