Cornell University, Ithaca, NY- A retrospective

There is something delicious about the cold morning air in upstate New York. You probably won't really notice it after living there for a few days, and positively hate it when it turns from "cold" to "can potentially murder you". Still visiting Ithaca this weekend was a like the afterglow of eating a good meal: you savour every moment and every flavor, you taste the vestiges of the meal in your mouth and revel in it, you feel satisfied and yet you miss it but you also know that it can't last forever. I suppose investing a part of yourself in any place by leaving behind a mixed bag of memories, some good and some terrible, would do that you.

For me it used to be Manipal: even after my trip there in 2014 where I realized that it was not as how I remembered it because most of the people that made it special were gone (except a few dear friends), I still think about it fondly from time to time, pictures and places and faces playing out in my head as if cloaked by an Instagram filter inspired by Joy from Inside Out, bathed by a warm yellow glow, all fuzzy around the edges. Needless to say that Cornell and I share a much more antagonistic relationship. But maybe that was because I barely had the time to find a foothold. Just as I was finally accepting the reality of being surrounded by remarkable people who are way more brilliant than I, and being comfortable with that and exploring more of the town and the campus detached from my insecurities, it was time to leave. Of course, everyone I knew went through the same thing. Perhaps I am more susceptible to emotional instability than the rest. There was no time to make peace or complete the journey from vitriolic hatred and fear to joyful wonder and acceptance. Even now I am happier about my childhood dream of living in New York City coming true, than my childhood dream of attending an Ivy League University coming true.

But after this weekend, I can make peace with the fact that even though I under performed and under achieved while I was there, even though I should have done thrice as much and expected half as much happiness, I am a tiny part of Cornell's 150 year old part history and Cornell will be a large part of me. I am grateful for the one year that has given me the identity I crave and the strength to keep holding on and to dig my claws into the bare-rock face of the gorges even as the cold and the wind and the disillusionment threatened to knock me over. Even though I am ashamed about not living up the Cornell name I am happy that at least I got the chance to belong.

Night fall in Ithaca is completely distinct from New York. Here, the metros rumble past my apartment all day, unflinchingly, even at 3 AM carrying the last batch of drunk night owls back to their tiny apartments. Even a introspective solo smoke session is interrupted by the chug-chug of the trains crashing along every few minutes of so. But in Ithaca, at 1 AM, everything is quiet. It is just you, your cigarette and your thoughts, accompanied by the dim humming of silence and the lights glowing and flickering in the valley below. As the snowflakes drift slowly from the ink-black sky, like little glass panes, catching the light, you can be at peace with yourself and with the world. So until next time, Cornell and Ithaca, be that little bubble of stillness in this mad world, and go easy on the kids this winter.