This is a message to the Class of 2028, a message to all of you new sophomores doubling as ex-freshmen.
As the elasticity of the freshman-year friend group inevitably presents itself this semester, there will be upsetting moments of our little squad drifting away. As everyone relocates to their respective apartments, West Campus buildings and Greek Life houses, nobody will be more crushed than I am.
Although you’ve seen me a million times, you probably never noticed I was there. Or maybe you never cared to look.
Although we hung out almost every day last year, you probably don’t even know who I am.
I am a dorm hallway. Or maybe I’m a common room. Possibly even your friend’s room, a quad or any other nook, cranny and crevice that you’ve spent your precious formative time in.
The legacy of this room will be impactful but often forgotten. Cycles of freshmen enter and exit through my creaky and paint-chipped doors, year after year. Each new group that blesses me with their presence feels unique, but the experiences they share are eerily familiar. Their stories echo those who came before. As the energy of the friend groups shifts, the only aspects truly changing are the faces.
Although I already miss those of you who used to spend your late nights and early mornings with me, I am excited to embrace the next generation of freshmen who are generous enough to keep me company. I’m already enjoying watching the slow, but gradual, process of a group of strangers entering my space and then leaving as a family.
Although they may already notice all the little quirks and details that make this room special, I cannot confidently say that they will fully grasp and appreciate the origins of all the remnants of good times. You’ll never know the story behind the rubber chicken stuck in the light fixture, the word 'gullible' written on the ceiling, the broken fan, the stain on the love seat, the pumpkin bits stuck in the baseboards or why there are scratches in the carpet that suspiciously resemble the legs of the couch from the floor below.
The people who inherit this dorm common space in every year to come will never know the amazing memories and formative experiences that occurred in this room just a few short months prior their arrival. The legacy of a common space is something that is not talked about nearly as much as it should be. The libraries, classrooms and dining halls get constant attention for how they have transformed over the years and how cycles of Cornellians have stepped in and out of the doors to those buildings. But me, the one constant in all of your freshman years, the place you dared to call a home, I don’t feel that I get the credit or recognition that I deserve. Let’s be honest, nobody remembers anything that happens in a library during study hours; what people remember is what happened in Mary Donlon hall at 3 a.m.
They say that when you die, nobody wishes they had spent more time at the office. I believe the same is true for our freshman year experiences. The concept of a common space perfectly encapsulates the idea that there is truly no time in our lives quite like the collegiate one. When else does everyone you know live three doors down from you and spend all their free time sitting and doing nothing and everything with you?
Although the Class of 2029 will never meet the people who inhabited this place before them, I hope they feel the presence of joy that was left behind.
And to the Class of 2028, I am so grateful that I was able to gift you with the experiences and memories that only come with a freshman-year friend group. But I do ask for one thing in return. Please keep the memories going. Don’t let the friend group fade. Although all of you are no longer living three doors down from each other, and it will take some effort, the benefits of maintaining this structure vastly outweigh the inconvenience. The memories I facilitated are not limited to the context of the common space; they can live on. So please, I ask that you keep the group chat active and the friend group alive and kicking.
If not for your sake, then for mine.
Sincerely, the world’s most grateful fly on the wall.
Jared Miller is a sophomore in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. He can be reached at jmm792@cornell.edu.
