LLDOC

When I woke up the morning, or rather afternoon, after LDOC and groggily tried to recall the end of my last LDOC, I realized that I had survived it more or less intact. For the past four years, I've treated LDOCs like birthdays-as a day filled with celebration, inebriation and a sense of pride and fear, all in the midst of good friends. And after every LDOC, I would be both in awe and disbelief that another year had passed, that I was no longer going to be a college freshman or sophomore or junior... or senior.

But this LDOC, my friends, was the big 50 for me. You know, the birthday that we dread, the one that marks a huge accomplishment, as well as the beginning of the end. Even before school started, the countdown began. Despite being caught up battling a debilitating case of senioritis as well as applying to medical school (so not a good combination), my apprehension towards and excitement for LLDOC was never far from my mind.

Who was going to be the "hip and current" performer this year? Who was going to be the "white performer from the '90s" this year? Would the weather hold up? Would the obnoxious high school and Tar Hole crashers finally incite a massive beat-down during the show?

Even as some of the answers came in and the plans for the day were formalized, I still felt a tickling sense of foreboding. How could this final celebration do justice to all the friends, the experiences and the alcohol tolerance I have acquired at Duke? (OK, who am I kidding, I'm a small Asian girl. I have no alcohol tolerance.)

So in an attempt to make my LLDOC as epic and legendary as I believed it should be, I spent most of the day catching up with friends, acquaintances and even professors. The conversations ranged from quick and succinct greetings to a two-hour long hang-out session with a few friends from freshman year. With every nostalgic exchange, my feeling of pride grew stronger and my feeling of fear grew weaker.

Though I hadn't been able to clearly mark it year by year, I had grown from the person I was when I moved into first floor Alspaugh on that sweltering August day. Since that day, I have become a professional bus-surfer, a better leader, a seasoned traveler and a (hopefully) solid reporter and editor.

I have seen the serene beauty of the Chapel lit by a 3 a.m. moon (thank you recess), I can easily walk through the gardens in the dead of night and I have even befriended a gaggle of Republicans (you should see them in formation).

But most importantly, I have been stripped of my na've belief that I knew a lot about this world and have gained a valuable understanding of all that I do not know but want to explore in its stead. Somewhere along the way, I also forged a few life-long friendships to boot.