First Day at UCLA

Today was my first full day on-campus at UCLA. Living in the 8th floor of my dorm building, going about my day as a typical student. There are several hundreds of people regularly packed within this 10-story, each story identical to all others and each room being identical in furnishings to the others.

I feel anonymous because to a large degree, my individual identity has been displaced by my group identity. To the strangers around me, my identity can be reduced down to a finite set of characteristics of my life. Where I live. What my major is. What classes I take. What my sleep schedule is. What my meal plan is. What clubs I'm in.

I am constantly reminded that I am but one of an uncountably large horde of people buzzing about their lives, each life carrying an infinitely intricate set of thoughts, emotions, and attitudes; and yet each life remaining in large part oblivious to the intricacies of the many others like it: the tragedies, the celebrations, the monotonies of even the person living next door. 

I'm not saying this simplification of identity and uniformity is a bad thing; it carries benefits. For example, part of the burden of expressing my individuality has been removed. Living with others teaches me to fit in because those who interact view their interaction with me against a backdrop of so many others like me whom they have seen before. Many of the difficult elements of adjusting to this new life are removed because of the people around me who may share similar struggles: difficult coursework, homesickness, loneliness, frustration in one's decisions.

It makes me uncomfortable, but I know that today signifies an important change in my life. I am losing something I will never be able to get back. But at the expense of this, I am experiencing things unlike I have ever experienced in my life. After I live here for a certain period of time, I feel that living at home will never be the same again because I will have proven my capacity for independence, at least to a small degree. I will no longer be viewed as requiring the unwavei supervision and protection of my parents.

But I know this change had to come, sooner or later. My first day alone brings tidings of an adventure that is yet to be fulfilled, rife with danger and pleasantries. It evokes within me similar feelings of deep meaning, as are evoked by the enjoyment of a well-written novel or a popular piece of music. Change is more meaningful than stagnancy. The latter requires only that one maintain the inertia of one's past. Change represents potential for both improvement and deterioration. During a period of change, one's actions, attitudes, and surroundings have a higher capacity to mold one's character. Therefore, this is a source of excitement but also concern.

By living here, I could be unknowingly establishing bad habits or disordered patterns of thinking that wouldn't have gone undetected at home. By living here, I have to sacrifice sources of comfort in my life, such as my family, my room, and some of the material pleasures whose presence I enjoy, such as my bed and the companionship of my dog. And this scares me a little. I'm scared to watch my parents grow old and to observe the growing divergence between who we are and who we used to be. I am reluctant to move away from my old friends or to grow distant from people I once knew so well. But despite the unpredictable risk and sacrifice, living here would give me confidence in my abilities to live and study alone and to make wise decisions. I would guess that this type of change brings neither both pleasure and pain, but in balanced proportion. But it contains within it everything that could make a good story meaningful.

I'm reading Oliver Twist right now. The transformations that I look forward to most in this story are the changes that happen in Oliver's life. When he moves from the orphanage to the laborers house. When he finds himself entangled in the group of thieves.

I should go to sleep now. It's 10:45pm. Until another day, my reader. Good night.