Here we go...

Dear readers, as my life at Vassar has quickly and surprisingly come to an end, I suppose this may be my last entry. I may keep writing, just as an alum perspective on finding life after Vassar, which I think I may do, as I have grown quite accustomed to this blog, and the relationship I have built with you, my readers.

This entry comes a bit late; my week finishing up my internship has been hectic: carrying a piece of art worth $85,000USD, wearing a tux, sipping champage and such, it’s not easy work. Here is a reflection of it all, starting from two Tuesdays ago:

The past week has flown by faster than I would have liked. It has been shorter, and at the same time, longer than I hoped. It was more, and at the same time, less than I had hoped. Looking into the eyes of classmates, friends, past flames, past crushes and past crushers, I saw four years reflected back at me in the strangest of ways. Memories flood back to 45 minutes ago, when I surveyed my room for the final time: its bare walls, its empty drawers and a bed that hated me for putting rowing before our relationship, as I pull out of Poughkeepsie station for the last time of the Spring.

It started with the formal, an excuse for seniors to be fancy for no apparent reason in the face of the onslaught of confusion that is the future. I had a great time, but it was clouded by a sense of uncertainty, fear and stress that I just couldn’t shake. My friends, housemates and girlfriend looked great. I tried to feel festive but couldn’t. I hoped it wouldn’t be indicative of the rest of the week, and then tried to dance it off.

I had my senior project to turn in the next day, so my fun was cut significantly shorter than what it should have been.

I didn’t do many of the senior week events: just the formal and the ACDC brunch. We had commencement rehearsal right before the ACDC brunch, which was horribly timed on a day when all the ovens of the sky happened to be on their highest settings. I got a farmer tan. It was horrible. However, brunch at the DC made up for all of that. There’s always this enduring myth in my mind that breakfast at ACDC is the best thing in the world: better than a snow day, better than a wink from your crush in the corner of the class you steal glimpses at every time a slide on the PowerPoint changes, better than Pop Rocks, even. And Pop Rocks are pretty awesome. Anyway, I had to leave the brunch early, thanks to a photoshoot for an article, soon to come out in the alumni newsletter about my senior project. It’s an academic and life win.

Fast-forward to Saturday: the day where it all came crashing down. By “it” I mean memories, which means there’s a huge edit in order, and despite it being only a sentence away, I’m far too lazy to change it, as it is summertime. I schlepped over to Rocky to observe the Violet/Daisy photoshoot, basically just to slip into nostalgia, and also to make sure everyone was in attendance. It was very bittersweet watching the Daisies line up – working with them all year had been fun, and I remembered in my sophomore year that I was on those same steps getting my picture taken as a Violet. Now, on the verge of leaving, I realized that it was all hitting me hard. The oscillating waves of happiness and sadness really just hit the trough of sadness, and it stayed there for most of the morning. Soon, it was then time for the Lei Ceremony, organized by the Asian-Pacific Islander Alumni (APAVC). The floor was opened to parents and students to reflect on the experiences we’ve shared at Vassar, and as no one from the students’ side had gone up, Olivia shot me daggers with her eyes, meaning that I had better go say something.

My training in the Beautillion Society at home had left me with the gift of the gab, or refined it somewhat, and I got up to the microphone with butterflies in my stomach, and tears ready to leap forth out of my eyes. I thanked my friends for always supporting me, and my parents for encouraging me. And as spoke about looking ahead to the many great journeys we will face, I paused to think of all the many journeys we had struggled through together already: finals, insensitivity, times when the student of colour community had banded together in solidarity in support of one another, and just being friends along our road through college. I almost cried. I voice broke, and my knees began to shake. I mentally slapped myself – “Keep it together, Kyle!” I kept talking, but the quivering got worse, my knees got weaker, and my eyes began to well. Thankfully, I finished up and got back to my seat and held my girlfriend’s hand. The awarding of the leis went by without a tear as well. I also spied Lisa Kudrow in her rose sunglasses sitting in the back of the room. I made a mental note to walk over to get a picture with her, but once I had gotten caught up taking pictures with friends, she was gone.

From there, I rushed over to the Kente Cloth ceremony, sponsored by the African-American Alumni (AAAVC). I saw my mentor and friend, Ken Miles, who serves as the co-chair of AAAVC getting ready to go up to the podium. The alums-to-be were called to stand and receive our stoles, and another speech was asked of me. This time, much more prepared (in some ways), I recognized all those who came before us, not just our grandparents and ancestors, but the alums and older students who have acted as role models for us, and without whom we would not be able to partake in community as we had throughout our four years.

Following the Kente Cloth ceremony was the Baccalaureate service, celebrating students of colour. It adds a religious flair to the commencement week activities, and I appreciated it. Ryan Greenlee and I were called to sing the Black National Anthem, “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing.” Nobody told us, nor the pianist, that only one verse was printed. We were told to sing two. So, I had made a fool of my self of the first time that day, but at least I wasn’t alone. And with emotions running high for all, I think it was taken in good spirit. Dr. Tricia Rose was incredible, and my aunt even wanted to buy her book. Gotta love how academia keeps pulling people back.

Fast-forward again to that night: the last party at TA43. I had left my wallet in my Mum’s purse, and my dad stopped in to bring it up to me. Little did he know we were having a party. In quite a shocked state, he handed it to me, went up to my room for a bit, then left. Oh, college, how I will miss you. My flatmates and I got our things together for the bonfire that is traditionally held before graduation. Thankfully, I had gathered all of my thesis drafts and other papers I had no need for ever again in a bag, along with everything else I detested. Because we lived in the TA’s, Ballantine was not far at all, so we left pretty late (it started at midnight, we left at 12:30).

