NYU, then and now.

The day I arrived at NYU was long, overcast, and confusing. Nerve-wracking, I should say: none of my anxieties were clearly defined, but they came to this sum; that I had reached the official end of my childhood, and that from now on I would have to take care of myself, with an utterly spartan room as my base of operations. One might think that my fear came from a lack of independence, but the presumption would be false: I could shop, clean, cook, do laundry and pay pills just as I had done for the past year. Mine was a fear that, because I'd have to balance multiple lives (including academic, social, financial and love) I would never reach a state of equilibrium. No weekends, no holidays, but neverending work and struggle to attain the hope of having mental piece, like a child, at the end of one's years of service. While that initial panic had subsided, I was still in the eye of the storm: I had to choose between good grades, good friends, good body and adequate amounts of sleep. As such, I needed to reflect on the matter further, to conquer it before it monopolized my adulthood.