Jack Bulat

A couple of days ago, I called my dad to discuss plans for commencement weekend with him. He let me know what time he, my mom, and my brother plan to come on Saturday, as well as where they will be staying. We discussed the logistics of getting all of my things back home. After that we both had to go. Love you. Talk to you later. Bye.

I put the phone down, and remained sitting at my desk. It hit me then. Like a caffeine crash, out of the blue. I realized exactly what would be happening in less than two weeks. In less than two weeks, I will no longer be taking inebriated walks down the path to the Town Houses; or visiting UpCDC for a smoothie; or checking my mail at the College Center; or rehearsing with Matthew's Minstrels. And many, many other things. Drained of energy and willpower, I sat there and pondered my four years at Vassar for close to an hour.

I will be frank: For me, Vassar was an acquired taste. When I first tried it on move-in day, it was intriguing and a little foul. Many people I met had a markedly different outlook from mine. I was nervous, overly enthusiastic, and—in retrospect—trying too hard at life. Many of the other students seemed like they had their personalities and goals all figured out, while I had nothing. At first, I had some trouble fitting in socially, which is not to say I didn't make friends. Some of my closest friendships at Vassar were with the people I met back then, having lasted for all four years.

Initially, I channeled my inadequacies into academics and research. Then, my wonderful professors and advisors turned into close mentors, as they imparted in me invaluable knowledge. From research, field work, and summer shadowing experiences, I realized that my true calling was in science, and gradually got less nervous about responding to it. This freed up my mind more; I became more receptive and comfortable in the non-academic parts of my life. I warmed up to my fellow Minstrels and to my comrades on the debate team. Becoming an Supplemental Instruction (SI) instructor in the Chemistry Department helped me begin to unify the academic and social facets of my Vassar career. By this year, I had grown to really like (dare I say love?) Vassar.

But here's the thing: What is it about Vassar itself that I grew to like? Reading over this retrospective, I realize that I've been writing mostly about myself. My justifications for growing to like Vassar have arisen from my impression of having become a better person. Put another way, I really like who I have become at Vassar, as opposed to who I was when I moved in; therefore, I have grown to really like Vassar.

Does that make sense? Well, yes and no, I think. In the end, Vassar isn't about the debate team, Minstrels, research, SI, etc. All of these things are instead the ways in which I found and developed my identity while at Vassar. To some other student, an analogous list may be different. Vassar is also not about all of the people whom I have met, really. While they were and still are important in making my change for the better possible, they are not intrinsically tied to Vassar. Many of them will walk with me at commencement. All of them will leave Vassar eventually one way or another.

Yet I feel like Vassar is still somehow a part of it. Where? I'm not sure. Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in the greenery and aroma of every blossoming tree I passed on my way to class. Or the wetness of every muddy puddle around the Noyes House field that I stepped into on rainy nights. Or the stale scent of books permeating the library that I smelled whenever I walked in.

Though I might be wrong, I speculate that there is an answer, and that it's the same for every past, present, and future Vassar student. It's the thing that catalyzed my transformation into a better person. It's the thing that I'll probably sense when I come visit again. It's the thing for which, well, I love Vassar.

—Jack Bulat is the outgoing co-president of Matthew's Minstrels.