Essay on my first day in campus
My first day in campus. Everything feels new. I feel old and out of place. This despite the fact that some of the stuff I am carrying is new. Mostly gifts from family and friends for getting a chance to study in a new country yet they don’t care that I now feel like I dropped from another planet. In my hands are two tiny suitcases that I am struggling to tag along as I hold the campus map. It looks like it’s from a goat’s mouth because it has been everywhere. It has been held in my lips, then in between my palm and the suitcase handle and when a few minutes it flew away, I rescued it with my foot. The map looks sorry because it has not led me to my room yet.Essay on my first day in campus
I have been walking around confused for a good 20 minutes now. There are people all around me but they do not seem to care that my face already looks lost. Then like a kid who has been gifted sweets, I am so happy I almost cry when a girl offers her hand for a shake. She says I looked miserable and so wanted to help. I shake her hand. It’s soft and I am almost sure that her heart is too. She offers to show me to my room. Her name she says is Yasmine. A proper name for a good heart. She wants to help me carry one of the bags. The man in me says no rather quickly. She has been good enough to show me around but I can’t let her carry my bags as well. She leads the way and I walk behind her. It’s improper to stare at women but as I walk behind her, I can’t help but notice she is wearing a black trouser, black heel that contrast her very white skin and a jacket. “We are here,” she announces. She takes my key, struggles with the door a little and then steps inside. I pull my bags inside. It’s a room of good size and it looks like my roommate is yet to find the room too. His side of the room is still empty. I have already decided which side I want. She asks if I am going to unpack. I had forgotten for a moment that she was still in the room.Essay on my first day in campus
I turn around and look at her. Really, look at her. She has long dark hair, big eyes and she reminds me of facial features like those back home. I ask her if she is from Saudi Arabia. She says her parents are but she was born and raised in the United States. Now I know why she reminds me of my hometown. I forget again that she is there and go into my thoughts. She is from Saudi Arabia and her clothes are so different! In my country, women cover up completely. Sometimes, they look like they are floating with their light, floating clothes that are often times on small bodies that barely fit. I find myself thinking she is lucky she was raised here because she would never pull off these current clothes in the streets back home. Back home, religion is everything, and girls have certain rules on how present themselves. “I have to leave now,” she says and this brings me back to the room. I thank her and she leaves. After a while, I realize I didn’t get her number. I am disappointed that I may never see her again but I am happy to be here.