Covid, College, and Us

The issue with an international public health emergency that forces the closure of practically everything, aside from the fact that I’ve been rotting away at home with no solace in my Glastonbury summer that is probably cancelled, is the fact that I can’t listen to music in peace anymore. It’s interesting how music is associated to certain memeories and evokes the same emotional and conscious response every time, but never have I found it so infuriating. So many songs in my Spotify library have such distinct moments written across them that it becomes impossible to listen to practically anything without wondering, with the utmost confusion, where did my freshman year go?

Cruel Summer

Lover dropped while I was digging holes to defecate in and hating my life in the Appalachian wilderness, so I did not get to hear the album firsthand. But I did the moment I stepped foot on civilization and got my T-Mobile 4G LTE network back — with the headphones that were not supposed to be on the trip but I sneaked them in anyway — and on the bus from New Hampshire to Connecticut I listened to it and fell into a sweet, sweet slumber.

Of the album, “Cruel Summer” is a career best. Now, it reminds me of Camp Yale. So damn much. I can hear my own yearning in those early college days, for some serendipitous chance encounter to befall upon me. I can feel the breeze blowing by my legs when New Haven days were warm enough for shorts. Walking down Wall Street for another info session. Going to Starbucks to get a venti water. Keeping the cup for the whole month because it had a straw. Lying in hammocks in the Silliman courtyard with people whose world views you weren’t sure aligned with yours and yet, at that moment, you were just happy to be there. “Cruel Summer” is strangeness and inclusion, excitement and fear, hope and the aftermath when its bubbles are popped one by one.

California

“You’ve heard the war was over if you really choose” reminds me of the light drizzles that occupied New Haven’s winter, walking down Hillhouse in the rain without an umbrella, letting myself get wet because it felt like the right thing to do. California felt like a different planet then and nostalgia rushed to my head: California, In-N-Out, Sprouts, Brown Cow, Sharetea. Sun setting above freeway 57 as we drove to Huntington Beach just to not get in either the sand or water. They melted with academic burdens that seem like nothing in retrospect, but were suffocating at the time, in Lana’s slow murmuring.

Beautiful Ghosts

To be fair, I do fear for my life if I were forced to watch the live action Cats. But I was anticipating this song for a month because it’s Taylor Swift. The accent is odd yet I still proceeded to blast it until all my suitemates protested. In the “I never knew I'd love this world they’ve let me into” moment, I see every decision that has led me here. I think of the first time I walked through Phelps Gate at night and saw the courtyard light up with food stands, bubble blowers, and people who were too high to stand up. The internship rejections came later. London summer will be cancelled soon. But being let in to a world - that I’ll remember.

Light On

When I first discovered Heard It In A Past Life I knew I found a gem. Now when I listen to it I see New York. The time we ate hot pot and got Boba Guys on the TD sponsored trip, scuffling through the Times Square crowd to catch the bus. The Old Navy in Midtown, the Ding Tea, and Shake Shack in Grand Central.

There was one night in New York, when I planned on staying at NYU until I learned about their policy regarding overnight guests, at which point I decided I would take a 1-hour subway ride uptown at 12 a.m. and completely embarrass myself by entering my friend’s apartment complex, looking assured about where I was headed because I did not want to interact with the lobby staff, and walking into a random elevator that, as it turns out, did not go to his floor. There was no signal in the building. I wandered around the third floor for 30 minutes before I found another elevator. I woke up the next morning at 7, sat down at a nearby Starbucks, and thought: wow, this must be what adulthood is like.

Another time, after briefly stopping by the NYU Weinstein lounge where Chinese international students were playing mafia until 3 a.m., I walked to the 8th Street Station to get to JFK for my 8 a.m. flight to Helsinki. There was not a single soul in the station, so instead of waiting on the empty, eerie platform for the N train which never came, I dragged my suitcases up the stairs into the rain. It was cold. I was alone. My bags were drenched. But I enjoyed having the streets to myself — it felt regal, and I liked how the lights were blurred by the downpour, then reflected by the puddles, which were then shattered by droplets. “Light On” reminds me of the rain that night.

If the World Was Ending

I love the first line of the song: “I was distracted and in traffic, I didn’t feel it when the earthquake happened.” I indeed don’t feel earthquakes when I’m in cars, except for that one time when I did and then drove to Urban Outfitters and randomly saw a middle school acquaintance. The song makes me think of staying at friends’ common room until late, watching them dance to Super Bass, eating McDonald’s and getting stomach cramps afterwards.

One month later, my freshman year is in shambles. School has been shut down. Borders are closed. The world may be ending. But I still don’t want to forget anything that happened because it was one of those remarkable moments in time when everything felt exciting. “We’re all really sad that this is ending, but we’re really happy because of what it was.”