Senior Retrospective | Emily Love

Dear Alumnae/i Association of Vassar College: I am so honored and touched to be welcomed into your fantastically distinguished organization. I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I don't want to go, so I would like to R.S.V.P no, but graciously.

You see, AAVC, this is for the first time in my life the only trip I have ever been on where I have not asked "are we there yet?" To me, in this moment, there is nothing terribly appealing outside the gates of 124 Raymond Avenue awaiting me. Sure, the real world, as you call it. But I would like to counter that statement, with, what could be more real than being in an environment that encourages breakfast at midnight followed by a brisk stroll through the Library…naked.

I would also like to ask, if what is awaiting me in the real world is not like that environment I have been in, than how exciting can it actually be? It was at Vassar College that I have met an amateur trapeze artist, a female motocross rider, an Uzbek, artists, Founder's Day, actors and actresses, singers, a future surgeon, an NBC page, a fourth and a fifth generation Vassar student, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, pianists, people who use the terms heteronormative and gender-neutral regularly, athletes, all-Americans, back-up dancers for Kanye West, geniuses, friends, California girls, an Alaskan, someone whose initials are the same as the active chemical in marijuana, pilots, black belts, Ms. Betty, Colombian royalty, Toby Keith, parents, committees, grandparents, siblings, high-school sweethearts, best friends, presidents, a library nook, teammates, twins, shower shitters, teachers, Wyclef, coaches, backstrokers, dance partners, a chinchilla named Mort, record holders and breakers, vegans, comedians, musicians, love, heirs and heiresses, vegetarianism, bacon burgers, hipsters, filmmakers, Poughkeepsians, daisies, Saya and Lena, the snapping turtle in Casperkill Creek, rugby players, jocks, nerds, models for Caribbean food brands, internationals, FBI agents, George Costanza, Carl, journalists, photographers, deans, transgenders, feminists, hippies, activists, someone that handed in their thesis the day before graduation, that guy I made out with in the Mug, that other guy I made out with in the Mug, Mr. Sarajane & Liz, psychologists, roommates, student fellows, hallmates, soulmates, authors, world changers, tequila shooters, beer snobs, boxed wine lovers, beer pong champions and Cappy.

And I found that all within the four years at your alma mater, Vassar Alumnae/i Association. And although I can feel the impending doom of May 24 creeping steadily towards me, I ask for just one small favor: Please don't make me go. I promise I will be really, really good. I will register all of my kegs, and I won't park in the House Advisor's spot, I'll keep all parties in my room to 14 people, and I will swipe in almost every time I go to the All Campus Dining Center. Just don't make me leave. Or at least lie to me, and promise me that all of the other people in the world are just as bizarre, fantastic, neurotic, hilarious, beautiful and wonderful as everyone around me. If you can't promise that, do all of the alums meet up in a field on the first Saturday of May to finish 28 kegs of beer for free? If so, then I guess I am willing to leave. But if I change my mind I could always just refuse to return those two books on Native American women I have on my bed.

—Emily Love '09 is Daisy Chain Coordinator, captain of the women's swim team and the recipient of the Outstanding Female Athlete Award.