I arrived at UBC a second-year transfer student from the University of the Fraser Valley, full of excitement, nervousness and high expectations. I grew up only an hour outside of Vancouver, but my parents joked that once you move across the “Port Mann Bridge of Broken Dreams” there’s no going back. So, like any suburban teenage girl I was going to make it my mission to get as far away as possible.
My parents convinced me to take one year of high school 2.0 at my local university to “figure myself out.” At first, I resented it, but that year just going to class and going back home with everyone from high school inspired me to get my life together.
I imagined admittance into UBC as a direct path towards a successful life. A place where doors would open for me, or at least a place where I could have the typical university experience I was being deprived of at home. After realizing the first-year residence guarantee didn’t apply to transfer students, I spent two months frantically searching for housing to be saved by a last-minute offer from Gage.
The first few days at UBC my imagined expectations met my realistic ones. On move-in day I was deceived by the lobby whose sliding glass doors, sleek front desk and black and grey colour scheme made it appear like a hotel. But, instead of a queen room with a mini fridge I walked up to a run-down dorm room with permanently dusty floors and a bathroom that gave me flashbacks to middle school gym class. My room had probably housed hundreds of student before myself. They left their marks through scratches on the walls, ripped pleather dresser handles and a forgotten can of tuna in the far corner of the desk drawer.
Then, after each box was unpacked, like most first years, I waved a tearful goodbye to my parents and got drunk at Toga with some friends of friends I barely knew. Three days later was Imagine Day. I didn’t have enough credits for second year standing, so I was grouped with first years who bombarded me with questions like “is university as hard as they say it is?” “Is there a lot of homework?” “Are the professors nice?” “Is it easy to make friends?” I couldn’t really answer because I was wondering the same thing. Sure, I had been to university. But I didn’t know what to expect from this one.
As I walked into my lecture hall the first day of classes I was panicking internally. Where do I sit? Front? Back? Should I sit beside someone, or should I sit alone and wait for
someone to sit beside me? What if no one sits beside me? Outlandish “what if” scenarios began to pile up in my mind. I pulled out my notebook while everyone else pulled out their MacBooks, and I felt like Elle Woods with her sparkly notepad at Harvard Law. As excited as I had been for the typical university lecture halls, I was out of my comfort zone.
Those first few days at UBC I was excited and inspired, but also very alone. I only knew a few people here, and they were caught up in their own lives, so I had to find my own path. That was the whole reason I came to UBC in the first place, but I didn’t realize how lonely it would be. At UBC it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. I felt it on my first day, and sometimes I still feel it.
This school was everything I hoped for, but also what I realistically expected. I found more
opportunities, new friends, intriguing classes, and doors to be opened. But they weren’t automatic. I had to work to get into UBC, and as a realized on my first week, I’d have to keep working to find my place within it.