Then it all came crashing down: after throwing all my papers into the fire and having a great time with my friends, I saw my best friend, CBS president, Dyana. She ran over and hugged me, and then she began to cry. At that point, all the feelings that I had tried to keep down and forget about all week finally surfaced. I cried. I cried like a baby, and I kept crying. I just couldn’t stop. We just held each other, and cried. We recalled all the times we probably never would have made it through Vassar without each other, all the meals we shared, and everything else inbetween. It was heartbreaking to know that we wouldn’t see each other for such a long time, and for me to show how I was truly feeling once again to someone who had seen me at my worst so many times, it was amazing to just let go and cry.

And it didn’t stop with Dyana. I saw other friends that I had met at different points in my college career and we cried together. When I finally got back to my girlfriend, who I can never remember if I had mentioned her before in this blog before, I was a mess, tears and snot all over my face and just unable to stop crying. Surprisingly, she was fine. There I am, rowing captain Kyle, crazy gym-beast Kyle, everyone else’s crying shoulder Kyle, a total wreck. And there is my girlfriend, doing what she has always done for me: supporting me. We even make jokes about it even though it didn’t happen too long ago. Once I was dry again, I walked slowly home and went to bed.

When I woke up in the morning, my eyes were still puffy from crying. Since I was twelve, I can count on one hand and name exactly when and where I have cried. Thankfully, for sake of my “masculinity” (and all you Vassar-heads out there, please challenge me to a debate about gender norms, I dare you!) it’s still on one hand! My housemates and I awoke for the last time as Vassar students and ate breakfast together for the last time, then donned the garb that would mark our passage out of the world we had known for the last four years into the “real” one.

With every motion leading up to my leaving the house came a new significance of what I was doing. The last time I could put on dress socks in the house, the last time I would look in my mirror, the last time I would look out my window in the morning. I put on my gown, followed by my hood, Kente cloth and finally my lei and stood in the mirror, transfixed and unable to move. I was not the same as when I had first stood looking in the mirror in late August 2009. Nor was I the same as when I first stepped foot on campus as a timid freshman three years before that. With my cap in hand, my housemates and I made the long walk to Commencement Hill together.

We lined up for a good twenty minutes, and finally, the march began. I stood in Group 7, and as you Vassar readers will find out eventually, this is how you will be arranged for graduation. Group 1 led off, and slowly we all made our way to our seats. A human river of black, with yellows, blues, greens and whites, oranges, greens and purples all mixed in, moved slowly to where we would be awarded our degrees. At the hearing of “Pomp and Circumstance,” a girl near me began to cry. I had cried out everything I had the night before, or I would have been there with her. We took our seats. Listened to speeches. Got our degrees. Then it was all over. Really, that’s how it felt to me.

Lisa Kudrow’s speech was brilliant: it was exactly what I needed to hear at that point in time. That I could graduate knowing absolutely nothing about what I wanted to do and still succeed; and that I could fail but still rise to success. It gave me a lot of hope for the days after graduation as I roamed New York during my last week at my internship looking for jobs and interviewing. Her project on genealogies also struck me as particularly interesting, as my interest in my own has dictated many of my feelings throughout the year. I may be getting in contact with her soon…

And this brings me to today. Exactly two weeks ago, I was getting ready to enjoy the senior formal with my girlfriend and my friends. I’m back at home, reflecting on how the past two weeks have flown past with shocking speed, and how I can stop the rest of my life from doing the same. Perhaps it’s just all too deep to tackle for now. Oh well. That’s what Philosophy majors are for, and I am not one of them.

I’ll be back from time to time, both at Vassar and on this blog, so faithful readers, fear not! I’ll still be providing wisdom from “Beyond the Gates,” as it were, on how to survive life after college, along with my own job search, and fun things to do when not in PK. If you want to see more of my mushier side, check out my senior retrospective here (http://www.miscellanynews.com/senior-retrospective-kyle-chea-1.2267487). I will miss my days at Vassar dearly, but I will remember them fondly. At the same time, it is this wonderful place that Vassar has become – not a college, but home – that connects all of us alumni/ae together, and I can’t wait to meet more of my new family both at home (whatever that means these days) and wherever I go.

Also, if any of you readers have any questions about anything Vassar-y or anything to do with college life, please email me, and I will be sure to get back to you. When I was in your position, someone took time out of their schedule to help me, and now it is my turn. We are blessed to be a blessing, and I intend to do just that.

I leave you now with one of my favourite poems, one that has shaped me and continues to shape me. Enjoy!


Ithaka by Constance P. Cavafy

When you set out for Ithaka
ask that your way be long,
full of adventure, full of instruction.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - do not fear them:
such as these you will never find
as long as your thought is lofty, as long as a rare
emotion touch your spirit and your body.
The Laistrygonians and the Cyclops,
angry Poseidon - you will not meet them
unless you carry them in your soul,
unless your soul raise them up before you.

Ask that your way be long.
At many a Summer dawn to enter
with what gratitude, what joy -
ports seen for the first time;
to stop at Phoenician trading centres,
and to buy good merchandise,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensuous perfumes of every kind,
sensuous perfumes as lavishly as you can;
to visit many Egyptian cities,
to gather stores of knowledge from the learned.

Have Ithaka always in your mind.
Your arrival there is what you are destined for.
But don't in the least hurry the journey.
Better it last for years,
so that when you reach the island you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to give you wealth.
Ithaka gave you a splendid journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She hasn't anything else to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka hasn't deceived you.
So wise you have become, of such experience,
that already you'll have understood what these Ithakas mean.