Two-dimensional

When I visualised college life before the sick weight of the pandemic bent and twisted everyone’s lives, I would think, this is what people must mean when they say “my heart jumped with joy in my chest.” I would think of the experiences I would have, the friends I would make, the places I would go, the teachers I would admire, and most importantly, the great unknown which comes with change. Before admissions began, I would see the photos of my dream college over the Internet and imagine myself sitting and reading in the lush gardens in the pictures, the feeling of grass between my toes and the dappling sunshine falling on my face under a big tree. These dreams were so real in my mind, I could almost touch them, but then the pandemic forced its way into our lives, and the whole world became untouchable.

College life, post-pandemic is, put simply…sad, very, very sad. The teachers I admire are walled behind a glinting screen; the things I learn from them are not said in a classroom where the walls and desks hide stories of past lives, but in a room I know nothing of, a thousand kilometres away. The teacher who is going to teach us Sophocles, is an elderly man who teaches us like we are his equals. It is an amazing feeling, being taught by someone who considers you their equal even though we probably don’t have 10 percent of the knowledge he does. Being taught as equals makes one feel deserving of the knowledge being sent your way. His voice sounds as if it is released from a vacuum, a sort of husky tone that seems a little other-worldly. He has an air of wisdom about him—the kind that is honed to the brink of perfection with age—with his crescent moon of wispy hair, a beard that stands like a bush across his neck and his half-rimmed glasses. But, it is not the kind of wisdom which is intimidating, it is the kind of wisdom that is restless in its excitement to be shared. He said he is going to retire next year, I just hope that video calls, WhatsApp messages and emails are not the only way I get to communicate with him.

In lieu of introductory sessions with teachers we had separate WhatsApp chats created for every subject because the pandemic has delayed the session and there’s no time for introductions now. Everyone introduced themselves in a chat message. How could a chat message on a flat screen in my hand replace the experience of feeling the nervous energy of a classroom full of strangers trying to fit their personality into a few sentences for each other’s convenience? It was like my life had turned into a two dimensional space, the third dimension deconstructed by the pandemic. All of the friends I thought I would make are no more than names in endless group chats I never bother to read. How can I become friends with someone I know only from words, not from their laughter, not from their idiosyncrasies, not even from their voice?

I hear my fellow students say stuff like, “I am glad to be a part of this college”, and I wonder if I am the only one who doesn’t feel like a part of anything. I wonder, how do these people have the capacity to love something they know of only from a screen? I wonder, how do I feel like a part of the college when I don’t even know what it looks like from the inside, when I haven’t felt it’s body at my fingertips; I don’t know what places near it are worth visiting, I don’t know I don’t know what places have the best food. I know my college only in its very bare bones: the internal organs, the muscles, the nerves, they are all strangers to me. I didn’t really make the effort to know them, because I didn’t want it to be another two dimensional hope poking at my brain.

College was supposed to be a new chapter of my life, but right now it seems like my life hasn’t even bothered to start a new sentence. The college experiences that are supposed to change the course of the rest of my life are currently leading a metaphysical existence in the great unknown of a change that hasn’t occurred yet. I didn’t think I would ever say this, but I’m ready for the great unknown, I am ready for change. I desperately want my college to reopen. I want life to be three dimensional again.