As I’m about to enter my fourth year, I’ve found myself reflecting a lot on my time at Queen’s. Especially, my first year. Coming to Queen’s in the middle of the pandemic was not ideal—orientation wasn’t what it was or is now, we had to wear masks in residence, and classes were moved online after winter break until the end of February.
While first year seems like ages ago, there’s still so many memories that have stuck with me, both good and bad.
My hands down best memory from first year was Fall Orientation. It was extremely unconventional, and festivities were split up into two weekends, nothing like it is now. The second weekend consisted of coverall painting on West Campus, after that, one of the girls in my Orientation group dragged everyone to Jean Royce Hall to show us her room. Realizing how strange she, and frankly everyone else in our group was, this one girl and I decided it was time to leave.
We spent the entire 20-minute walk back to Main Campus talking about how weird everyone in our
group was, how much she wanted a new tattoo, and the reasons, which will remain undisclosed, why we both had to run to West that morning after sleeping through our alarms.
Those 20 minutes, while it sounds cliche, changed my life. The girl I met during orientation three years ago is now my best friend. Our friendship wasn’t instant we didn’t actually become real friends until the middle of second year. Looking back, I guess I have that one girl who tried to hold us hostage in her room that second weekend of orientation to thank.
—Allie Moustakis, Editor in Chief
After high school, I was dead-set on attending the math program at the University of Waterloo. I accepted my offer, knowing the accolades I would receive from my teachers and peers for attending such a rigorous program.
However, two months in, I quickly realized the program was not for me. My strengths were writing essays and delivering speeches, not solving derivatives and completing Gauss-Jordan elimination.
Thus, my first year was spent filling out transfer applications, finding new living arrangements, and saying goodbye to the few friends I’d made at Waterloo.
While it was not how I intended to spend my first year of University, I’m glad it happened. The stressful experience brought me to Queen’s where I’ve rediscovered my love for writing and made life-long friends. I didn’t have the most conventional first-year experience, but it brought me to the place I am today. For that, I’m grateful.
—Sofia Tosello, Senior News Editor
A moment from my first year at Queen’s I will never forget is the time I had the squeakiest shoes ever. It doesn’t sound like a big deal, but at the time it felt utterly embarrassing.
To set the scene, it was a rainy October day and I was rushing to one of my classes. I had put on a new pair of shoes that morning, Salomons. All was well until I began to walk down the corridor to class. That’s when the squeaking began. It was so loud, and I felt like everyone was staring at me. I frantically stopped in the bathroom to try wipe my shoes, but to no avail. I had to squeak my way into class and try to find a seat. It wasn’t my most discreet entrance when late for class.
It’s safe to say I never wore them in the rain again.
—Madison Taylor, Assistant Arts & Culture Editor
My favourite memory from first year is meeting my best friends. I met most of my current best friends at the dining hall. It’s funny to me that in Leonard Hall of all places, I happened to sit beside people who are so funny, conversational, and who would come to mean so much to me.
The first time I met my friends, I had an eclectic mix of food on my tray. I had a makeshift Shirley Temple—orange juice and cranberry juice—Jell-O, soup, and butter chicken. They lightly teased me for my random choices—we started talking and have never stopped. I’m grateful I had the courage to sit with people who I didn’t know super well because that bravery will reward me for the rest of my life.
—Eva Sheahan, Assistant Arts & Culture Editor
As my friends and I are approaching our final year at Queen’s, we’ve been reflecting a lot on how it all started and how far we’ve come from our wee-little first-year selves. One of the worst memories that often comes up in this conversation is my experience writing a politics take-home exam.
In short, I was a film student trying my hardest to talk about governance and voting systems—I turned this alleged three-hour paper into an 18-hour non-stop feat. I drinking multiple coffees and trudging through the heavy rain from one library to the next, only to return to my dorm in defeat, where I continued typing away until the sun rose.
It became harder to formulate my thoughts as time went on and my notes started looking like gibberish. The hardest part was seeing my roommate and best friend finish the same exam before me and getting to sleep first—I thought she had escaped an apocalypse or something.
As silly as it seems now, every time I think back to that day I’m instantly transported into feelings of dread and helplessness. In all seriousness, anytime I’m struggling through an assignment now, I tell myself it’s not as bad as my first-year politics exam.
—Katharine Sung, Editorials Editor
The quintessential experience of a Friday night at Stages felt far different as a first-year grad student. I don’t know what empowered us to rub bodies with inebriated 18-year-olds, but the night ended faster than it began.
Doing anything with these girls was fun, but for the first time in my life, I felt my age. I could feel the hangover setting in already and it was barely midnight. Our friend group of early to mid-twenty-somethings sat outside Stages, at the benches by the bus stop, calling taxis and Ubers home one by one. To our right, for some, the night was just starting as they stood in line to enter the club.
A pair, boy and girl, walked past our bench, carrying a large—and I mean almost human-sized—stuffed bear.
“Cute bear,” I yelled after them with the confidence I always gained with even a few sips of alcohol. I always had a soft spot for stuffed animals.
They kept walking and I assumed they hadn’t heard me over the noise coming from the long line, which now wrapped around the corner. A few seconds later, I watched as the pair and the large bear turned direction and began to approach me. I started to panic, wondering if what had come out of my mouth wasn’t what I’d thought I said.
“Do you want it?” the guy asked.
“What?” I asked, terrified “It” meant his fists.
“The bear!” he replied.
Over the next few minutes, we discussed the of the trade-off. Free bear. No strings attached. I actually was saving the bear from drowning, as the pair had been heading to the pier to drown him.
The reason? Something about an ex-girlfriend and the stuffed creature taking up too much space.
I never got their names or the full story, but triumphantly loaded Gord Downie—his new name, after the pier he was heading towards—into my Uber home. I reflected on the night, deciding I should focus my Friday night energy on questionable side quests with friends and not hoping for a good time on Princess Street.
—Liz Provost, Copy Editor
Queen’s University was not my first option. Frankly, it wasn’t even second or third. But, given my life’s circumstances, at the time it was the option I was made to accept. I bowed my head down and accepted without a fight.
To escape my feelings and resentment of my own decisions, I did what I knew best, work. And so, I worked for too many hours a week and found myself neglecting some classes because I chose work over studying. Work then began draining my energy, putting a strain on my mental health and academics—I almost failed ENGL 100.
But then, closer to the end of the school year I found the thing that kept me at Queen’s and brought me back to life: The Queen’s Journal. I came across their hiring ment and so I applied for the Assistant News Editor position—I was nervous and scared, but I somehow got the job. I still don’t think I was qualified for it, but selfishly I’m glad I did because it was my saving grace.
With all that said, it’s okay if your first year doesn’t end up being what you hoped for, or what you dreamed of. What’s important is to make the effort to clubs and organizations that interest you because maybe that’s where you’ll find yourself. Always everything happens for a reason, so don’t lose hope.
—Meghrig Milkon, Senior Arts & Culture Editor
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